Bound To Him: A Billionaire's Contracted Wife

Angele's POV

"What's it going to be, Angele? You going to take a jump or leave nothing to chance?"

The voice had a place with my dearest companion, Marcus, yet my look was locked across the room on him - Henry, the CEO with eyes as cold as his name recommended. He lane in the cowhide seat behind his huge mahogany work area, one corner of his mouth jerking as though he were making an effort not to snicker. An entertained look all over, similar to he definitely knew my response.

All I knew was he believed me should sign some paper that, as far as he might be concerned, implied power and control, yet to me... it was the pass to something I was unable to try and completely handle. An exit plan, perhaps. A future.

"Miss Angele, I accept you've perused the conditions of the understanding?" His voice was low, estimated, similar to each word was being handpicked to one or the other interest or threaten me.

I gestured, gulping down nerves. The agreement on the work area between us was thick loaded up with statements, conditions, things I could half comprehend. However, my fingers shivered with the longing to go after the pen, sign my name, and step into his reality. A world that guaranteed riches and solidness. Also, perhaps something hazier.

"See, kid," Marcus murmured, prodding me, "you don't need to do this."

Be that as it may, Marcus didn't have the foggiest idea what it seemed like to party day in and day out, with nothing certain. My family required this; they required me to do this. I expected to do this.

Also, the CEO staying there, pausing, knew it.

As I went after the pen, he inclined in nearer, his look choosing my hand. "Keep in mind," he said, his voice smooth yet firm, "this isn't simply a piece of paper. When you're in, you're mine. Completely. No space for questions or misgivings."

My heart beat harder as his words sank in; their weight weighty with something I was unable to disregard. Be that as it may, the manner in which he saw me, similar to he could see directly through me - what I needed, what I dreaded - was attractive. I was unable to turn away.

"Fine," I made due, despite the fact that my voice shuddered. "Simply let me know a certain something." I maintained eye contact with him, trying myself not to recoil. "Why me?"

He gave a half-grin, one eyebrow curving in entertainment. "Why not you?"

His response was unclear, purposefully thus, yet there was something in his eyes that let me know he was at that point ten strides ahead, playing a game I didn't have the foggiest idea about the standards to. He recently paused, knowing that ultimately, interest or urgency or perhaps both would take me leap.

With my unique on the paper, he reclined in his seat, watching me like a tracker evaluating its prey. I felt my heart hustling, each thump an update that I had quite recently given over something I was unable to reclaim.

He shut the agreement, the snap of the envelope reverberating in the quietness between us. Standing up, he crossed the distance between us, his tall casing overshadowing me as he expanded his hand. "Welcome to my world, Angele," he mumbled, voice dropping into a murmur that felt like a chill down my spine.

I grasped his hand, the glow of his skin a glaring difference to the cold quiet of his disposition. Interestingly, I felt the implicit commitment he'd made. That I was as of now not free. That he held the strings now.

"Tomorrow," he said, his tone both instructing and quiet, "you'll start to see precisely exact thing you pursued."

He delivered my hand, venturing back, and without another word, he left me there in the faintly lit room, heart dashing, mind turning. I'd consented to his terms, however I had no clue about what I'd recently ventured into.

The quiet in Henry's cool, moderate office was so thick I could nearly hear my own pulse. Sitting opposite him, I paused my breathing, fingers apprehensively following the edges of the agreement he'd put before me. The pen weighed vigorously in my grasp, a tie holding me on the edge of a choice that could make a huge difference.

"Sign it, or don't," he said, his voice quiet however chillingly separated. "However, don't burn through my time, Angele."

He watched me with those cold blue eyes, the touch of restlessness glimmering underneath the surface. There was something unnervingly attractive about the manner in which he took a gander at me - like he could see directly through my endeavors to stay made.

I gulped hard, attempting to cover the faltering ascending in my chest. "I want to understand what I'm getting into, Mr.Thorn," I made due, my voice steadier than I felt.

"Call me Henry," he said without a hitch, that weak, risky grin gracing his lips. "With respect to what you're getting into, I'd say it's precisely exact thing you're expecting - security, independence from monetary concerns, and a day to day existence that will take you a long way from where you are NOW."

