I Became His Contract Wife, But He Wants Forever

Gianna Lloyd burst from the apartment, her heart hammering against her ribs as she fled.

Terror etched across her features, she sprinted forward with her torn shirt exposing one shoulder to the cool night air.

She dared not pause even for a breath, convinced her pursuer would seize her at any moment.

When she collided with someone's solid chest, Gianna's gaze darted upward in alarm.

Before her stood a man whose striking features conveyed aristocratic elegance despite his solemn expression.

Before she could react, a furious voice echoed from behind her. "Damn it! Where the hell did that bitch go? When I get my hands on her, I'll fuck her the whole night."

Every muscle in Gianna's body tensed at the sound; capture was unthinkable.

She searched the stranger's face, and something primal awakened within her.

"Sir, please help me, I beg you..." Gianna whispered, her trembling fingers clutching his sleeve while tears glistened in her eyes.

Tristan Murray glanced down at the woman who had crashed into his arms. Annoyance flashed across his face, but it dissolved into recognition when he saw her face.

Just as despair began to creep into Gianna's heart, Tristan enveloped her in his overcoat.

His voice was low, steady. "Don't resist. Just follow me."

Darkness surrounded Gianna, yet rather than fear, an unexpected sense of security washed over her.

Tristan's arm encircled her waist, holding her against him with unusual protectiveness, as though fearing she might vanish.

Oblivious to his peculiar behavior, Gianna instinctively clutched his shirt and allowed him to guide her forward.

The subtle scent of alcohol emanating from his skin crashed into Gianna's heightened senses.

Shortly thereafter, she heard hinges creak as a door swung open, and he ushered her into his apartment.

The door clicked shut, but Tristan maintained his protective hold.

Gianna clung to him, her self-control evaporating with each passing second.

His intoxicating scent overwhelmed her, drawing her body towards his with magnetic force, creating a desperate longing for skin-to-skin contact.

Tristan tilted Gianna's chin upward, noting her unfocused gaze and the unnatural flush spreading across her cheeks. His brow furrowed with concern. "Were you drugged?"

Now sheltered from immediate danger, the final threads of Gianna's rationality unraveled, allowing the drug to claim complete dominion over her consciousness, rendering Tristan's words incomprehensible.

She registered only the tantalizing sensation of his cool, calloused fingers against her feverish skin-a touch she found impossible to resist.

Following primal instinct, she rose onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his, whispering, "Help me... Please..."

Gianna pressed her mouth to his, instinctively parting his lips and offering the velvet caress of her tongue.

After a moment of stunned hesitation, Tristan returned her kiss with unexpected fervor.

In that instant, Gianna discovered that kisses existed in countless variations.

Molten desire pooled between her thighs, intensifying when his cool palm enveloped her heated breast and teased the sensitive peak. For the first time, she experienced pleasure cascading through her body like liquid fire.

Lost in sensation, Gianna could not determine whether the drug alone was responsible for her abandon.

When he finally joined their bodies, confusion and exhilaration mingled within her. Gianna clutched his back urgently, her fingertips discovering a landscape of raised scars.

There was no time for questions; she buried her face against his neck, her voice quavering as she pleaded, "Harder..."

Without hesitation, Tristan complied, increasing the intensity of his movements.

His burning chest pressed against hers as exquisite pleasure engulfed her until consciousness itself dissolved into blissful oblivion.

When Gianna finally awakened, afternoon light streamed through unfamiliar windows.

The strange sensations coursing through her body jolted her fully awake, and she bolted upright.

Across from the bed sat a stranger impeccably attired, his strikingly handsome face bearing a refined yet gentle demeanor, an aura of restrained power surrounding him.

Gianna panicked. Had she and this man slept together last night?

"Awake?" Tristan absently rubbed the ring adorning his middle finger, his tone deliberately neutral.

Gianna's racing thoughts scattered, and she lowered her gaze, unable to meet his eyes.

She felt as though there existed no safe place for her gaze to land in the entire room.

"About last night..." She hesitated, struggling to find the right words.

But Tristan cut her off before she could continue. "I'll take responsibility for what happened."

Awareness crept back into Gianna's mind like a slow-rising tide, washing in fragments of the previous night's events. She sat frozen, momentarily stunned as rationality returned and memories flooded her consciousness.

