PRESIDENT'S CONTRACT WIFE

Nina Morrison finishes her late-night shift, exhaustion weighing heavily on her. She changes out of her waitress uniform and stares through the rain-streaked window. Her heart sinks. It's well past the last bus, and she knows a taxi would cost more than five dollars-money she needs for her father's dinner. Sighing, she braces herself for the long walk home.

Pulling her thin coat tighter around her, Nina steps into the storm. Cold rain pelts her face, and gusts of wind whip her hair into a mess. Her shoes, already cracked and worn, squelch with each step, but she presses forward, determined. "I have to get home," she mutters under her breath, ignoring the sting of water seeping into her shoes.

Suddenly, a blinding flash of headlights cuts through the downpour. Tires screech on the wet pavement, and the loud "Creak!" of brakes fills the air. Nina freezes as a silver car careens toward her, barely stopping in time. Her body jerks, and before she can react, the force of the near-collision knocks her to the ground.

Pain explodes in her knees and arms as she hits the pavement hard. Wincing, she struggles to push herself up, but her legs tremble beneath her, refusing to cooperate.

The car door slams, and a man storms toward her, his voice a growl. "Are you crazy, you bitch? Trying to get yourself killed?"

Nina looks up, her vision blurred from the rain and pain, but fury quickly replaces her shock. "You ran a red light!" she shouts, her voice shaking with both fear and rage. "You think because you're rich you can break the law? I've got your license plate. I'll report you!"

The driver sneers, but before he can respond, the car window rolls down slowly. A deep, commanding voice cuts through the tension. "Give her $100,000. Let's be done with it."

The driver instantly switches tones, bowing his head slightly. "Yes, sir."

Without warning, a thick pile of cash is thrown at Nina, the bills slapping her cheek as they hit the wet ground around her. The insult stings more than the impact. Her hands shake as she glares at the driver, his smirk daring her to pick up the money like a beggar. Rage surges through her.

With a swift, furious motion, Nina grabs the crumpled banknotes and hurls them back at the driver. "I don't need your filthy money!" she yells, her voice cutting through the rain. The bills hit him square in the back, and he spins around, eyes burning with fury, his fists clenching.

"Ryan!" The voice from the car halts the driver's advance. The man in the backseat speaks with a chilling calm that instantly commands attention. Nina looks into the car, her eyes locking onto the man's face.

His features are sharp, almost too perfect, like a sculpture carved from stone. The streetlight glints off his black eyes, which glimmer with amusement. "Come here," he says, his voice low but compelling, his finger beckoning her forward.

Against her better judgment, Nina finds herself drawn to the car, her feet moving as if under a spell. Her heart pounds in her chest, a mixture of fear and confusion rising inside her.

Just as she nears the window, his hand shoots out like a viper, grabbing her chin in a painful grip. "What the-" Nina gasps, trying to wrench herself free, but his hold is ironclad.

The man's lips curl into a mocking smile. "How could there be a woman who doesn't love money?" His voice drips with condescension, as if she's just another pawn in a game only he understands.

Nina's eyes blaze with defiance. "Let go of me!" she spits, her voice shaking with fury and humiliation. "You think you can get away with this just because you're rich? I'll go to the police! You ran a red light and now you're harassing me!"

His grip tightens, and Nina feels the sharp pain shooting up her jaw. She winces but refuses to look away, glaring at him with every ounce of strength she can muster.

The man's dark eyes narrow, and for a moment, something flickers in his gaze-something cold and dangerous. "A brave little mouse," he murmurs, almost amused, before finally releasing her.

Nina stumbles back, barely catching herself as her legs give way. Her heart races, adrenaline pumping through her veins as she rubs her aching jaw. Before she can respond, a sleek gold card is tossed from the window, landing in a small puddle at her feet.

"Take that to the police if you want," the man says, his tone dripping with arrogance. "Or if you need medical care, you can come find me at Gray Group."