His words lingered palpably, weighty with suggestions. Is it safe to say that he was promising me a future, or selling me an overlaid confine?

I peered down at the agreement, the fresh dark ink defining clear boundaries around my opportunity. In any case, past the lawful terms, there was something different here - a severe rundown of rules, limits, and that chilling expression, "no inquiries posed."

The truth hit me. He needed my responsibility, my quietness, my acquiescence.

"Appears to be a great deal to ask from somebody you scarcely know," I said, raising my look to meet his. My heart beat as his eyes held mine, looking, working out.

"Do you truly need to know me?" he countered, inclining forward marginally. "Since once you step into my world, Angele, there's no way but forward."

His words were both an admonition and a greeting. I felt the draw, a perilously tempting desire to jump recklessly, despite the fact that I knew the dangers. With a flimsy breath, I went after the pen and marked, fixing my destiny with a strong stroke.

When the agreement was marked, his disposition moved. He stood, his tall, strong edge creating a shaded area that appeared to envelope me.

"Welcome to your new life, Mrs. Thorn," he mumbled, the convention bound with something hazier. "I trust you'll see as my home obliging."

Home. The word sounded strange coming from him.

"I have one rule," he proceeded, his tone firm. "Try not to enter the cellar. My rule is untouchable - for any reason."

The reality in his voice sent a chill down my spine, however I dealt with a little gesture. His appearance relaxed just somewhat, his eyes glinting with something practically delicate.

"I'll give you an opportunity to change," he added discreetly. "Be that as it may, recall, Angele... nothing in this world is free."

That evening, I moved into his penthouse, a shocking pinnacle of glass and steel sitting above the city horizon. It seemed like strolling into an alternate world - extravagance enclosed by an inauspicious calm.

As I got comfortable, I saw a bunch of keys on the kitchen counter, each marked flawlessly. However, one stuck out, silver and engraved with a multifaceted plan. The cellar key.

I got it, a rush and an admonition droning through me. For what reason was it prohibited? What was concealed down there that he expected to keep so firmly locked away?

Interest stewed, however I shoved it to the side. The last thing I needed was to test his understanding on my most memorable evening.

Over the course of the following couple of days, our collaborations were brief, formal, accused of an implicit pressure. Henry stayed away, yet I could feel his presence, a shadow waiting in each side of the penthouse. His quiet look, his deliberate words - they resembled unique pieces I was unable to fit together.

Then, at that point, on the fifth night, he showed up in the entryway of the library, watching me unobtrusively as I perused his books. His eyes mellowed for one minute, and I felt my guards disintegrate.

"Do you appreciate secrets, Angele?" he asked, ending the quietness.

"I do," I answered, practically short of breath under his serious look. There was something hauntingly lovely in his watched disposition, similar to he'd fabricated walls to keep everybody out - and me in.

"Alright," he mumbled, inclining nearer, "think about this house your most memorable secret."

Soon thereafter, I wound up remaining at the highest point of the storm cellar flight of stairs, the prohibited key gripped in my grasp. His words replayed to me; his standard clear. However, a mind-boggling desire filled me - the need to open the insider facts he watched so wildly.

I realized I was wavering on a risky edge, playing with limits I scarcely comprehended. In any case, one inquiry beat to me: What's Henry stowing away?

Similarly as I went after the entryway, a strong hand folded over my wrist, pulled me back. I turned, breath got, as Henry's eyes bore into mine, dim and angry.

"What do you believe you're not kidding?" His voice was a low, hazardous murmur.

Furthermore, at that time, I knew - I'd recently crossed a line I was unable to uncross.

From Henry POV

In the faint, surrounding light of his penthouse office, Henry noticed Angele from the edge of his eye as she meandered, entranced. Each move she made felt like a delicate wave over the still waters of his painstakingly contained world.

"Curious is dangerous," Henry mumbled, his voice scarcely in excess of a murmur. Be that as it may, he realized she'd got it. Her wide-peered toward honesty - part enticing, part chafing - tried his control.

Angele's look flashed toward him, a flash of rebellion lighting her eyes. "Interest keeps things fascinating; couldn't you say?"

