Bound By Contract: The Possessive CEO's Bride

Kaylee twisted the brass doorknob of the bedroom with both hands. The metal was freezing against her palms. The lock mechanism was completely jammed. It did not budge a single millimeter.

Her knees gave out. She collapsed onto the cold hardwood floor, her chest heaving as she struggled to pull air into her lungs.

Sharp, rhythmic clicks echoed from the hallway. High heels. The sound stopped right outside her door. Kaylee's heart slammed against her ribs so hard it physically hurt.

"Put on the engagement dress, Kaylee," Donita's voice pierced through the heavy mahogany wood. The tone was absolute. There was no room for negotiation.

Kaylee's hands started to shake. The tremor traveled up her arms to her shoulders.

"Mitch is waiting," Kallie's voice chimed in from the hallway. A cruel laugh followed. "He might be sixty-five, but he has plenty of money to keep you comfortable. You should be grateful."

Bile rose in the back of Kaylee's throat. Her stomach twisted into a violent knot. The thought of that old man touching her made her skin crawl.

She scrambled to her feet and threw herself at the door. She slammed her open palms against the wood. "Let me out!"

The heavy door did not even rattle. Her palms turned raw and red from the impact. The stinging pain shot up her wrists.

"Your allowance is cut off," Donita said coldly through the door. "You have no money. You have nowhere to go. Be ready in an hour."

The clicking of the high heels faded down the hallway.

Kaylee slid down the door until she hit the floor again. She looked up. The clock on the wall read ten at night. The ticking sound felt like a hammer hitting her skull. Her breathing turned shallow and rapid.

Her eyes darted around the room and landed on the nightstand. An empty jewelry box sat there. It was the only thing her mother had left her. The actual crystal box inside it had been confiscated by Donita.

A sharp ache bloomed in her chest. She wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. She forced herself to stand up.

She ran to the floor-to-ceiling windows and yanked the heavy curtains apart. The storm outside was violent. Rain lashed against the thick glass. The wind howled. She took a step back, her body shivering instinctively.

She gritted her teeth and pushed the window open. Freezing rain immediately whipped into the room. It soaked the thin fabric of her nightgown in seconds. Her teeth began to chatter.

She leaned out and looked down. The drop from the second floor to the lawn was steep. The darkness swallowed the ground below. Vertigo hit her hard. The world spun for a second.

She turned around and sprinted to the large bed. She grabbed the edge of the silk bedsheet and pulled with all her might. It came loose. The fabric was incredibly slippery. She tried to tie a knot, but her hands were sweating and shaking.

She brought the silk to her mouth and clamped her teeth down on one end. She pulled the other end with both hands, tearing her fingernails in the process. A sharp pain ripped through her nail beds. The pain cleared her head.

She tied the other end of the sheet around the heavy mahogany bedpost. She pulled on it with her entire body weight. The wooden frame let out a dull creak, but it held.

She climbed onto the windowsill and swung one leg over the edge. A gust of wind hit her chest, nearly throwing her backward. She wrapped her arms around the window frame, her knuckles turning white.

She grabbed the wet silk sheet and slowly lowered herself. The rain made the fabric impossibly slick. She had to squeeze her hands so tight that the fabric dug into her skin, leaving angry red welts.

Halfway down, a loud ripping sound cut through the noise of the rain. The silk tore.

Her body dropped suddenly. A scream tore from her throat, but she instantly slapped her hand over her own mouth to muffle the sound.

She was still six feet above the ground. She let go.

She hit the muddy lawn hard. Her right ankle twisted violently. A blinding flash of pain shot up her leg. She bit down on her lip so hard she tasted copper.

She dragged herself up from the mud. Rain plastered her hair to her face, blinding her. She wiped the mud and water from her eyes and looked toward the main gate.

A bright beam of light swept across the bushes ten feet away. The estate security guards were patrolling. The light was blinding.

Kaylee dropped to her stomach in the mud. She stopped breathing. Her lungs burned.

"Terrible weather for this," a guard muttered. The sound of his heavy boots squelched in the mud and then faded away, masked by a loud crack of thunder.

She exhaled a shaky breath.

She pushed herself up and limped toward the iron fence at the side of the estate. The cold wind sliced across her wet cheeks like tiny blades. She clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.

She reached the side gate. A thick steel chain and a heavy padlock secured it. She shoved the gate with her shoulder. It did not move.

Despair settled heavy in her chest. Then, she looked down.

At the bottom of the fence, years of rust had eaten away a section of the iron bars. The gap was incredibly narrow. She dropped to her knees in the puddle.

She squeezed her head and shoulders through the opening. The jagged, rusted edges of the iron scraped against her bare arms. Warm blood mixed with the cold rain running down her skin. She ignored the stinging and pulled the rest of her body through.

She rolled out onto the asphalt of the public road. It was pitch black. There were no streetlights. The sheer isolation of the road hit her all at once.

A sports car roared past her. Its tires hit a massive puddle, sending a wave of dirty water crashing over her. She wrapped her arms around her freezing body, shaking violently.

