Contract Marriage With My Secret Zillionaire Husband

Dahlia pushed against the heavy oak doors of the Ballard Estate. The central air conditioning blasted her face the second the gap widened. The sudden freeze made her shiver. She dug her fingernails into the cheap canvas strap of her tote bag.

The crystal chandelier in the foyer blinded her. She squinted, her retinas burning as they tried to adjust to the aggressive luxury. It was a stark contrast to the dim, flickering bulb in her cramped apartment.

Heel clicks echoed against the marble floor. Eveline Ballard descended the spiral staircase. She held a martini glass in her right hand.

Eveline stopped dead in the center of the hallway. She positioned her body to completely block the path to the living room.

Her eyes dragged up and down Dahlia's faded trench coat. A smirk pulled at the corner of Eveline's mouth.

"I heard about the Mcdonald family auction last week," Eveline said. Her voice was light, floating in the cold air. "It must be devastating to watch your entire life sold off to the highest bidder."

A sharp pain pricked the center of Dahlia's chest. She forced her spine to snap straight. She locked her eyes onto Eveline's.

Dahlia's gaze drifted down. She noticed the clasp on Eveline's limited-edition Cartier bracelet. It was fastened backward.

The metal dug awkwardly into Eveline's skin. It was a glaring sign of someone trying too hard to wear something they weren't used to. The insecurity of new money trying to intimidate old money.

Eveline took a step forward. The smell of strong gin and expensive perfume invaded Dahlia's space.

"Don't even think about eyeing the Ballard family trust fund," Eveline whispered. Her grip on the martini glass tightened. "You are a charity case now."

Dahlia let out a short, flat laugh.

"I have zero interest in anyone's charity," Dahlia said. Her voice was steady. The air around them seemed to shift, the pressure entirely on Eveline now.

Footsteps sounded from the second floor. Cindi Matthews appeared at the top of the stairs. She lifted the hem of her silk dress as she walked down.

Eveline's face transformed instantly. The malicious sneer vanished. A sickeningly sweet smile stretched across her lips.

"Cindi, you look beautiful tonight," Eveline called out at her stepmother.

Dahlia's stomach churned. The bile rose in her throat at the fake display. She swallowed hard, forcing the nausea down for her mother's sake.

Acie Ballard walked down right behind Cindi. He wrapped a thick arm around her waist. He looked every bit the protective patriarch.

Acie walked straight toward Dahlia, his heavy footsteps muffled by the expensive rug. He stopped just short of Eveline's line of sight, shielding his next move from his malicious daughter. His eyes, cold and calculating, locked onto Dahlia's face. He reached slowly into the inner pocket of his tailored suit jacket. His fingers emerged holding a crisp, pre-written check.

"Take this," Acie said. His voice dropped to a low, tight murmur meant only for her and Cindi's ears. "It is enough to settle the immediate creditors. Just don't make a scene and embarrass us."

Cindi clasped her hands together. Her eyes pleaded with Dahlia. She wanted her daughter to take the easy way out.

Eveline's knuckles turned completely white around the stem of her glass.

Dahlia stared at the slip of paper. A wave of disgust washed over her. She remembered how his corporate maneuvers had cornered her father. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but she forced her breathing to remain slow and steady. She raised her hand, her movements deliberate. She pressed her fingertips against the cold paper of the check and pushed it gently back toward Acie's chest.

"Thank you, Acie," Dahlia said. "But my digital content creation is generating revenue. I can support myself."

Acie's face flushed. He awkwardly slid the check back into his pocket. Cindi let out a heavy sigh that sounded like a physical weight dropping to the floor.

Eveline's shoulders dropped. The tension left her body. A flash of pure triumph crossed her eyes.

The butler stepped into the hallway. He announced that the French dinner was served.

They moved to the long dining room. The clinking of silver forks against bone china echoed off the high ceiling.

Eveline leaned forward over her plate.

"So, Dahlia," Eveline said loudly. "How is Kirt Rose doing? Is the wedding still on?"