Her beloved grandmother had fallen gravely ill, having been rushed to the intensive care unit three separate times. Each day brought mounting medical expenses that towered beyond her financial reach, creating a chasm between her grandmother's needs and her ability to meet them.

Driven by desperation, Gianna had approached her estranged father for assistance. His response had shattered her-he had demanded she sleep with a film director in exchange for covering the medical fees, so that her stepsister could launch her entertainment career.

For her grandmother's sake, Gianna had swallowed her pride and dignity, reluctantly agreeing to the arrangement. At the director's apartment, she had discovered too late that her wine had been drugged.

The director had leered at her, crudely announcing that she was someone he could bed without payment and that she'd been foolish enough to fall for an empty promise.

The devastating truth crystallized in that moment-her father and stepmother had never intended to help with her grandmother's medical costs. They had merely sought to exploit her body as currency to advance her stepsister's ambitions.

When the director was momentarily distracted, Gianna had seized her chance, fleeing in panic only to collide with the man now standing before her-the stranger who had become her unexpected savior.

And now, this same man claimed he wanted to take responsibility for what happened last night.

Gianna lowered her gaze, her voice barely above a whisper. "Last night, we..."

"We slept together."

Those simple words sent heat rushing to Gianna's face, embarrassment coloring her cheeks.

After gathering her composure, she continued, "Thank you for helping me, sir, but you don't owe me anything. Let's just pretend last night never happened."

She reached for the shirt lying beside the bed, hastily drawing it over her exposed upper body.

Tristan observed the shy woman before him, his mind involuntarily replaying intimate moments from the previous night-her soft gasps, the sensation of her body against his. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

Noticing his unwavering gaze, Gianna shifted uncomfortably. "Sir, could you turn around? I need to get dressed."

Her words snapped Tristan back to reality. He cleared his throat and stepped out of the bedroom, allowing her privacy.

Gianna exhaled deeply in relief, hurriedly slipping into her clothes. She ran her fingers through her disheveled hair, attempting to restore order before the mirror, then emerged from the bedroom.

As she passed Tristan, she bowed once more in appreciation and moved towards the exit.

"Wait." Tristan's voice halted her just as her hand reached the door.

She turned, a flicker of wariness in her eyes. "Is there something else, sir?"

His gaze locked onto hers, unwavering. "I meant what I said-I want to take responsibility for what happened. Don't be so quick to dismiss it. If you ever change your mind, come find me."

Gianna studied him, skepticism clouding her thoughts. A man so insistent on helping a woman he barely knew? It defied everything she had been taught to believe.

Her father had cheated on her mother. Her grandmother had been betrayed by a man too. She had grown up with the belief that men could not be trusted.

Suppressing the emotions swirling within her, Gianna shook her head. "That won't be necessary. We won't see each other again."

Tristan remained silent, watching as she turned and walked away. As he stared after her retreating figure, there was affection in his eyes.

After all these years, she no longer recognized him.

...

The evening air greeted Gianna as she stepped out of the apartment.

For the first time in her life, she felt truly lost. Stripped of control, betrayed by her own father, and now, left with the haunting reality that she had lost something she could never reclaim.

But there was no time to dwell on pain. Her grandmother was waiting for her.

After considerable deliberation, Gianna reluctantly dialed Aaron Fletcher's number. At this desperate juncture, Aaron represented her only potential lifeline.

Aaron was her sole so-called friend in this city.

Most significantly, Aaron was also the man who had once saved her life.

She had always carried Aaron close to her heart, and had it not been for her grandmother's critical condition and her father's malicious scheming, she would never seek Aaron's assistance.

The line connected to a cacophony of pulsing music, followed by Aaron's careless drawl. "Gianna, I'm at the Moonview Club. If you need something, come here."

Before Gianna could formulate a response, the line went dead.

She stood motionless, a wave of bitterness washing over her.

From their high school days until now-seven long years-Aaron had treated her with the same dismissive attitude, summoning her at his convenience and discarding her just as easily.

Yet in this moment of desperation, Aaron remained her only hope.

The Moonview Club was an exclusive establishment in Enoria, reserved for the elite-those with wealth, influence, or the right connections. Entry wasn't granted to just anyone; membership was a prerequisite, and privilege was the currency.

As Gianna approached the entrance, her path was immediately blocked by a stern-faced security guard who assessed her with a practiced eye. "Miss, may I see your membership card?"