An image flashed in her mind. Donita dragging her by the hair. Mitch Ziegler's wrinkled hands touching her skin.

Pure terror injected adrenaline into her veins. She started running barefoot on the rough asphalt. She didn't know how long she ran. Time blurred as her bare feet slapped against the freezing pavement, every second stretching into an eternity of pain and desperation.

She ran toward the direction of the Long Island beach. Her physical strength drained with every step. Her lungs felt like they were filled with broken glass. Every breath was agony.

In the distance, near the edge of the beach, several blinding headlights cut through the dark storm. The lights looked like a tear in the fabric of the night. She ran toward them. It was her only chance.

Kaylee dragged her injured ankle across the wet asphalt until her bare feet hit the cold sand. The sharp grains dug into the open cuts on her soles. She gasped, the pain shooting straight up her leg.

She stumbled toward the line of black Maybachs parked near the shoreline.

Two men in dark suits stepped out from the shadows instantly. They pulled tactical flashlights from their belts and aimed the blinding beams directly at her face.

Kaylee threw her hands up to shield her eyes. She was forced to stop.

"Step back," one of the bodyguards ordered. His voice was devoid of any human emotion. His right hand dropped to the holster at his waist.

The killing intent in the air made Kaylee's muscles lock up. She froze.

Through the gap between the two massive men, she saw a tall figure standing near the crashing waves. His broad back was turned to her. He held a cigar between his fingers. The tip glowed orange in the dark. The sheer dominance radiating from his posture felt terrifyingly familiar.

Hearing the commotion, the man slowly turned around. The headlights illuminated his face.

Kaylee's pupils contracted. Her breath hitched in her throat.

The sharp, sculpted jawline. The cold, predatory eyes. It was Ernest Blackwell. The Wall Street tyrant she had seen from afar while working as a catering waitress at a charity gala three months ago.

Ernest glanced at her. His expression did not change. He looked at her the way one might look at a pile of washed-up seaweed. He turned his head away and took a slow drag of his cigar.

The faint sound of dogs barking drifted from the direction of the Fletcher estate.

The sound triggered a violent spike of panic in Kaylee's chest. She pushed past the blinding lights and lunged forward.

The bodyguard grabbed her arm roughly and twisted it behind her back. A sharp, tearing pain ripped through her shoulder joint. Hot tears immediately spilled over her eyelashes.

She ignored the pain. She screamed at the tall silhouette. "Mr. Blackwell! Please help me!" Her voice was ripped away by the howling wind.

Ernest's brow furrowed. The noise clearly irritated him. He raised his hand and made a tiny, dismissive flick with his fingers.

The bodyguard immediately applied more pressure to her arm, dragging her backward.

Kaylee dropped her knees into the wet sand. She dug her fingers deep into the ground, refusing to be moved. Her brain worked frantically. Begging would not work on a man like him. She needed to offer a transaction.

She sucked in a ragged breath. Her chest he heave.

"Marry me!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. "You need a wife, and I need a husband right now!"

The beach went dead silent. The only sound was the crashing waves.

The bodyguards stared at her as if she had lost her mind. The grip on her arm loosened just a fraction.

Ernest stopped moving. The hand holding the cigar hovered in the air. He turned his head and finally looked directly at the girl kneeling in the mud.

He took a step forward. His long legs closed the distance between them in seconds. A massive, intimidating shadow fell over her, blocking out the headlights.

Kaylee swallowed hard. Her throat was bone dry.

Ernest looked down at her. His voice was a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated in her chest. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't have them throw you into the ocean." The words were ice cold.

Kaylee tilted her pale face up. She forced herself to meet his piercing gaze. Her body was trembling violently from the cold, but her eyes held a desperate stubbornness.

"I have a clean background," she rushed the words out, her teeth chattering. "I have no complicated social circles. I will obey your orders. And most importantly..." She bit her lip hard.

"Most importantly, I can disappear whenever you want! I will never cling to you!" she shouted over the wind.

Ernest stared into her eyes. They were washed clean by the rain, unnervingly bright in the darkness. Something deep inside his chest-a place he kept heavily guarded-experienced a strange, microscopic jolt.

Before he could speak, a phone vibrated in the pocket of his tailored trousers.

He pulled out the device. The screen lit up with the caller ID: Grandpa.

A heavy, dark wave of disgust flashed through Ernest's eyes. He hit the reject button without a second thought.

His executive assistant, Edson, stepped out of the lead Maybach. He walked over quickly and lowered his head. "Boss, the family elders just sent the schedule. Three more blind dates arranged for tomorrow."

Ernest pinched the bridge of his nose. The muscles in his jaw ticked. The relentless pressure to marry and Genevieve's constant hovering were pushing him to the edge of violence. His face darkened.

His gaze dropped back down to Kaylee. He looked at her the way a predator evaluates a piece of meat. His eyes were dark and unreadable.

The intensity of his stare made Kaylee's scalp prickle. But she kept her chin raised. She looked like a cornered animal baring its teeth.