He sneered, a sluggish, liberal grin that indicated insider facts he'd never share. "Fascinating is a certain something. Perilous is another." He reclined, folding his arms. "You might investigate, yet recall, there are lines you don't cross."

His admonition hung weighty in the air, yet he saw the little, rebellious peculiarity at the edge of her mouth. A tranquil disobedience was flourishing in her heart.

Let her attempt, he thought, practically entertained. She doesn't have the foggiest idea what she's facing.

Afterward, Henry watched her from across the tremendous territory of the lounge area, the flash of candlelight creating shaded areas over her fragile elements. Angele appeared... uncertain, as though the extravagance around her disrupted her. All things considered, she kept her self-restraint.

"I have one inquiry," she said, ending the quietness, her voice a peaceful test. "Why me?"

Henry's look solidified, the sharp edge of his gaze slicing through her inquiry. "Why you?" he repeated, his tone low, practically taunting. "I accept I'm the one holding the agreement."

She flickered, shocked, yet he saw her jaw fix. "Indeed, however individuals don't... offer agreements like yours for not a great explanation." Her look held his, a quiet challenge concealed inside it.

He took as much time as necessary with his reaction, letting the heaviness of the quiet push on her. "Maybe I partake in a test," he said, at long last, inclining nearer, his voice a quieted cautioning. "Be that as it may, recall, Angele, a few things are improved left unchallenged."

For a heartbeat, she froze, her breath getting, however she veiled it rapidly. "Is it true that you are apprehensive I'll figure out something I shouldn't?"

Henry's appearance obscured. "Apprehensive? Not exactly the word I'd utilize." His fingers followed along the cleaned edge of the table, cool and purposeful. "Be that as it may, I wouldn't be so anxious to find out."

Her lips separated as though to press further, however his look quieted her. To behave recklessly, so be it. In any case, she would realize what it intended to confront the intensity.

As she investigated the house later, Henry limped along her, his presence a steady shadow. She advanced toward the cellar entryway, the one spot he'd illegal.

He watched her, taking note of each and every wavering, each speculative step, the manner in which she waited by the entryway, drawn regardless of herself. Her hand laid on the handle; her knuckles white.

"Angele," he called, voice beguilingly quiet.

She twirled around, frightened. "I... I wasn't..."

"Weren't you?" His tone was smooth, deadly in its delicate quality. "Cautious at this point. A few entryways are best left shut." He ventured nearer, his presence overpowering, a situation unfolding just underneath the surface.

"I just..." She followed off, her voice scarcely a murmur, a mix of disobedience and dread. "Why keep something locked on the off chance that it's not intended to be opened?"

The edges of his mouth lifted in a grin that held no glow. "Since certain things need insurance... particularly from blameless hands."

Her look gleamed away, her cheeks flushing. In any case, Henry connected, shifting her jawline up, driving her to check him out. "I let you know there are lines. Try not to make me show you where they lead."

His words, dull and hazardous, folded over her like a commitment and a danger at the same time.

She'd quite recently ventured out into his reality... also, he'd ensure she always remembered it.

The following morning, Henry tracked down her in the review, looking over records she should not be checking out. He stepped in unobtrusively, his strides quieted on the thick floor covering. She didn't see until he made a sound as if to speak, taking her leap.

"Once more, interest strikes," he commented, collapsing his arms. "I thought we examined limits."

Her face flushed. "I wasn't... All in all, I was just..."

He rested up against the work area, adequately close to agitate her. "Angele, I don't mess around with individuals who can't deal with the standards."

She gulped, apparently surprised yet declining to withdraw. "Then, at that point, perhaps you shouldn't stay quiet."

"Insider facts?" He curved an eyebrow, faking blamelessness. "I have none that worry you. Not except if you choose to make them yours." His look waited on her, holding her stuck set up.

She gripped her clench hands, constraining her look to remain predictable. "I'm not terrified of you."

Henry laughed, low and dull. "Fearless words," he mumbled, brushing his thumb over her cheek, allowing his touch to wait sufficiently lengthy to amaze her. "How about we perceive how long they last."