Dahlia's hand jerked. The serrated edge of her steak knife scraped hard against the porcelain plate. The screeching sound made everyone flinch.

Dahlia took a slow breath. She let the oxygen fill her tight lungs. She chewed her food, swallowed, and set her knife down.

"That is none of your business," Dahlia said.

She pushed her chair back. The wood scraped against the rug. She excused herself to the bathroom to fix her makeup.

She locked the bathroom door behind her. The silence was immediate.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out. A text message glared from the screen. It was from Vince, the Wall Street debt collector.

Dahlia turned on the faucet. She splashed freezing water onto her face. The shock of the cold cleared her mind.

She dried her face with a heavy towel. She typed her reply.

"I will meet you downtown at nine tomorrow morning."

The bitter smell of espresso hung heavy in the Seattle downtown coffee shop.

Dahlia pushed the glass door open. Her eyes scanned the crowded room. She spotted the man in the black suit sitting in the corner booth. A thick scar ran down the side of his neck.

Vince slammed a massive stack of legal documents onto the marble table. The impact shook the surface.

Dark coffee sloshed over the rim of the mug. Several hot drops splattered onto the crisp white cuff of Dahlia's shirt.

Dahlia did not flinch. She pulled a paper napkin from the dispenser and dabbed at the wet stain. Her eyes locked onto the bold print of the debt transfer agreement.

Vince let out a harsh laugh.

"You are a bankrupt little girl," Vince said. "What makes you think you can guarantee this kind of money?"

Dahlia reached into her bag. She pulled out her iPad and unlocked the screen. She slid it across the table.

"Look at the data," Dahlia said.

The screen showed the steady revenue streams and explosive growth curves of her social media accounts.

Vince swiped his thick finger across the glass. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second. He cleared his throat loudly to cover his surprise.

He tapped his knuckles against the table.

"I need a twenty percent excess late fee clause," Vince demanded. "For my risk."

Dahlia leaned forward. Her spine was rigid. She stared at the scratched-out numbers, a memory flashing in her mind. She remembered sitting in her father's mahogany office, listening to his corporate lawyer explain predatory lending limits just before the bankruptcy hit. The legal jargon had stuck with her. She took a slow, steadying breath, letting the confidence of her old life seep back into her posture.

"I recall the advice my father's corporate lawyer gave us," Dahlia stated. "I am pretty sure a rate that high is completely illegal here. You can try to enforce that clause, but my attorney will have a field day with it in court, and you get absolutely nothing."

Vince stared at her. The air between them felt thick enough to choke on.

He let out a heavy breath. He grabbed a red pen and violently scratched out the late fee clause.

Dahlia pulled the cap off her Montblanc pen. She pressed the nib against the signature line. She signed her name with fast, sharp strokes.

The crushing weight of her father's debt was now legally hers. Strangely, the tight knot in her stomach unraveled. She felt a bizarre sense of relief.

Vince shoved the papers into his leather briefcase.

"You have guts, kid," Vince muttered.

Dahlia paid for her coffee and walked out the door. The midday sun hit her face. It burned her red, sleep-deprived eyes.

Across the busy street, Eveline walked out of a high-end boutique. Several Chanel shopping bags hung from her wrists.

Eveline looked past the crawling traffic. Her eyes locked onto the corner. She saw Dahlia standing next to Vince.

Eveline knew exactly who Vince was. Everyone in her circle knew the ruthless distressed-asset buyer.

A cruel smile stretched across Eveline's face. She pictured Dahlia being hunted down by loan sharks.

Eveline dropped her bags. She pulled out her iPhone and zoomed the camera lens all the way in. She snapped a photo of Dahlia's back as she stood next to the scarred man.

Dahlia felt a prickle on the back of her neck. She turned her head toward the street. A massive double-decker bus roared past, blocking her view of the boutique.

Eveline ducked behind a window display. She opened her group chat and attached the photo.

Her phone screen lit up instantly. Notifications flooded in. Her friends sent strings of laughing emojis, mocking Dahlia's incoming jail time.

Eveline locked her phone. She was certain Dahlia would come crawling to the Rose family to beg for a bailout.