A low, dark chuckle suddenly escaped Ernest's lips. He tossed the half-smoked cigar into the incoming tide. It hit the water with a sharp hiss.

He reached up and shrugged off his suit jacket.

He bent down and threw the heavy fabric over Kaylee's head. The jacket smelled of expensive cologne and was radiating his body heat. It completely enveloped her shivering frame.

Kaylee sat frozen in the wet sand, buried under the massive suit jacket.

"Get in," Ernest ordered. His voice was flat. He turned his back to her and walked toward the rear door of the Maybach.

The bodyguard immediately let go of her arm. His demeanor flipped instantly. He stepped forward and respectfully held the heavy car door open for her.

Kaylee was stunned. She dragged her muddy, bleeding feet across the sand and climbed into the luxurious leather backseat.

The moment the door closed, the roaring storm was completely cut off. Warm air blasted from the vents, wrapping around her freezing skin. She sank into the soft leather, a shaky sigh escaping her lips.

The opposite door opened. Ernest slid into the seat.

A wide center console separated them, but his physical presence was overwhelming. The sheer size of him seemed to suck the oxygen out of the cabin. Kaylee pressed her knees together and tried not to breathe too loudly.

The interior of the car was dead silent. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife.

In the front seat, Edson glanced at the rearview mirror. His eyes widened in shock at the sight of the filthy girl ruining the pristine leather.

Ernest caught his eye in the mirror. He shot Edson a look so lethal that the assistant instantly snapped his eyes back to the windshield.

Ernest pressed a button on the door panel. A thick soundproof glass partition glided up, completely sealing off the back seat from the front.

He turned his head and locked his eyes on Kaylee. It felt like an X-ray scanning her bones.

"Explain your situation," he demanded coldly. His long fingers tapped an impatient rhythm against his knee. "I have no tolerance for wasted time."

Kaylee forced her racing heart to slow down. She spoke fast. She detailed the Fletcher family's impending bankruptcy. She explained Donita's plan to sell her off to Mitch Ziegler to cover the debts.

When she mentioned Mitch's name, a sneer formed on Ernest's lips. He clearly knew of the old man's disgusting reputation.

Kaylee's voice cracked when she talked about her mother's confiscated belongings. She swallowed hard, biting the inside of her cheek to force the tears back down. She refused to cry in front of him.

Ernest watched her jaw tighten. His tapping fingers paused for a fraction of a second. A strange glint flickered in his dark eyes.

He leaned back against the headrest and crossed his arms over his chest. "I will clear your debts and handle the old man. In exchange, you will play a role for me."

Kaylee's head snapped up. Pure relief washed over her face. She nodded frantically. "I will do anything."

"Three months," Ernest stated, his voice hard as steel. "For three months, you will act as my devoted wife. You will deal with my family."

He leaned forward. His broad shoulders invaded her space. "During this contract, you follow my orders absolutely. Do not ask questions. Do not touch things that aren't yours."

The heavy scent of his cologne and raw male pheromones hit her face. Kaylee's heart skipped a beat. She instinctively pressed her back harder against the door.

"When the three months are over, the contract terminates. I will wire you a compensation fee large enough to fund the rest of your life. We walk away clean," he finished ruthlessly.

Hearing the words "walk away clean," a tiny, irrational sting hit Kaylee's chest. But the overwhelming joy of buying her freedom crushed it instantly.

She didn't hesitate. She reached out her right hand. It was covered in dried mud, blood, and rust. "Deal, Mr. Blackwell."

Ernest looked down at her hand. His severe germaphobia kicked in immediately. His body went rigid. A deep crease formed between his eyebrows.

Kaylee realized what she had done. Heat rushed to her cheeks. She felt sick with embarrassment. She quickly tried to pull her dirty hand back, wishing the floorboards would swallow her whole.

Just as her fingers began to retreat, Ernest reached out. His jaw tight with an ingrained, visceral revulsion to dirt, his hand hovered for a fraction of a second. Every instinct screamed at him to pull away from the mud and blood. Yet, driven by a strange, inexplicable compulsion that overrode his severe germaphobia, his large, strong hand clamped down over hers.

The physical contact was an absolute violation of his own rules, a shock to his highly controlled system. His palm was warm and slightly rough. The grip was firm and undeniable. A jolt of electricity shot up Kaylee's arm. She shivered.

He held her hand for exactly one second before letting go.

He pressed the intercom button to the front seat. "Edson. City Hall."

The car swerved slightly. Edson's voice came through the speaker, stammering. "Boss? Right now? It's one in the morning."

Ernest's eyes narrowed. "Do I need to teach you how to drag the mayor out of his bed to open the doors?"

"No, sir!" Edson barked back.

The Maybach's engine roared. The car shot forward into the rainy night with brutal acceleration.

Kaylee was pushed deep into the seat by the force. She turned her head and stared out the window at the blurred streetlights. Her brain could not process reality.

She stole a glance at the man sitting next to her. He had his eyes closed. She pulled his warm suit jacket tighter around her shoulders, her fingers gripping the lapels like a lifeline.