THREE-YEARS CONTRACT MARRIAGE WITH THE HOT BILLIONAIRE

Lena.

I refilled the champagne glasses carefully, weaving through clusters of glittering guests who looked through me rather than at me. The black dress I wore, the same one I'd worn to every family event for the past three years had a small tear at the hem that no one had noticed. No one ever noticed.

"More champagne here," a woman in diamonds called out, snapping her fingers without bothering to look at my face.

I moved to her, my footsteps silent on the marble floor of the Carter mansion's ballroom. Cassie's engagement party was in full swing, two hundred guests celebrating my stepsister's upcoming marriage to Liam Whitley, heir to a pharmaceutical fortune. A string quartet played in the corner. The air smelled of expensive perfume and imported flowers.

I belonged to none of it.

But in exactly seven days, none of this would matter anymore.

Seven days until I had enough money saved. Seven days until my interview at the marketing firm in Boston. Seven days until I could disappear from this house and never look back.

I touched the envelope hidden in my bra-my mother's death certificate, the one document I would need to access the small trust fund she had left me. The lawyer's appointment was scheduled for Monday morning. After three years of hiding money in my mattress, working secret jobs Bridget didn't know about, I finally had enough for a security deposit and first month's rent on a tiny studio apartment five hours away.

Freedom was seven days away.

"The hors d'oeuvres are running low on the west table." Bridget's sharp voice cut through my thoughts. My stepmother appeared at my elbow, her perfectly painted lips pressed into a thin line. "Were you planning to let our guests starve?"

"I'll refill them now," I said quietly.

"You should have done it ten minutes ago." Her manicured nails dug into my arm. "Must I do everything myself? Go. And try not to look so pathetic. You're embarrassing us."

Just seven more days, I reminded myself. Seven more days of this, then I'd never have to hear her voice again.

I hurried toward the kitchen, my cheeks burning. Behind me, I heard Bridget's laugh as she greeted another guest. The transformation was instant, like flipping a switch.

In the kitchen, I loaded canapés onto a silver tray, my hands moving automatically. The catering staff gave me sympathetic looks but said nothing. They knew better than to interfere in family matters.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I checked it quickly, it as a text from Landon, my manager at the coffee shop where I worked early mornings before anyone in this house woke up.

"Your last paycheck is ready. $340. That puts you at your goal, right?"

My heart soared. I didn't need to wait seven more days. I had enough now. I could leave tomorrow if I wanted to.

I typed back quickly: "Yes. Thank you for everything."

"Good luck in Boston. You deserve better than this."

I deleted the conversation and pocketed my phone, my hands shaking with suppressed excitement. Tomorrow. I could leave tomorrow, right after the lawyer's appointment. I had already packed a small bag and hidden it in the garden shed. I had bus tickets purchased under a fake name. I had...

"Lena!" Cassie's voice shattered my planning. "Come here for a second."

I returned to the ballroom, a tray balanced in my hands. Cassie stood at the center of a group of her friends, her engagement ring catching the light with every dramatic gesture. She looked beautiful in her rose-gold gown, her blonde hair swept into an elegant updo, her laugh was musical and confident.

Everything I wasn't. Everything I had stopped trying to be.

"I just wanted to introduce you to everyone," Cassie said sweetly as I approached. "This is my stepsister, Lena. She's been so helpful tonight, playing servant." She leaned closer, as if sharing a secret. "She really commits to the role, doesn't she?"

Her friends tittered. I stood frozen, the familiar burn of humiliation spreading through my chest.

Tomorrow, I reminded myself. Just get through tonight.

"Actually, I think she enjoys it," one of them said. "Some people just know their place."

Cassie reached for a glass of wine from a passing waiter. She turned back to me, smiling. "Oh, how clumsy of me!"

The red wine hit my dress in a splash of burgundy, soaking through the fabric. The wine was cold against my skin, and for a moment, I felt the envelope in my bra getting damp. Panic shot through me, if the death certificate was ruined, I would have to order another one, which would take weeks.

I set down the tray with shaking hands and hurried toward the bathroom, Cassie's laughter following me down the hall. In the bathroom, I carefully extracted the envelope. The certificate was fine, protected by the envelope's thick paper. Relief flooded through me.

I looked at my reflection: wine-stained, exhausted, invisible. Tomorrow, this version of Lena Carter would cease to exist.