Chapter 2

A Lamborghini sped off, splashing muddy water onto Nina Morrison's already drenched clothes. She sat in the dirt, her clothes clinging to her body, feeling the cold seeping in. Tears of frustration welled up and spilled down her cheeks. Grabbing the golden business card the man had tossed at her, she tried to tear it, but the thick, glossy material resisted her efforts. Even his business card mocked her!

Her phone rang suddenly, pulling her from her thoughts. She shoved the card into her pocket and checked the screen. The name made her stomach twist: Doris Lauren, her stepmother.

"Nina Morrison! Do you know what time it is? Why aren't you home yet? You want us all to starve?"

Before Nina could answer, Doris's sharp voice rattled her ears. Of course, she would be home by now if it hadn't been for the accident. Her heart tightened at the thought of her bedridden father. With a grunt, she pushed herself off the ground and limped toward home, her soaked skirt clinging to her legs, and her wet hair sticking to her skin. The night wind bit at her, sending shivers down her spine.

She pushed open the creaky gate and stepped inside, her shoes squelching on the floor. As she bent to take them off, she heard the familiar angry voice coming from inside.

"Eat, eat, eat! That's all you're good for! Can't earn a dime but sure know how to pile up debts!"

Nina winced. Her stepmother was berating her father again. The words stung like a slap, but she swallowed her emotions, hurrying to change out of her wet clothes. As soon as she was dry, she darted into the kitchen, washing her hands quickly and beginning to cook. Her hands moved swiftly, years of habit guiding her through the motions.

In no time, she laid out a simple meal on the table-mixed pickles, stir-fried vegetables, and tomato egg soup, the only dish with any hint of meat. She ladled out a bowl of rice and soup, picked up some vegetables, and carried the tray to the back room.

Her father, Barry Morrison, lay on the bed, his eyes half-open, his mind foggy. Ever since the collapse of the Morrison Group and his heart attack, he had been in a semi-comatose state. Gently, Nina cradled his head and fed him spoonful by spoonful. Each labored breath he took tugged at her heart, deepening the ache inside her.

The piercing voice of her stepsister Grace cut through the silence. "Mom, we're supposed to eat this? For dinner?"

Nina glanced toward the kitchen, recognizing Grace's voice. She hadn't been around much since their father's bankruptcy. Why was she here now?

"If you don't like it, then go find yourself a rich husband. Then you can eat whatever you want," Doris snapped, her tone just as venomous with her own daughter.

After dinner, Nina washed the dishes mechanically, her mind wandering. She showered, changed into fresh clothes, and started on the pile of laundry.

"Nina! Where did you get this?" Grace's excited voice startled her.

Nina turned to see Grace holding the business card-the one from earlier. "Oh, I got hit by a car today. The driver gave me that card," Nina said nonchalantly, folding a shirt.

Grace's eyes widened. "Do you know who this is?" she nearly shrieked, waving the card like it was made of gold. "Lucien Gray! He's the president of Gray Group!"

Nina blinked, unfazed by Grace's dramatic reaction. "And?"

"The Gray Group is one of the biggest corporations in the world! They own everything-property, entertainment, oil, even military arms! Lucien Gray is the most powerful man in the world, and he's rich as sin! He's also the number one guy every woman wants to marry according to POWER magazine!"

Nina stared at her, unimpressed. Grace's enthusiasm seemed almost silly to her. So what if he was rich and powerful? "Okay. What's that got to do with me?" she asked, stifling a yawn.

Grace looked at her in disbelief. "This card means you can get into T.S. Private Club-Lucien Gray's personal hangout! Do you even know what that means?"

But Nina wasn't paying attention. There was still laundry to be done, and this conversation was wasting time. "Uh-huh," she mumbled absently, reaching for another wet garment.

At night, the T.S. Club is dazzling with lights. A seven-story firework fountain sprays mist into the air, synchronized to elegant music. Fancy cars line the entrance, while men and women, dressed in the latest designer fashions, stride confidently toward the golden glass doors.

