The Contract Girlfriend

CHAPTER ONE

Evie Sinclair burst through the back door of Maple & Sage Bistro. Her coat was dripping, her hair a mess, and her heels squelched. Her apron dangled from one hand, the other clutching her car keys like a lifeline.

"You're late. Again."

Mr. Bartlett didn't look up from the receipts he was counting.

Evie exhaled sharply. "I told you, my car got stuck because of the storm. I literally had to push it out of a puddle."

He raised a brow. "And last week? Let me guess. Tsunami?"

"Flat tyre."

"The week before that?"

"Neighbour's cat. Long story."

He dropped the receipts. "Evie, this is the third time. You're unreliable. You've got a sharp mouth and a bad attitude. You're fired."

"What? You can't fire me. I haven't even clocked in yet!"

He stared. "Then technically, I'm not firing you. I'm just not letting you start."

Evie stood there, soaked, jobless, and utterly humiliated.

"I hope your coffee machine explodes," she muttered, snatching off her apron.

She stormed out of the office and the rain hit her immediately. The sky, officially weeping, perfectly matched her mood. She tossed her box into the backseat of her car, slammed the door shut, and shoved the keys into the ignition.

"Stupid job. Stupid car. Stupid storm," she muttered.

The storm raged louder.

Speed limit? Optional. Wipers? Squeaking. Phone? Dead. Her patience? Buried under frustration and five soggy résumés.

"I gave them two years of my life," she muttered, swerving past a slow-moving van. "Two years. And not even a stupid cupcake on my last day."

A flash of black. A screech. A sickening thud.

Her breath caught. The car jolted. Something, no, someone, had been in the road.

Evie slammed the brakes and sat frozen, eyes wide. "Oh my God."

Her door flew open and she stumbled into the rain, shoes slipping against the wet pavement.

He was lying on the road, soaked, motionless. A man dressed in all black, tall, broad-shouldered, and terrifyingly still. Her heart crashed inside her chest.

"Sir?" she whispered, kneeling beside him. "Can you hear me?"

He didn't move.

"I didn't mean to hit you," she breathed, fumbling for her phone. Dead. "You literally ran in front of me. What were you doing in the middle of the road like some sort of rain spirit?"

Still nothing.

Evie looked around and exhaled sharply. "Fine. We are not leaving you here."

She grunted as she dragged him to her car. He was heavier than he looked. Somehow she managed to prop him in the passenger seat. His head lolled against the window.

"This is not kidnapping," she said aloud, buckling his seatbelt. "This is saving a stranger's life and maybe keeping myself out of jail."

Every red light felt like a countdown to jail. Every siren in the distance made her foot twitch on the pedal.

By the time they reached the emergency room, Evie was shaking so hard she could barely put the car in park. She ran inside, flagged down a nurse, and pointed wildly back at the vehicle.

"I, he, he was in the road," she stammered. "I hit him. I mean, not on purpose. I brought him here. He's still breathing. Please."

The nurse blinked, processed the madness, and then rushed outside.

Evie followed, wet, barefoot, and nearly breathless.

They wheeled him in, asked her a dozen questions she barely heard, and finally told her to wait.

So she waited.

Drenched. Jobless. Traumatized. And possibly now a felon.

"Miss Evelyn?"

She jolted upright.

A nurse gave her a polite, slightly judgmental smile. "He's awake. He asked for the woman who hit him."

Evie stood, wobbled slightly, and followed her down the hall.

She didn't know what she expected. Maybe a lawsuit. Maybe an interrogation. But not him, propped against hospital pillows like someone had cast him in a tragic BBC period drama.

He turned slowly, eyes piercing, face pale and bruised but still ridiculously handsome.

"Where am I?" His voice was low, cold, controlled.

Evie stepped inside and cleared her throat. "Hospital. I brought you here after I, well, after the whole car thing."

He blinked. "You hit me?"

She nodded slowly. "Technically, yes. You were kind of just in the road."