I slipped out the side door into the garden, needing air, needing to see the one place in this house that still felt like home. My mother had planted these roses herself, back when she was alive, back when this house held warmth and laughter. I had hidden my escape bag behind the largest rose bush, wrapped in plastic.

I knelt beside it now, checking to make sure it was still there. Everything was intact-clothes, documents, the small amount of jewelry my mother had left me that Bridget didn't know about.

"I'm leaving tomorrow, Mom," I whispered to the roses. "I'm finally getting out."

A crash from inside the house shattered the moment. Then shouting, loud enough to carry through the walls.

My escape would have to wait a few more hours. I stood, brushing dirt from my ruined dress, and returned to find chaos.

A crash from inside the house shattered the quiet. Then shouting, loud enough to carry through the walls. I stood, brushing dirt from my ruined dress.

When I returned to the ballroom, it was chaotic. Cassie stood in the center of the room, her face blotchy with tears, while Liam Whitley faced her with crossed arms.

"I'm done," he said loud enough for everyone to hear. "I can't marry someone so spoiled, so entitled. My family won't allow it anyway, your father's company is hemorrhaging money. This engagement is over."

He pulled the ring from his pocket...Cassie must have thrown it at him and set it on a nearby table. Then he walked out.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Cassie's scream pierced the air. She grabbed the nearest vase and hurled it at the wall, where it shattered into a thousand pieces. "How dare he! How dare he embarrass me like this!"

Guests began making hurried exits, murmuring apologies and excuses. Within minutes, the ballroom had emptied except for family and staff.

Bridget's hand connected with my cheek before I saw it coming. The slap echoed through the nearly empty room.

"This is your fault," she hissed. "Looking like trash in front of our guests, bringing bad luck to this family. You've embarrassed us for the last time."

I pressed my hand to my stinging cheek but said nothing. My father stood in the corner, avoiding my eyes.

"Get out of my sight," Bridget said. "And clean up this mess before you go to bed."

I spent the next two hours picking up broken glass and discarded napkins while the caterers packed up around me. My father and Bridget had disappeared into his study. I could hear their voices, through the heavy door.

By the time I finished cleaning, it was past midnight. I was heading toward the stairs when my father's voice stopped me cold.

"The company is failing. We'll be bankrupt within six months."

I froze outside his study door, my heart pounding.

"Then we need the Blackwood deal," Bridget said. "It's our only option."

"Julian Blackwood wants a marriage alliance. His father insisted on it."

"Then we give them a bride."

No. No, no, no.

"Cassie's engagement just ended publicly," my father said. "The Blackwoods won't want damaged goods."

"They've never met Cassie in person. They've only seen photos. We'll give them Lena instead."

The trash bag slipped from my hands.

"Lena?" My father sounded uncertain.

"She's useless here anyway. At least this way she'll finally contribute something to this family."

I pressed myself against the wall, my carefully constructed escape plan crumbling around me.

"Lena!" My father's sharp voice cut through my panic. "Get in here. Now."

Lena.

I couldn't move. My feet felt welded to the marble floor, my escape bag hidden in the garden suddenly feeling a thousand miles away instead of just beyond the window.

"Lena! Don't make me come out there."

I forced myself to push open the study door. My father sat behind his massive desk, Bridget standing beside him like a general surveying a battlefield.

"Sit down," my father said. "We need to discuss your future."

"I have plans for my future." The words came out steadier than I expected. "I'm leaving tomorrow."

Bridget laughed, sharp and cruel. "Leaving? To go where, exactly?"

"Boston. I have a job interview and an apartment lined up." I lifted my chin, years of submission cracking under the weight of my desperation. "I have enough money saved to..."

"You have nothing," my father interrupted. "Everything in this house belongs to me. Any money you've earned while living under my roof belongs to me."

"That's not legal."

"Sue me." He leaned back in his chair. "Oh wait, you can't afford a lawyer, can you?"

The trap snapped shut around me, and I finally understood. They had known. They had always known about my escape plan, my savings, everything. They let me think I had a chance just to watch me fail.

"Julian Blackwood has agreed to merge with Carter Industries," my father continued, his tone businesslike. "It's the only way to save the company. His father has one condition; a marriage alliance."

"You were going to offer Cassie," I said numbly.

