Ruthless Tycoon: Protecting My Contract Wife

The heavy canvas bag hit the frayed carpet of the entryway with a dull thud.

Amira kicked off her worn sneakers, her heels throbbing with a dull, persistent ache after standing for ten hours straight at the Hamptons catering gig. She dragged her feet down the narrow, dimly lit hallway of the Queens apartment, desperate for a glass of cold water.

She stopped dead in her tracks.

Her mother's shrill, rapid-fire voice sliced through the crack of the half-open living room door.

"She drops out. That's it."

Amira stopped breathing. Her chest tightened as if an invisible band had just snapped around her ribs. She pressed her shoulder against the peeling wallpaper, straining to hear.

Inside the cramped living room, Agnes was pacing. She waved a piece of paper in the air-a tuition bill from NYU with Jax's name on it. Another, for Amira Johns, lay discarded on the table. The numbers printed on it were staggering.

Her father sat on the sagging couch, his face buried in his hands. He let out a pathetic, muffled sigh.

"Mr. Henderson is willing to pay a fifty-thousand-dollar dowry," Agnes said, her voice rising to a fever pitch. "Fifty thousand in cash, as long as Amira marries him next month."

Bile rose in the back of Amira's throat. Mr. Henderson. The fifty-something-year-old man who owned a string of local dry cleaners. The man whose eyes always lingered on her chest when she walked past his shop. Her stomach churned violently.

"She has real talent in art," her father mumbled through his fingers. "Dropping out is a waste."

Agnes shrieked like a stepped-on cat. "Art degrees don't pay the rent! They don't buy groceries!"

Agnes stopped pacing and pointed a sharp finger at the floor. "Jax is the future of this family. Sacrificing a daughter to secure a son's future is how the world works. She owes us."

The words hit Amira's chest like a physical blow, cracking her ribs. The last fragile illusion of family warmth shattered into a million jagged pieces.

Her hands began to shake. Extreme shock morphed into a hot, blinding anger that rushed to her head. Her elbow slipped, slamming hard against the wooden hallway cabinet.

The dull thud echoed loudly.

The arguing inside the living room stopped instantly.

Agnes whipped her head around, her sharp eyes piercing through the crack in the door.

Amira didn't hide. Her heart hammered against her sternum so hard it hurt. She shoved the half-open door, the rusty hinges screaming in protest.

The sickly yellow light of the living room hit Amira's pale, furious face. She stared dead at her parents.

A brief flash of panic crossed Agnes's face, but she quickly masked it with cold, self-righteous defiance. Her hand went up to touch the cheap gold-plated necklace at her throat.

"Are you really planning to sell me like a piece of livestock?" Amira asked. Her voice shook, but she forced the words out through clenched teeth.

Her father dropped his head lower, his eyes glued to the scuffed floorboards. He couldn't look at her bloodshot eyes.

Agnes straightened her spine, taking a step forward. "It's what you owe this family!"

Agnes closed the distance, her voice shrill and invading Amira's space. She started listing the cost of food, clothes, and rent from the past twenty years, demanding Amira fulfill her duty as the eldest sister right now.

Amira looked at her mother's unapologetic face. Her eyes burned, but she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. She tasted copper. She refused to let a single tear fall.

"I am not dropping out," Amira said, her voice dropping to a deadly calm. "And I am never marrying that old pervert."

Agnes's face twisted in rage. She raised her hand and swung it hard toward Amira's cheek.

Amira jerked her head back, the wind of the slap fanning her face. The massive disappointment turned her heart into a block of ice. She spun around, sprinting back to the entryway. She grabbed her heavy canvas bag and her damp jacket.

Amira yanked the heavy apartment door shut, cutting off Agnes's screeching voice.

She took the three flights of dim stairs at a dead sprint. She didn't stop until she burst out of the decaying brick building, gasping for the crisp, early autumn air of New York.

Fat, freezing raindrops suddenly slammed against her forehead. A sudden downpour washed over the street.

Amira didn't have an umbrella. She zipped her jacket all the way up to her chin, tucked her chin down, and ran toward the subway station three blocks away.

Sitting in the swaying, mildew-scented subway car, she pulled out her phone with trembling fingers. The screen was cracked.

She scrolled through her contacts. Her thumb hovered over her boyfriend Angelo's name. She hesitated. Calling Angelo would mean a lecture, a condescending sigh, and maybe he'd toss a few hundred dollars at her like she was a charity case. The humiliation would be worse than the cold. Aria, at least, had always pretended to be on her side.

Her thumb stopped on Aria Fuller. Her best friend. She pressed dial.

It rang for a long time. When it connected, soft jazz and the clinking of crystal glasses drifted through the speaker.

"Hey, Amira," Aria answered.

Amira swallowed the lump in her throat. She quickly explained that she had been kicked out and desperately needed a loan to cover her NYU tuition to avoid being dropped from her classes.

Aria was silent for two seconds. Then, her voice dripped with soft, overwhelming sympathy. "Oh my god, Amira. Come to my apartment right now."

Forty minutes later, Amira stood completely soaked in front of the security desk of a luxury Upper East Side high-rise.

The doorman stared at the puddle forming around her worn sneakers until Aria called down to authorize her entry.

The elevator doors slid open on the penthouse floor. Aria stood in the doorway, wearing an expensive silk slip dress, holding a half-full glass of red wine.