That night, as they sat opposite one another, the air popped with pressure, an implicit test hanging between them.

"In the event that you continue to search for answers you needn't bother with, Angele," he mumbled, his voice very nearly a murmur, "you probably won't generally care for what you find."

She met his look, a gleam of vulnerability shadowing her eyes. "What are you scared of me finding, Henry?"

He took a sluggish breath, his look penetrating. "Excuse? I don't fear you, Angele. Be that as it may, I'm cautioning you... you ought to be cautious what you wish for."

She faltered, scanning his face for something she was unable to name. "Perhaps I'm fed up with cautious."

Henry's jaw fixed, a dull commitment blazing in his eyes. "Cautious is all that stands among interest and lament."

As Angele's look held his, Henry's words floated in the air, an implicit greeting and a test at the same time.

From Henry's POV

I'm used to control, to everyone around me bending to my will without a word. So, watching Angele explore the penthouse with that wide-eyed curiosity of hers, it's... entertaining, even if I don't fully understand why. She's far from the type who'd fit into this world, yet she has something different-a quiet defiance that stirs something I thought I'd locked away years ago. But that spark could be dangerous.

Today, I decided to push her boundaries.

"Angele," I call out, my voice echoing through the polished marble and glass hallways. She appears from the library, a touch of apprehension in her eyes but her chin held high. That small show of resistance sparks something darkly satisfying in me. She's already guessing this isn't going to be a casual chat.

I motion toward the basement door, the one door she knows is off-limits. "Follow me."

We descended the staircase, each step down thick with tension. The silence between us is nearly palpable. I can tell she's dying to ask a hundred questions, but she bites her tongue, which is probably wise. A gentle tremor in her hand gives her away; she's nervous. But she follows, cautious yet curious. Brave, I'll give her that.

At the bottom, I open the heavy door to my private study. The room is dimly lit, walls lined with dark mahogany shelves holding everything from rare books to artifacts that each carry a story no one but me would understand. And in the corner-the one forbidden drawer she won't touch if she knows what's good for her.

"Angele," I start, walking over to a sleek cabinet by my desk. "You'll be spending time here. I expect absolute respect for my boundaries." I give her a pointed look, letting her know how serious I am. "Especially when it comes to that drawer."

Her gaze flicks over to it, a flash of curiosity betraying her. But she nods, clearly forcing herself to look away.

Angele shifts on her feet, clearly tense, her eyes avoiding mine. But I catch her glancing at me, just a quick flicker of those wide brown eyes that are far too expressive. It's enough to know she's intrigued, maybe even attracted despite her caution.

"Tell me something, Angele," I say, leaning against the desk, a smirk playing at the edge of my lips. "Did you think this contract would come with boundaries that don't push you?"

She hesitates, her brows furrowing. "No... but I didn't expect you'd make it feel like a cage either."

A cage. I step closer, enjoying how her breath hitches, the slightest flush rising to her cheeks. "Think of it less like a cage," I murmur, "and more as... protection."

She scoffs, breaking her gaze from mine, looking anywhere else. "Protection? From what?"

"From yourself." I tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet my gaze. "Curiosity's a dangerous thing, Angele. Especially when it comes to things you won't understand."

She bites her lip, a flicker of defiance igniting in her eyes. "Maybe you should trust me more. Or do you think I'm just some naive girl?"

I chuckled, amused by her boldness. "Oh, you're far from naive," I say, letting my voice drop just enough to unnerve her. "But that doesn't mean you're ready for everything in this world."

She steps back, folding her arms, trying to shield herself from the weight of my gaze. "Then why did you bring me here? You can't expect me to follow all your rules blindly forever, Henry."

My name on her lips feels... foreign. I close the space between us, hovering close enough to feel the warmth of her skin. "Maybe that's exactly what I expect."

Angele's eyes widen, but she holds my stare, her jaw set in determination. She's close to breaking, yet there's that spark, that damn fire in her that makes her more compelling-and more dangerous.

"Angele," I say softly, but my tone holds an edge, a warning, "some doors are meant to stay locked. Don't let your curiosity end up being your downfall."