"We were. But given tonight's public disaster, that's impossible now." Bridget moved closer, predatory. "The Blackwoods have never met Cassie in person. We'll simply tell them there was confusion about which daughter."

"I won't do it." I stood, my chair scraping against the floor. "I'm twenty-four years old. You can't force me to marry anyone."

"No," my father agreed. "But I can make your life unbearable if you refuse."

"You already have."

His jaw tightened. "Lena, be reasonable!"

"Reasonable?" Something inside me snapped. Years of silence, of swallowing humiliation, of making myself small, it all erupted at once. "You want me to marry a stranger to save a company you've never let me be part of. You want me to give up my entire future because Cassie humiliated herself. And you're asking me to be reasonable?"

"Watch your tone," Bridget snapped.

"No." I turned to my father, my hands shaking with rage and fear. "Mom left me a trust fund. It's mine legally. I'm accessing it on Monday, and then I'm leaving. You can't stop me."

My father's face didn't change. "That trust fund doesn't exist."

The room tilted. "What?"

"Your mother's trust was tied to Carter Industries stock. When the company started failing, I had to liquidate it to cover debts." He said it casually, like he was discussing the weather. "There's nothing left."

"You're lying." But I could see in his eyes that he wasn't.

Twelve years. I had believed for twelve years that my mother had left me something, some small piece of independence. And he had taken it, spent it, erased it like it meant nothing.

"The lawyer's appointment on Monday is cancelled," he continued. "I took care of it this afternoon."

This afternoon. While I was serving champagne at Cassie's party, he was destroying my escape route.

"However," he said, pulling a folder from his desk drawer, "if you agree to this marriage, I'll give you something better than that trust fund. I'll give you three million dollars."

The number hung in the air between us.

"The marriage contract is for three years minimum," my father explained. "Play the role of Julian Blackwood's wife, attend the necessary events, maintain appearances. After three years, you can divorce him and walk away with three million dollars. Tax-free. Enough to start whatever life you want, anywhere in the world."

I stared at the folder, my mind racing. Three million dollars. That was freedom. Real freedom, not the scraping, desperate kind I had been planning. With that money, I could go to graduate school, start a business, and never depend on anyone again.

"And if I refuse?" I asked quietly.

"Then you leave this house tonight with nothing," Bridget said. "No money, no references, no family support. Your father will tell everyone you're mentally unstable. You'll be blacklisted from every decent job in the city."

"Plus," my father added, almost gently, "I'll sell your mother's garden. Tear it up and pave it over for parking. I've been planning to anyway."

That final threat broke something in me. The garden was all I had left of her. The roses she had planted with her own hands, the bench where we had sat together, and the stone marker I had placed with her favorite quote.

They knew exactly which buttons to push.

"Let me see the contract," I said.