Dahlia pulled her coat tighter against the autumn wind. She walked down the concrete stairs into the subway station.

She swiped her card at the turnstile. Her phone started ringing. The sound was sharp and piercing.

She pulled it out of her pocket. The name "Mrs. Rose" flashed on the screen.

Dahlia's heart dropped into her stomach. Her blood ran cold.

She took a deep breath. The roar of the incoming train filled the station. She pressed the green answer button. Her jaw set hard.

The screech of the subway brakes echoed in Dahlia's ears. Mrs. Rose's voice cut through the noise. It was an order for afternoon tea, not an invitation.

"I will be there in an hour," Dahlia said. Her voice held zero emotion. She ended the call.

She walked back into her cramped apartment. The sky outside the dirty window was turning black. Thick clouds rolled in.

Dahlia walked to her cheap dresser. She pulled open the top drawer. She reached all the way to the back and pulled out a dark blue velvet box.

Her thumb rested on the soft fabric for one second.

She popped the lid open. The five-carat pink diamond sat perfectly still inside. It was the ring Kirt had given her.

A brief ache squeezed her throat. She remembered the day he put it on her finger. But the memory faded fast, replaced by the cold reality of her bank account.

She snapped the box shut. She shoved it deep into her purse. She ordered an Uber on her phone.

The car drove into the gated community. Heavy rain began to smash against the windshield. The drops sounded like rocks hitting the glass.

The driver looked at the massive iron gates in front of them. He glanced at Dahlia through the rearview mirror.

The red light on the security camera blinked as it scanned her face. A heavy mechanical clunk echoed in the rain. The iron gates slowly groaned open, allowing the modest Uber to pass through the heavily guarded perimeter. The contrast between her cheap ride and the sprawling estate made her chest tighten.

Dahlia handed the driver a cash tip as the car pulled right up to the massive front porch. She pushed the car door open. She stepped out, her eyes immediately locking onto a brand-new, bright red Porsche parked in the prime spot. It was Kirt's. The sight of it-a frivolous, million-dollar purchase made while her family drowned in debt-sent a hot spike of anger through her veins. She gripped the strap of her bag, her knuckles turning white. The wind whipped a stray gust of freezing rain against her bare legs as she rushed to the covered entryway.

She reached the massive front porch. She brushed the water off her trench coat.

The double oak doors pulled open from the inside. Maeve, the head housekeeper, stood there in her stiff uniform.

Maeve looked at Dahlia's wet clothes. A flicker of pity crossed her eyes. She handed Dahlia a dry white towel.

"Thank you," Dahlia said. She wiped the cold water from her cheeks. She kept her spine completely straight.

"Madam is waiting in the sunroom," Maeve said in a robotic tone. "Please change into the guest slippers. The carpets were just cleaned."

Dahlia stepped out of her muddy leather shoes. She slid her cold feet into the thin slippers. Her movements were slow and deliberate.

She walked down the long hallway. The air smelled heavily of expensive agarwood and fresh roses. It made her head throb.

She looked at the console table against the wall. The silver framed photo of her and Kirt was gone. The tabletop was completely bare.

Her chest tightened. That empty space confirmed exactly what was about to happen.

Dahlia stopped in front of the French glass doors of the sunroom. She sucked in a lungful of air.

Maeve pushed the doors open and announced her.

Mrs. Rose sat on a velvet armchair. She held a cup of Darjeeling tea. She did not look up.

The rain hammered against the glass roof of the sunroom. Inside, the heater blew warm air. The physical difference made Dahlia feel sick.

Dahlia walked to the empty sofa across from Mrs. Rose. She did not wait for permission. She sat down.

Mrs. Rose finally lifted her chin. Her sharp eyes cut across Dahlia's damp hair.

Mrs. Rose set her teacup down on the saucer. The porcelain clinked loudly in the quiet room.

"Your father left a massive hole," Mrs. Rose said. She stated the exact dollar amount of the Mcdonald family debt.

Dahlia did not argue. She reached her hand into her purse. Her fingers wrapped around the velvet box.