He stared at her, expression unreadable.

She raised her hands in surrender. " I had the worst day of my life and then you showed up in front of my car like some broody Victorian ghost, and never mind. The important thing is you're alive."

He groaned and touched his temple. "Figures."

She stepped closer. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to. I had a really bad day."

Miles let out a dry, low laugh.

"You think I had a good one? You're helping me-or I'm filing a case for attempted murder."

His voice was gravelly, sharp, and full of the kind of arrogance that didn't need volume to feel dangerous.

Evie stared at him. "Murder? u're crazy,It was a mistake, Mr. and by the way, you're safe now because of me."

"Such attitude. Well,I don't care," Miles said, completely unfazed. "You're driving... or we're going to the station."

"What do you mean I'm driving?" she demanded, backing up a step. "I don't even know you!"

"I'm Miles," he repeated like it magically solved every problem.

Then, with that same ridiculous confidence: "Can we go?"

He pushed himself upright,slow but determined-shoulders tense, jaw tight. A faint tremor ran through his arm, but he pretended not to feel it. His hand moved to the IV and he started yanking at the tape, irritation burning under his skin.

Evie's heart jumped.

"Hey-HEY! You can't just pull that out!"

She spun around the hospital room, looking for a nurse, a doctor, anyone-because clearly this man had escaped common sense along with the accident. The monitors beeped steadily in the background, calm and polite, absolutely useless.

"You can't just leave," she said. "There's probably paperwork or medical rules. Laws."

"Evie, right?"

She froze. "How do you know my name?"

"You were shouting it when you hit me with your car," he said casually, wincing as he pulled off the last bit of tape. "I think you were also crying. Not impressive by the way."

She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. "You're unbelievable."

He grabbed a hoodie from the chair in the corner, her hoodie, the one she'd dumped there hours ago, and shrugged it on like it belonged to him. He looked ridiculous. His dark hair was a mess, his sneakers were scuffed, and a faint bruise was forming along his jawline. But somehow, even after a collision, he walked like someone with zero intention of being stopped.

"I have somewhere to be," he said. "And now, so do you."

"Oh, you do?" she snapped, following him out the door. "You sure about that?"

Miles didn't even turn. "You're the one who hit me. Technically, you owe me."

"I saved you!"

"Details," he said over his shoulder.

This had to be a dream. Or a prank. Or one of those alternate reality TikToks. Maybe she was still in bed and this was her brain melting from stress and leftover chicken wings.

But then he held the door to the stairwell open and looked back at her with a slight smirk. She hated that part of herself that followed, not because she owed him, but because she couldn't stop wondering where exactly he needed to go.

And just like that, she was back behind the wheel.

She had no job, a potentially concussed mystery man in her passenger seat, and a very bad feeling that her day was about to get a lot stranger.

CHAPTER TWO

Evie clutched the wheel tighter as the silence in her small, slightly beat-up car stretched on. Her nerves were already all over the place-she had just gotten fired, her phone bill was due, and now this... this stranger sitting in her passenger seat like he belonged there.

Miles.

He hadn't said a word since getting in, and she wasn't about to start the conversation either. What was she even doing letting a random guy into her car? But somehow, he didn't feel random. He had this calm arrogance to him-like he always got his way.

He gave her directions. "Just take a left at the end of this street. There's a mall there."

Evie frowned. "A mall?"

"Yeah."

"Why are we going to a mall?"

"You'll see."

And that was it. No explanation, no small talk. She wanted to ask more, but something told her he wouldn't answer even if she did.

At the mall, he walked in like he owned the place. Employees seemed to recognize him. Before she could even process it, someone handed him a neatly folded suit.

Then-without asking-he tossed a dress at her.

"Put that on," he said, brushing past her toward the changing rooms.

"Excuse me?" she blinked, holding up the dress. "Why?"

He paused and turned slightly, that same unbothered look on his face. "Just put it on."

Evie stared after him, annoyed. Who did this guy think he was?