My father slid it across the desk. I read through the clauses with shaking hands:

~~~

Marriage duration: minimum three years.

Compensation: $3,000,000 USD upon completion of contract term.

Public appearances: as required by Julian Blackwood.

Living arrangements: shared residence.

Grounds for early termination: breach of contract, infidelity, failure to maintain public image.

Penalty for early termination by Lena Carter: forfeiture of all compensation.

"What happens if he divorces me before three years?" I asked.

"You still get the money," my father said. "The penalty only applies if you break the contract."

I looked at the clause again. If Julian Blackwood was as ruthless as the business magazines claimed, he might end this marriage the moment he discovered the deception. Which meant I could potentially get my freedom even sooner than three years.

"I need to think about it," I said.

"You have until morning," my father replied. "Sign the contract, or pack your bags. Your choice."

I left the study and climbed the stairs to my small room, my mind churning. I pulled out my phone and searched: Julian Blackwood.

The results flooded the screen.

Forbes' "30 Under 30."

Business Insider's: "Most Ruthless CEO."

A Wall Street Journal profile titled "The Ice King of Manhattan."

I clicked through article after article, building a picture of the man I was supposed to marry. Brilliant, driven, and completely devoid of warmth.

His mother had left when he was nineteen, a public affair that destroyed her reputation. His father had taught him that emotion was weakness, and that business was everything.

"Love is a transaction," he had said in one interview. "Everything else is liability."

I would be a transaction to him. Another business deal to manage and control.

But that also meant he wouldn't care about me personally. He wouldn't try to change me or own me beyond the contract terms. And if I played by his rules for three years, I would walk away with enough money to build whatever life I wanted.

I thought about my escape bag in the garden. The $3,400 I had saved over three years. It wouldn't even cover two months of rent in Boston.

I thought about the trust fund my father had stolen. The mother I had lost. The twelve years of abuse I had endured in this house.

Three million dollars was revenge. It was compensation for every humiliation, every slap, every moment I had been invisible.

At dawn, I showered and dressed. I didn't bother with my escape bag, that life was gone now. Instead, I took only my mother's locket, which I had hidden in a gap behind my dresser where Bridget would never find it. I clasped it around my neck, feeling the familiar weight settle against my chest.

"Give me strength, Mom," I whispered.

I walked downstairs to my father's study. He was already there, drinking coffee. Bridget stood by the window, looking satisfied.

"Have you decided?" he asked.

I set the contract on his desk. "I have conditions."

His eyebrows rose. "You're not in a position to negotiate."

"You need me," I said, forcing strength into my voice. "Cassie destroyed her own reputation last night. I'm your only option for this deal. So yes, I am in a position to negotiate."

Silence stretched between us. Finally, my father gestured for me to continue.

"First, you don't touch my mother's garden. Ever. You put it in writing."

"Fine."

"Second, I get $100,000 upfront. Before the wedding. In a bank account that only I can access."

"Absolutely not," Bridget interjected.

"Then find another bride." I turned toward the door.

"Wait." My father's voice stopped me. "Fifty thousand. Before the wedding."

"Seventy-five."

"Done." He pulled out a pen and amended the contract. "Anything else?"

I thought about the locket around my neck, the only piece of my mother Bridget hadn't managed to steal. "If anything happens to me... if I die or disappear, my mother's jewelry goes to charity, not to this family."

My father's expression flickered with something that might have been shame. "Agreed."

He slid the pen across the desk. I picked it up, my hand surprisingly steady, and signed my name on the designated line: Lena Marie Carter.

"The wedding is in forty-eight hours," my father said. "Bridget will take you shopping for appropriate clothes. The Blackwoods are sending a car Saturday morning."

"Forty-eight hours?" My voice cracked despite my resolve.

"Julian Blackwood doesn't waste time," Bridget said, her victory complete. "He wants the merger finalized quickly."

I turned to leave, but my father's voice stopped me one last time.

"Lena. For what it's worth... your mother would understand. She always put family first."

I looked back at him, this man who had let me suffer for twelve years, who had stolen my inheritance, who was now selling me to save his company.

"My mother would be ashamed of you," I said quietly. "And we both know it."

I left before he could respond. In my room, I transferred the bus tickets and fake ID from my escape bag to my purse. I had paid for them with cash, and they were non-refundable, might as well keep them as a reminder.

A reminder that I had tried to save myself once.

And that next time, I would succeed.

Lena.

The venue was a penthouse suite in downtown Manhattan. No flowers decorated the space, no music played. Just witnesses and lawyers scattered across leather chairs, checking their phones and waiting for the formality to conclude.

I stood in the bride's preparation room, staring at myself in the floor-length mirror. The white dress Bridget had bought hung awkwardly on my body-expensive but ill-fitting, chosen by a personal shopper in a rush. She had clearly given them my measurements wrong, whether by accident or spite. No veil. No bouquet. Just a designer dress that didn't fit and made me look like I was playing dress-up. I looked like I was attending a funeral. Maybe I was.

"Five minutes," someone called from outside.