Amid the luxury vehicles, a taxi comes to a sudden stop. Out steps Grace Lauren, her long legs emerging from the door first. Dressed in a tight black dress, her wavy brown hair falls down her back, and her bright red lips curl into a smile. With her stunning figure, she exudes confidence and allure.

The doorman, noticing the taxi and Grace's entrance, sneers slightly. "Another woman looking for a rich husband," he mutters under his breath as he watches her approach.

Grace walks toward the door, her hips swaying, but the doorman steps in front of her. "Miss, this is a private club. Only members are allowed inside," he says coldly, though maintaining a polite façade.

Without a word, Grace holds up a golden card, the light catching its surface. The doorman's eyes widen. A golden card-one that can only be held by someone connected to Lucien Gray himself.

His attitude changes in an instant. "My apologies, miss. Please, go right in. Enjoy your evening," he says, bowing slightly as he steps aside.

Grace flashes a satisfied smile, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she strides through the golden doors. As soon as she enters, a voice calls her name from the side.

"Grace!" Surprised, Grace turns to see Ryan, an old high school classmate.

"Ryan! What are you doing here?" she asks, raising an eyebrow. She remembers Ryan as a guy who once pursued her, though she had never paid him any attention.

Ryan beams with pride. "I'm driving for the president of Gray now! We're here for a private party tonight."

Grace's heart skips a beat at the mention of Lucien Gray. "Lucien Gray? You mean the president himself?" Her eyes sparkle with excitement. She had come to the T.S. Club to try her luck, but this-this was fate delivering her an opportunity on a silver platter.

Later, inside a dimly lit suite, Ryan is pressing close to Grace. The room is filled with the heavy scent of desire.

"Ryan," Grace whispers, her voice low and breathless, "you promised. You have to help me."

Ryan smirks. "I can slip something into the president's drink, but that's all I can do. He only sleeps with virgins, though."

Grace's body freezes, her breath catching in her throat. "What? He only sleeps with virgins?"

Ryan chuckles. "Yeah. Didn't you know? The president's got a rule-no matter how beautiful the woman is, if she's not pure, she's not worth his time. And even then, she only gets seven days with him before he moves on."

Grace feels a chill run through her veins. Seven days? Virgins only? This wasn't part of her plan. She grits her teeth, her mind racing. How could she get around this?

But then, an idea forms in her mind-a bold and dangerous idea. Her lips curve into a sly smile as she pulls back slightly.

Later, as the two lie in the aftermath of their encounter, Grace passes Ryan a small pill. "Here. Make sure you do your part, Ryan. If I become Lucien Gray's woman, I'll make sure you're rewarded."

Ryan hesitates for a moment but ultimately nods, taking the pill from her.

Meanwhile, at a bustling restaurant across town, Nina Morrison is finishing up her shift. Her phone vibrates in her pocket, pulling her attention away from the customers.

She answers quickly. "Hello?"

A man's voice comes through the line. "Your sister's drunk. Come get her from room 1806 at the T.S. Club."

"Wait, what?" Nina asks, confused. But before she can say anything more, the call disconnects. She tries calling back, but no one picks up.

Nina frowns, anxiety bubbling in her chest. Grace never mentioned going to the T.S. Club. Why would she be there? And drunk, no less? Nina hurriedly explains the situation to her coworker Jennie, who offers to cover her tables.

Throwing on her jacket, Nina rushes out into the cool night air and hails a taxi. As she speeds toward the club, her mind is filled with worry. Something didn't feel right. Grace was always calculating, always after something-but this? Going to the T.S. Club and getting drunk wasn't like her. What had she gotten herself into this time?

Nina leans back in the taxi seat, her heart pounding as the lights of the city blur outside the window. Whatever mess Grace had gotten herself into, Nina would have to clean it up. And she had a sinking feeling that tonight, things were about to get a whole lot worse.