Still, she went in and changed.

When they stepped out of the mall, a sleek black car pulled up. Not her car. Definitely not. The driver opened the door like Miles was royalty or something.

"Wait-where's my car?" she asked, stunned.

"I had it sent back. This ride's better," he said casually, already sliding in.

"YOU WHAT-?" she started, but the door was already shutting behind her. She was too tired to argue and too curious to walk away.

The car took them to a restaurant she would never even glance at on a normal day. The kind of place where the menu didn't have prices and the waiter barely spoke above a whisper.

They had barely sat down at the quiet booth in the upscale restaurant when the silence settled heavily between them. Evie kept glancing around. The place was elegant, clean, and totally out of her price range. She felt underdressed even though she had on the sleek dress Miles had basically thrown at her back in the mall.

He didn't even open the menu.

"So," he started, elbows resting on the table as he leaned forward slightly, "you were fired."

Evie blinked, caught off guard by how casually he said it. "Yeah," she mumbled, her fingers gripping the edge of the tablecloth.

Miles nodded once, like he'd expected that. "Do you need the money?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Of course I do. Why else would I be here, wearing this ridiculous dress?"

He smirked, like he found that amusing. "Good," he said simply, then added, "I'll need you to act."

Evie blinked again. "Act?"

He looked her straight in the eye. "As my girlfriend."

She nearly choked on her own breath. "No way," she said quickly, scooting back in her seat. "Are you insane? I knew it. I knew you wanted to kidnap me all this while!"

Miles rolled his eyes. "Relax. No one's kidnapping anyone."

"Oh, really? Because this feels very kidnapping-ish. You lured me with coffee, dragged me to a mall, made me wear a dress I didn't choose, and now you want me to-"

"I'll pay you," he cut in smoothly. "A thousand dollars. Every week."

She froze. "What?"

"You heard me. One thousand dollars. Weekly. Just pretend to be my girlfriend. You'll come to a few events, smile when I need you to, play nice in front of people. That's it."

Evie stared at him like he'd grown horns.

He sat back, confident and calm, as if this offer was the most normal thing in the world.

"Let me get this straight," she said slowly. "You want me... a broke, recently-fired stranger... to be your fake girlfriend. For money."

"That's exactly what I want."

"Why me?"

Miles gave a nonchalant shrug. "You're easy to work with."

"You met me an hour ago!"

He tilted his head, studying her. "Yeah. And in that one hour, you've managed to be interesting, unpredictable, and not fake. That's rare. Most people I meet try too hard. You? You didn't even want to come with me."

"That's because I thought you were a psycho."

"You still think that?"

"...A little."

He chuckled. "Fair."

Evie crossed her arms. "And what's in it for me besides the money?"

"A place to stay. Clothes. Food. Basically, I'll cover everything for the duration of the arrangement. But you'll have to show up where I need you, when I need you. Deal?"

She leaned back, staring at him like he was one big red flag wearing a designer suit.

And yet... a thousand dollars a week?

Her bank account literally cried at that number.

Evie bit her bottom lip. "This is insane."

Miles leaned in again. "But tempting?"

She didn't answer right away.

Then...

"Do I get dental?"

He raised a brow, grinning. "We'll talk benefits later."

Evie had no idea what kind of deal she had just walked into, but she knew one thing-it came with leather seats and absolutely zero control.

After dinner, she expected him to drop her off and vanish into whatever elite-rich-guy-after-dinner existence he lived in. Instead, the car glided to a stop in front of a hotel so grand, she was pretty sure it charged extra just to breathe inside.

Her jaw dropped. "You're not seriously-"

"We leave in the morning," Miles said, already stepping out, tossing the valet his keys like he'd rehearsed it his whole life.

Evie stared up at the building. Gold trim. Five stars. A revolving door that looked like it had never been touched by a broke person.

She climbed out slowly, dragging her feet like she was being marched into jury duty. "I have a home, you know. With a loyal couch that doesn't ask questions about my paycheck."