I took a breath and walked out. The ceremony space was minimal-a simple altar, two chairs for witnesses, a stern-faced officiant who looked like he performed a dozen weddings a day. My father and Bridget sat on one side. On the other side sat an older man I recognized as Thomas Blackwood, Julian's father, along with a woman in an expensive suit who was probably a lawyer.

And at the altar, checking his phone, stood Julian Blackwood.

My breath stopped despite everything. He was devastatingly handsome in person-sharp jawline, dark hair perfectly styled, tall and commanding in a tailored black suit. But it was his eyes that stopped me. Grey, cold, piercing. They looked straight through people, assessing value and finding most wanting.

He barely glanced up as I approached. His attention remained on his phone screen, his thumb scrolling through what looked like emails. I reached the altar and stood beside him, my hands clasped to keep them from shaking.

The officiant cleared his throat then Julian finally looked at me.

His face didn't change. No warmth, no interest, not even curiosity. Just a brief, cold assessment before his gaze returned to the officiant. I might as well have been a piece of furniture.

"We are gathered here today," the officiant began, his voice monotone.

I stopped listening. The words washed over me-contract, union, lawfully wedded. None of it felt real. Julian's voice was without emotion as he repeated his vows, like he was reading quarterly earnings to shareholders.

Then it was my turn. "I, Lena Carter, take you, Julian Blackwood-"

My voice shook slightly on his name. I pushed through, forcing the words out. Julian didn't look at me. He studied a point somewhere past my shoulder, his jaw tight with what might have been impatience.

The ring he slid onto my finger was diamond, beautiful but impersonal. It fit perfectly, which meant someone had gotten my measurements. Probably an assistant. I doubted Julian had given it more than thirty seconds of thought.

"You may kiss the bride," the officiant said.

Julian looked at me for a long moment. I saw something move in his eyes-distaste? Then he turned away.

"That won't be necessary."

I felt like entering the ground in that moment. Behind us, someone coughed awkwardly. The officiant shuffled his papers, clearly uncomfortable.

We moved to the table where the marriage certificate waited. Julian signed first, his signature bold and aggressive across the page. As I reached for the pen, he spoke directly to me for the first time.

"You're not Cassandra Carter."

It wasn't a question. I met his eyes, forcing myself not to look away from that cold grey stare.

"No."

His jaw tightened. "I see." He signed the merger documents with sharp, angry strokes that nearly tore the paper. "Well played, Mr. Carter."

My father adjusted uncomfortably in his seat. Bridget just smiled, satisfied.

Julian handed the documents to his lawyer without another word. Thomas Blackwood stood and shook my father's hand, seemingly unbothered by the revelation. Business was business, after all. The bride's identity was just a minor detail.

The ceremony ended without any reception. No celebration, no well-wishes or toasts. The witnesses filed out, and I was left standing in my ill-fitting dress while Julian spoke in low tones with his lawyer.

"The car is ready, sir," a voice said from the doorway.

Julian nodded. "We're leaving."

He walked toward the exit without checking if I followed. I grabbed the small bag containing my few possessions and hurried after him. Outside, a black Mercedes waited at the curb, and a driver was holding the door open.

Julian gestured for me to get in first. His courtesy was purely not out of kindness, the ingrained politeness of someone raised with wealth. I slid into the backseat, and he followed, maintaining a huge distance between us.

The silence in the car was suffocating. I watched the city lights blur past as the driver pulled into traffic. Beside me, Julian had already returned to his phone, scrolling through messages with focus like I was a non-living thing.

"Let me be clear, Miss Carter-" He paused, something like dark amusement crossing his face. "Or should I say, Mrs. Blackwood?"

I waited, my hands twisted in my lap.

"This is a business arrangement. Nothing more. You will live in my home, attend necessary public events, and maintain the appearance of a marriage. Beyond that, don't expect anything from me. No affection. No companionship. Certainly no love."

I kept my eyes on the window, on the city lights that had never felt more distant. "I didn't expect any of those things."

"Good." He returned to his phone. "Mrs. Billy, my housekeeper, will show you to your room. Stay out of my way, and we'll get through this contract just fine."

Contract. That's all I was. A signature on paper.

We didn't speak again for the rest of the drive. The car wound through Manhattan, eventually pulling up to a towering glass building that seemed to pierce the sky. The driver opened the door, and Julian exited first, again waiting with forced courtesy for me to follow.

The lobby was all marble and modern art, obviously expensive. A security guard nodded at Julian, who strode past without acknowledgment toward a private elevator. I followed, my footsteps echoing on the polished floor.

Inside the elevator, Julian pressed the button for the penthouse. As the doors closed, his phone rang. He answered without hesitation.

"Nate." He paused. "No, I can't meet tonight."

A pause again. I could hear a male voice on the other end, questioning.

"Because I just got married." Julian's jaw tightened. "It's complicated. Fine. Tomorrow."

He hung up and glanced at me, his expression unreadable.

"That was my business partner. He'll want to meet you." Something dangerous flickered in his eyes. "Fair warning-Nate has a habit of seeing good in people where none exists. Don't mistake his kindness for anything more than curiosity."

The elevator doors opened to the penthouse. "And Mrs. Blackwood? Whatever he asks you tomorrow, remember who you actually belong to."