Aria gave Amira a brief hug, carefully keeping her silk dress away from Amira's dripping jacket.

Amira stepped into the overly warm, massive living room. She sat rigidly on the very edge of a pristine white leather sofa, feeling entirely out of place.

Aria handed her a small hand towel, then elegantly sank into the opposite armchair, crossing her long legs.

Amira took a deep breath. Her chest ached. She humbled herself, asking Aria to lend her twenty thousand dollars just to secure her enrollment.

"I'll work three jobs in the Hamptons," Amira promised, her voice tight. "I'll pay you back with interest the second I graduate. I swear."

The warm smile vanished from Aria's face. A look of condescending difficulty replaced it.

Aria sighed heavily and set her wine glass on the marble table. "Amira, my allowance just went to that limited-edition Birkin. I literally have no cash right now."

Amira froze. Her lungs stopped pulling in air. She knew for a fact Aria's father had just wired her a hundred-thousand-dollar birthday gift two days ago.

"Aria, please," Amira's voice cracked. "This is life or death for me."

A hidden flash of pleasure danced in the depths of Aria's eyes, though her face contorted into a mask of helplessness.

"Honestly, Amira," Aria said softly, "maybe you should just listen to your parents. Marrying a rich guy is the easiest way out for someone in your position."

The words hit Amira like a second sledgehammer. The illusion of their friendship shattered. She saw Aria clearly for the first time.

Amira stood up, her fists clenching so hard her nails dug into her palms. She opened her mouth to argue, but the sound of a key turning in the front door stopped her.

A tall, broad-shouldered figure walked in. It was Angelo Mack.

Angelo held a brown paper bag from a high-end restaurant. He looked up, saw Amira standing there dripping wet and looking like a drowned rat, and his brow instantly furrowed in distaste.

Aria shot up from her chair. She threw on a look of absolute panic and rushed toward Angelo before Amira could say a word.

Aria didn't miss a beat. She stepped right up to Angelo, taking the expensive takeout bag from his hands as if she lived there.

Angelo's gaze bypassed Aria's shoulder. He stared at the water dripping from Amira's jacket onto the hardwood floor. His upper lip curled in undisguised disgust.

A wave of intense humiliation washed over Amira. She instinctively took a half-step back, trying to shrink into the shadows of the room.

Aria turned her head. Her voice was overly loud and laced with fake heartbreak. "Angelo, Amira is here begging for money."

Before Amira could even process the words, Aria dropped the bomb. "She wants twenty grand to buy designer bags to resell. Or maybe it's to pay off that underground gambling debt she mentioned."

Amira's head snapped up. Her eyes went wide with shock. "Aria, what are you talking about? You're lying!"

She turned to Angelo, her heart hammering wildly. "Angelo, my family is forcing me to drop out. I need tuition money!"

Angelo's frown deepened. He let out a harsh, cold scoff that cut right through her explanation. He reached up and adjusted his collar, a gesture he always made when he was annoyed.

"Stop lying, Amira," Angelo said, his voice dripping with ice. "Your mother called me last week. She bragged about the massive education trust fund they just set up for you."

Amira felt like she had been plunged into a bath of ice water. Her blood ran cold. Agnes. Her mother had spun a massive lie to save face in front of her rich boyfriend.

Aria immediately added fuel to the fire. "Her mother is obsessed with appearances. She probably lied to you to make sure you wouldn't look down on their family and dump Amira." She dabbed at the corner of her dry eye. "I just can't believe she'd become this kind of vain, lying person."

Angelo looked at Amira's pale, defenseless face. The disgust in his eyes morphed into pure contempt.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a spare key to his apartment, and tossed it onto the glass coffee table. The metal hit the glass with a sharp, violent clatter.

"I'm done with your endless demands and your lies," Angelo announced coldly. "We're over."

Amira's heart felt like it was being crushed by an invisible fist. The sheer absurdity of the situation paralyzed her. She couldn't even force a tear out.

She stared at the boy who had sworn to protect her, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her toxic best friend.

Amira took a slow, deep breath. She forced her spine completely straight. Even soaking wet, she refused to lose her last shred of dignity.

She didn't look at the key. She didn't look at Angelo. She locked her eyes solely on Aria.

"One day," Amira said, her voice a low, steady blade, "you are going to pay for this lie."

Amira turned on her heel and walked straight to the heavy front door.

"Still acting tough," Angelo mocked from behind her.

Amira pulled the door open and slammed it shut, locking the sickening pair inside.

She walked back out into the freezing New York rain. The wind sliced across her cheeks like razors.

No family. No friend. No boyfriend. The triple blow hit her legs, making her knees buckle.

She leaned against a wet brick wall and slid down to the pavement, burying her face in her knees.

But deep in the abyss of her despair, her survival instinct flared. She violently wiped the mixture of rain and tears from her face.

She gritted her teeth. Even if the whole world abandoned her, she was not dropping out. She was not surrendering.

She pulled out her phone. Her bank app showed less than fifty dollars. Her brain raced.

There was only one place left where she could legally make cash. The Hamptons mansion belonging to her mysterious, reclusive employer, Buxton Shaw.

She pushed herself off the wet concrete, pulled her soaked jacket tighter, and started walking toward the late-night train to Long Island.