Miles didn't even glance back. "That couch won't teach you how to eat oysters without gagging."

She groaned. "That's the first lesson?"

"No," he said, holding the elevator door open. "That's chapter five."

When they stepped into the suite, Evie froze in the doorway.

The place was huge. Her entire apartment could've fit into just the bathroom-and still have space left over for a hot yoga class. The ceilings were high, the lights warm, and the floors so polished she didn't even want to walk on them.

Miles tossed his jacket over a velvet armchair and motioned toward a wall of sleek wardrobes.

"Training starts now."

She blinked. "Training for what? How to walk like your wallet has its own zip code?"

"No. How to walk like you've never been questioned a day in your life."

Evie folded her arms. "So... delusional confidence."

He pointed at her like she'd just won a prize. "Exactly. Let's begin."

First, the walk.

"Chin up. Back straight. You're walking like you're dodging pigeons."

"I am dodging pigeons. Metaphorically."

He sighed. "Again. This time, glide. Like the air moves for you."

Then came the sitting.

"You're not at a sleepover."

"What does posture have to do with anything?"

"Power. Sit like you belong, and the room will follow."

She muttered something under her breath but straightened anyway.

Then the wine.

"You just gulped a $900 bottle like it's tap water."

"I'm sorry," she said, wiping her mouth. "I've never sipped my sadness before."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Better."

They went over handshakes, small talk, eye contact, elegant nods. He made her practice how to pause before answering-just enough to seem thoughtful. Every tiny move mattered, and she had never felt more aware of her own limbs in her life.

"And don't fidget," he added, watching her adjust her earring.

She froze mid-movement. "You're making me self-conscious."

"Good. Self-awareness is step one."

After what felt like hours, he finally sat down on the edge of the couch, arms crossed, legs stretched in front of him.

"Last test," he said. "Pretend we're at a gala. You're the guest of honor. The host approaches. You don't need to try hard-just show up."

Evie hesitated, then let her shoulders relax. Chin up. A soft, unforced smile.

She crossed the room slowly, walking like the air did, in fact, move for her. Calm, graceful, like she wasn't trying to prove anything. Her gaze was steady as she held out her hand.

"Thank you for the lovely evening," she said softly. "The lighting is stunning. You always pay attention to detail."

And then-just before stepping back-she dipped into a subtle, graceful curtsy.

Miles didn't move.

She straightened. "Well?"

He blinked. Slowly.

"...Miles?"

His arms dropped to his lap. "That was..."

She tilted her head. "Was that praise?"

"I didn't say that."

"You're impressed."

"I'm reserving judgment."

"You're totally impressed."

He exhaled through his nose, half-smirking. "Don't let it get to your head."

"Too late."

Then his tone shifted-calmer, lower, serious.

"Next time, talk less. Less is power. People with real presence don't overshare. And if you're meeting someone older-parents, partners, anyone I respect-you curtsy. Just like that. No more, no less."

She nodded once.

Miles stood. "Get some sleep. We leave at six."

Evie blinked. "Six? As in... a.m.?"

"Correct."

She groaned. "Do rich people hate sleep or something?"

"Only when there's something to win."

She sighed dramatically as she turned toward the guest bedroom. "If I wake up tomorrow and this turns out to be a fever dream, I'm blaming the oysters."

Behind her, Miles murmured, "It wasn't the oysters."

CHAPTER THREE

I didn't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this.

Miles looked like he'd stepped out of a Vogue spread-black suit, white shirt, subtle gold cufflinks. Regal. Untouchable. And there I was, standing barefoot in a borrowed robe, blinking away sleep and staring at a suitcase packed with a new outfit-tags still on.

"Good morning," he said with a soft smile, tightening his watch strap. "Get dressed. We have a flight to catch."

I didn't ask questions. I wanted to-but something about the way he moved, like a man with a thousand unspoken plans, made me just... follow.