Gianna's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she stood before him, acutely aware of her outsider status. "I don't have a membership. Could you wait while I make a call?"

She stepped aside, fingers trembling slightly as she dialed Aaron's number.

The line rang repeatedly, echoing her growing anxiety, but no one answered. After several attempts, she lowered the phone, disappointment etching lines across her face.

With reluctance weighing heavily on her shoulders, Gianna approached the security guard once more. "Sir, I promise I'm not causing trouble. I just need to speak to someone inside-it's urgent. Could you make an exception, just this once?"

The guard's expression remained impassive, unmoved by her plea. "I'm sorry, but rules are rules. No membership, no entry."

Unable to breach this fortress of exclusivity, Gianna retreated to a nearby corner, her shoulders hunched as she tried Aaron's number again. Her only hope was ignoring her.

And as if the night wasn't cruel enough, the sky suddenly darkened, and a light drizzle began to fall.

Autumn rains were unpredictable, arriving without warning, bringing with them a biting chill that seeped into the bones.

Within minutes, the drizzle turned into steady rainfall, the cold seeping through Gianna's thin clothes.

She shivered, her arms wrapping around herself instinctively.

Her fingers were nearly numb, yet she continued shielding her phone, stubbornly trying again. Still no answer.

Just as she was about to dial once more, a shadow fell over her, blocking the rain.

Instinctively, Gianna looked up to see a strikingly handsome face, one she recognized from the night before.

Dressed in all black, Tristan exuded an imposing presence, and in his hand, he held an umbrella, tilted slightly to shelter her from the downpour.

Her voice was unsteady. "Why are you here?"

"I was passing by." His tone was neutral, but there was something unreadable in his gaze. "By the way, my offer still stands."

Gianna stiffened. She knew what he meant.

Judging by his demeanor, the tailored cut of his clothes, and the air of authority he carried, she assumed he came from wealth. And now, he was here, likely to settle last night's encounter with a wad of hush money.

Her eyes drifted to his rain-soaked shoulder, noting his sacrifice of comfort for her benefit. After a moment's hesitation, she asked timidly, "Could you lend me some money first?"

"Of course," Tristan replied without a moment's hesitation.

Gianna blinked in surprise, taken aback by his immediate agreement. "You're not even going to ask how much?"

"Any amount is fine." Tristan absently rubbed the ring on his middle finger, his gaze intensifying as he studied her face. "But I have one condition. I'll give you the money if you marry me."

Gianna's eyes widened in shock, her lips parting slightly. Had she heard him correctly? He wasn't offering payment for her silence; he wanted matrimony?

Fear crept slowly into her heart, spreading like ice through her veins. She shook her head repeatedly, backing away slightly. "I'm sorry, sir, but I can't agree to that. I already have someone I care about."

Tristan glanced at the club's entrance, understanding dawning on him. "The man you care about left you standing in the cold rain while he enjoys himself inside?"

The color drained from Gianna's face. Her lips moved as if to form a rebuttal, but no sound emerged.

Witnessing her vulnerable state, Tristan sighed, a mixture of anger and compassion crossing his features. "This is your last chance. Take a moment to think it through."

Inner conflict tore at Gianna's thoughts. Her grandmother's illness required immediate funds, yet the prospect of binding herself to this stranger, despite their intimate encounter, filled her with apprehension.

Her eyes drifted once more to the club's entrance, a final, desperate hope that Aaron might emerge and rescue her from this impossible choice.

At that precise moment, her phone erupted in sound. The hospital's number flashed across the screen, sending a wave of anxiety crashing through her.

With trembling hands, Gianna answered the call.

"Is this Miss Lloyd? Your grandmother's condition has worsened. We need your immediate authorization for surgery, or we may not be able to save her." The doctor's stern voice pierced through the ambient noise of rainfall.

Panic flooded Gianna's system, her eyes reddening with unshed tears. Her hands grew icy, barely maintaining their grip on the phone as the gravity of the situation settled upon her.

"Miss Lloyd? Are you there?"

"Yes. I'll get back to you as soon as possible."

After disconnecting the call, Gianna clenched her fists so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. In that moment of crisis, clarity emerged from chaos. Her decision crystallized with painful finality.

She turned to face Tristan, resolution hardening her features despite the fear still lurking in her eyes. "I agree. Save my grandmother, and I'll marry you."