She nods, barely, but I can tell she's rattled. It's a start.

As I walk her back upstairs, I make sure to keep my tone cold, distant keeping her just far enough to feel safe, yet close enough to feel the heat. But before she leaves the room, I murmur, "Remember, Angele... not every secret is meant for prying eyes."

Just as I'm about to turn away, she surprises me. "Then maybe you shouldn't have made it so tempting, Henry."

Her words linger as she slips away, leaving me in the dim light, a smirk on my face. She's already drawn into the game-she just doesn't know the rules yet.

Angele's POV

As the smooth lift slid open to the highest level, Angele took a full breath, steadying herself. Henry's penthouse resembled a completely different - every last bit of marble, glass, and muffled steel felt like an expansion of him: cool, controlled, scaring. Furthermore, presently, it was hers, in some measure for a brief time, to wander... inside limits.

She was unable to prevent her eyes from wandering toward the foyer prompting his review. The taboo entryway. It seemed like it called to her, provoking her to check whether she had the nerve to find what lay past. In any case, his admonition replayed to her, sharp and clear, similar to his look when he'd gave it: "That entryway stays locked. No exemptions, Angele."

In any case, the interest tingled at her.

Lost in her viewpoints, she almost missed the steward, James, moving with his typical calm effectiveness, conveying a silver plate stacked with immaculate cloth napkins. He looked at her with a knowing grin, one temple raised as though to say, excessively near the edge, right?

She attempted to dismiss it, yet the inquiry got out before she could stop herself. "James... what precisely is it that Blue - Mr. Thistle keeps concealed back there?"

He didn't overlook anything, the well mannered cover set up as he put down the plate and changed his gloves. "Miss Angele, interest is something fine, yet it has its cutoff points, wouldn't you concur?" His tone was delicate, however there was a propensity - something that felt like an admonition enveloped by silk.

"Is it hazardous?" she squeezed, her voice a murmur now.

James offered a weak grin, his eyes indiscernible. "You should ask Mr. Thorn yourself..."

Angele dismissed, disappointed. Each individual in this house appeared to watch Henry's mysteries, come hell or high water. In any case, the more they kept, the more she ached for replies. Maybe she'd been dropped into a fantasy turned out badly, where the ruler was dim and cryptic, his palace occupied with locked rooms and shadows.

As she turned around to her room, her fingers brushed over the key he'd given her to each and every piece of the penthouse. She stopped, feeling the cool metal against her palm, its weight far heavier than it ought to be. Perhaps only a tad look wouldn't do any harm...

However, something halted her. The heaviness of his look from prior, the implicit commitment that he'd be aware assuming she disrupted his guideline.

That night, as she arranged for bed, a delicate thump sounded on her entryway. She opened it to find Henry remaining there, his look cool and incomprehensible.

"Angele," he said, his voice a low thunder, "I figured you could go along with me for a nightcap."

Shocked yet incapable to oppose the draw of his extreme look, she gestured, following him to the living room where a fire snapped delicately. He poured her a beverage, watching her intently as she took it, her fingers brushing his scarcely.

She could feel the heaviness of his gaze on her, weighty and loaded up with something she was unable to name. "For what reason did you wed me, Mr. Thistle?" she asked delicately, her voice bolder than she felt.

Briefly, he didn't reply, his eyes fixed on the glinting blazes. "You interest me, Angele," he mumbled at last, his voice like velvet over steel. "Be that as it may, at times... curious can be something dangerous."

His words lingered palpably, the snapping fire creating long shaded areas that moved across his face. She shuddered, feeling the heaviness of his advance notice settle like a stone in her chest. Yet, her interest just erupted more grounded, similar to a moth attracted to the fire, even as she experienced its intensity singing excessively close.

"So... what happens when curiosity wins?" she murmured, practically trying him.

He inclined in, his lips simply creeps from hers, his eyes dull and perilous. "Then it's a round of endurance, sweetheart," he mumbled, his voice delicate however accused of something basic. "Is it safe to say that you are ready for the stakes?"

The inquiry waited in the air, unanswered, as he pulled away, leaving her with the agitating inclination that the genuine game had just barely started.