After a quick shower and slipping into the beige dress he'd packed for me-tailored, simple, expensive-I met him by the door. He offered his hand. I took it.

The flight was smooth, private, and quiet. I stared out the window, pretending not to be completely terrified. When we landed, a sleek, dark car was already waiting for us. The driver bowed slightly before opening the door. Miles helped me in first, his hand warm around mine.

As the city blurred past the tinted windows, I noticed the shift-the buildings became grander, more secure. Armed guards patrolled gates, surveillance cameras dotted every corner, and then-

There it was.

A palace-not a mansion, not a villa. A palace. White stone, endless glass, manicured gardens that looked like they'd been carved from dreams. The car slowed. My heart didn't.

The car slowed to a stop, and I could feel my heart trying to claw its way out of my chest. The gates behind us had closed with a finality I wasn't ready for, and now... here we were.

Miles turned to me with that unreadable smile of his.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

I let out a shaky breath, managing a grin. "Born ready... Your Grace."

I meant it as a joke.

But his expression didn't change.

Before I could process that, a team of guards in sleek uniforms approached the car. The doors opened, and a group of maids in crisp, elegant dresses curtsied in unison.

"Your Grace. My Lady. Welcome home."

Home.

The word echoed too loudly in my head. I stepped out slowly, my heels clicking against the polished stone like they didn't belong there. Like I didn't belong there.

And then I saw it.

The palace. No, mansion. No... it was a mix of both. Towering, whitewashed walls with golden accents. High columns. Wide, arched windows. The kind of place that doesn't just say wealth-it whispers legacy.

I turned to Miles, my voice barely a breath.

"Miles... are you-?"

I didn't get to finish.

A formal voice announced, "The Duke and Duchess await you inside."

The maids began to usher us forward. Before I could untangle the mess in my brain, I was walking through polished marble halls with Miles beside me, his hand warm in mine, posture tall and regal.

We stepped into a room bathed in light-vaulted ceilings, chandeliers, velvet furniture. Everything gleamed.

And then... I saw them.

His parents.

The Duke and Duchess.

Standing side by side, composed and elegant. The Duchess had soft features and sharp eyes. The Duke, stern but with an air of quiet power.

Miles released my hand and took a respectful step forward.

"Father. Mother."

They both nodded.

"You must be Evelyn," the Duchess said, looking directly at me.

I took a deep breath and gave the most graceful curtsy I could muster without fainting. "Yes, Your Grace. It's an honor."

Her eyes flicked over me-not judgmental, just... observant. Then, unexpectedly, she smiled.

"You're quite lovely," she said. "Miles speaks highly of you."

"I could say the same, Your Grace,"

"Your home is beautiful," I said to his mother, my voice even. "But not nearly as breathtaking as the woman who raised him."

There was a pause. Then-she chuckled. Not cold. Not fake. But not entirely trusting, either.

"You're charming," she said.

Just then, she turned to the maids and snapped, "Take them upstairs. Make sure they're comfortable."

Miles and I followed them up a wide staircase, hand in hand once again. I waited until we were out of earshot, then whispered, "How did I do?"

He looked at me-really looked. "You were perfect."

That made my heart stutter a little. I wasn't sure if it was the compliment, or the fact that it sounded real. Too real.

Just then there was a knock on the door

The knock was soft and early.

"Miss Evelyn?" came a gentle voice from the other side of the door. "The Duke and Duchess are awaiting you for breakfast."

I sat up slowly, fingers brushing sleep from my face. Another day of pretending. Another day wrapped in borrowed silk, walking through someone else's world.

I dressed simply-tasteful but understated-and followed the maid down the hallway. My heart beat a little faster with every step. Not quite nerves. Just... awareness. Awareness that this morning, I'd be sitting across from people who ruled with looks sharper than blades.

The double doors of the dining room were already open. Miles stood beside his chair, back straight, hands folded behind him like a portrait come to life.

The Duke offered a polite nod. The Duchess... barely looked at me. Her eyes swept over me once, cold and calculated, like I was a wine label she wasn't sure deserved to be uncorked.

