Billionaire's Dead Wife Returns As His Contract Bride

ABEL

Not the warmth of sunlight or the comfort of a fireplace. This was something alive and hungry, a roaring wall of orange and black that swallowed the world whole. Smoke poured into his lungs like wet concrete, and his eyes streamed until the world dissolved into nothing but fire.

"Abel!"

A scream tore through the sea of flames, scraping against his soul.

"Helen!" He threw her name into the inferno and the flames swallowed it whole.

He was running toward the lake house. Their lake house. One where they had spent every summer of their marriage for the past year. Now it was a skeleton of orange and red, and he could just make out her silhouette on the upstairs balcony, small against the blaze.

"Help me! Please, Abel!" Helen wailed at the top of her voice.

He lunged forward, ignoring the heat that threatened to blister his skin. But then arms wrapped around his chest like iron bands, yanking him backward.

"Let me go!" he thrashed against the firefighters holding him back. "She’s in there! My wife is still in there!"

“Sir the roof is coming down!" a voice shouted in his ear. “You have to stay here for your own safety.” But Abel didn't care.

He didn't care about anything except the woman on the balcony. He fought back, kicking and punching desperately to break free. His eyes flew back to the balcony where Helen stood. And even from that distance and through the flames, he could swear he could see the tears in those wide hazel eyes, with a fear that would haunt him for eternity.

Then the floor beneath her gave way.

"NO!"

Abel bolted upright in his bed with a loud gasp, his heart beating so hard he could feel it in his teeth. He was drenched in sweat with his bed sheets tangled around his legs, sticking to his damp skin.

He ran a hand through his hair as the room reassembled itself around him. He was in the master bedroom. There was no fire. No smoke. Just the pale moonlight sipping through the open window. And the cold silence of a house too big for one person.

He fell back on the pillows and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the image of Helen standing at that balcony. But the image was burned into his mind.

It had been two hundred and forty-three days and it still felt like yesterday. Everyone told him that time healed all wounds, but they were liars. If it really did, how come the hollow in his chest only grew deeper?

He turned to the other side of the bed and reached a hand out into the space by his side, expecting to feel her sleeping form next to him. But there was nothing. The same nothing that filled that space for eight months now.

"I'm sorry," he breathed into the darkness. "I couldn't save you."

He checked the clock on the nightstand. 6:00 AM.

He wouldn't sleep again. He never could after the nightmare. He threw the bed covers off, walked into the bathroom, and ran the cold tap, bending over the sink and letting the water shock him back to himself. He let out a deep breath and gripped the edges of the sink till his heart finally slowed. He had to put himself together.

Because today was the day he would finally move on.

They called it a vote of no confidence. Abel called a coup.

The board members were all fools. Old men clinging to old traditions. They didn't care if he was grieving or not. All they cared about were stock prices and income. He couldn't say he blamed them, either. He had his own family poisoning their minds, feeding them with doubts about his competence, his stability, his state of mind.

They weren't wrong about the state of his mind. But he would die before he let them have Lamb Industries.

And so, he hired a team of advisors and paid them millions to come up with a solution.

Abel dried his face and walked back to his room to the walk in closet, where rows of designer suits hung perfectly spaced. A uniform for a life he no longer wanted to live.

You need a wife.

The team had been clear that the only way to survive the vote of no confidence was to show his stability. And in the eyes of the old, traditional men on the Board, stability meant a new wife.

“A marriage contract, " he said to himself, buttoning a white dress shirt on.

A business deal, nothing more. He had no interest in love. He had experienced it once, and the universe had punished him for it.

The team had set up a meeting this evening for someone they only described as “a suitable candidate." He didn't know her name. He hadn't looked at the file they sent. It didn't matter who she was anyway. As long as she could play the part.

He knotted his tie, tightening it until it felt like a rope around his neck.

"Just one year," he said to his reflection. "Save your legacy, and then go back to the dark."

*****

The day passed in a blur of meetings and numbers that meant nothing to Abel. By the time evening came, the sky over Las Vegas had opened up, and rain poured down the city streets, turning the world gray.

His driver pulled the black Phantom up to the curb outside Beverly Royale, a fine dining restaurant located in a quiet, upscale part of town, not too far from the Lamb Tower. It was the kind of place where privacy was the most expensive item on the menu.

"Wait here," he told the driver and stepped out of the vehicle. "This shouldn't take long."

The rain soaked into his coat instantly. He hadn't bothered with an umbrella. To him the rain felt good. It numbed the heat that still lingered from his nightmare.

The manager recognized him the moment he stepped inside, simply nodding before turning around and leading him toward the back.

"Your private table is ready as requested, Mr. Lamb." he said and opened a tinted glass door that led into a small room separated from the main lounge. There was a fireplace crackling softly in the corner and a single table set for two.

Abel walked in and took the seat facing the door, twisting his cufflinks— a nervous tic he hadn’t been able to shake since Helen’s funeral. He checked his watch. 7 PM exactly. She should be here anytime.

Five minutes passed. He took a sip of his drink, drumming his fingers on the table.

He checked his watch again and tightened his jaw. Ten minutes had passed. He hated tardiness. In the business world, time was money. If you couldn't be on time, then you weren't qualified.

Fifteen minutes.

The silence in the room began to grate on him. He looked at the empty chair opposite him. This was ridiculous. He was Abel Lamb. He ran a multi-billion dollar empire. He had people waiting weeks just to get five minutes on his calendar. And here he was, waiting for a woman who was being paid millions of dollars to simply show up.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, knocking back the rest of his drink.

Maybe this was a sign. Maybe the universe was telling him that this was a bad idea. How could he replace Helen even if it was a fake marriage? Every time he looked at that empty chair he imagined Helen sitting there, smiling that warm smile she always wore at him.

He closed his eyes for a second and let out a long breath, fighting the tightness he suddenly felt in his chest.

Twenty minutes passed.

He slammed the glass down on the table. That was it. He was done.

If this candidate couldn't even manage to be punctual for the most important interview of her life, she certainly couldn't handle the pressure of being Mrs. Lamb.

He stood up and grabbed his coat. He would tell the team to cancel the whole thing. He would fight Maria and the board on his own.

He crossed the room to the door and reached for the handle, ready to storm out into the rain and forget this ever happened. But before he could touch the knob the door swung open.

He stopped and took a hard step back to avoid being hit.

A breathless woman stood in the doorway with a broken umbrella clutched in her hands. She was soaked to the bone, her cheap black trench coat dripping on the expensive carpet.

"I am so, so sorry," she gasped, pushing her wet hair out of her face. "The storm is terrible, and my cab broke down three blocks away, and I had to run, and—"

She looked up and her eyes met his.

All the air left Abel’s lungs and his heart literally stopped beating for a terrifying second before slamming in his chest like a sledgehammer.

His coat slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a soft thud he didn't hear. He couldn't hear anything over the roaring in his ears.

The woman standing in front of him had long, wavy brown hair that was plastered to her cheeks from the rain. Pale skin, flushed from the cold. Wide hazel eyes that had been consumed by flames. And a face he had kissed a thousand times

"Helen?"