"You're late," Miles murmured under his breath as I approached the table.

I offered a quick smile. "Maybe I like to make an entrance."

He didn't smile back. "Don't forget what this is."

"Hard to," I whispered, "when you keep reminding me."

The chairs scraped gently against marble as we sat. No greetings. No warmth.

Just tension in porcelain and polished silverware.

The Duchess didn't waste time. "So... how did you two meet? You never quite clarified, Miles."

He glanced at me but said nothing.

I folded my hands in my lap and met her gaze. "We met abroad. It wasn't... conventional. But it stuck."

The Duke lifted his brows with mild interest. "Abroad?"

"Yes. I was raised outside the country. My father passed some years ago. After that, I stayed with close family friends until I could take care of myself."

There was a pause. A small one.

The Duke inclined his head. "I'm sorry to hear that. He must've been important to you."

I nodded, keeping my voice even. "He was everything. The kind of man who never broke a promise. Who taught me that class had more to do with how you treat people than what's in your bank account."

It went quiet for a beat too long.

The Duchess set her cup down-precisely, deliberately. "And your mother?"

"She left when I was very young."

Nothing. No nod. No 'I'm sorry.'

Just the briefest flicker of distaste in her expression, like I'd said something... inappropriate.

Silence settled.

The Duchess set her teacup down. No reply. No sympathy. Just the slightest curl at the corner of her mouth.

And that was enough.

I stood slowly, careful not to let the chair screech too loud. "Excuse me. I need a moment."

Miles started to rise, but I was already turning away.

She didn't make it far before she heard steps behind her. Miles.

"You can't storm out every time you get uncomfortable," he said quietly, not unkindly, but firm.

"I didn't storm out," she muttered. "I left before I said something impolite."

"You knew this wouldn't be easy," he said, voice low.

"I didn't expect it to feel like that," Evie whispered. "Like I didn't belong. Like I was being... measured."

"You were," Miles said simply. "But that doesn't change the deal."

She turned to him. "You could've said something."

"I'm not here to play defense, Evie. We agreed on a role. You're playing it."

That stung.

He stared at her, eyes steady. "This isn't about your feelings, Evie. It's about the deal. Stick to the script."

Her jaw clenched. "Right. The script."

A beat passed. Then, unexpectedly, he added, "You did fine."

Evie blinked, looking up at him. "Is that... a compliment?"

"It's a fact. Don't get used to it."

They began to head back to the dinning when the door creaked behind us.

Two voices, light and familiar, spilled into the corridor.

"Speak of the devil," Miles muttered under his breath.

Kaiden entered first-tall, charming, effortlessly confident. Arabella followed, wrapped in casual elegance, all pearls and veiled contempt.

Kaiden's gaze flicked straight to me, a grin spreading across his face.

"So this is the infamous mystery girl," he said. "We thought Miles invented you. But look at that-you're real. And prettier than he described."

I blinked. "Thank you... I think?"

"I mean it in the best possible way," he said with a wink. "You've got mystery in your eyes."

Before I could reply, I turned slightly toward Arabella.

"You must be Arabella," I said, smiling softly. "Beautiful name."

She looked me over once, then gave a faint, disinterested hum. "Hmm."

Cold. But not surprising.

Kaiden leaned over, stage-whispering, "Don't take it personally. Bella's allergic to lady's that look prettier than her before coffee."

Arabella gives a stern look at Kaiden "Charming"she grunts

Miles cleared his throat. "Kaiden flirts with anything that breathes."

I shot Kaiden a playful glance. "Duly noted."

Kaiden beamed. "Ah, she's got fire. I like her already."

Arabella's stare burned into the side of my face, unreadable.

But I didn't shrink.

Because no matter how many porcelain daggers they threw...

I'd survived far worse without silk, servants, or silver spoons.

Turns out the day wasn't over. A garden party at noon meant more pretending, more smiles... more lies.