Bound by Contract, Freed by Love

Dominic's POVI woke up early, before the dawn appears, and leaned against the penthouse floor-to-ceiling window. City lights faded to a dim sparkle, and a cold wind battered the half-opened window. I glanced at my hand on the chilled glass. I remembered Elena Hart, the woman who had accepted to marry me. Twenty-four months of marriage. Two years living together in an apartment. I had no notion of what the future held.Softly the living room door knocked. I turned and approached it. Castillo, my chauffeur, came in bowing. Two bodyguards followed him. Castillo spoke softly to me. "Mr. Blackwood, Miss Hart has arrived.""Thanks," I replied. I turned and faced away from the windows to the center of the room. The marble floor numbed my socks. The interior design was modern and minimalist. White sofas, glass coffee tables, minimalist ornamentation. I loved the lack of clutter—it left room for my plans and no distractions.The door creaked open again. Elena entered, holding a single black s

Dominic's POVI enter my office and stop at the doorway. Castillo is there, holding this morning's newspapers. He hands me a tabloid with a gilded headline: "Mrs. Blackwood Revealed as Gold Digger." My heart tightens. I turn to the feature. The story says Elena Hart wed me for wealth, cites anonymous sources, and features a blurred picture of her at the charity ball.I say, "Castillo, bring Percival.""Yes, sir."The door closes on Castillo. I pace the room. My desk is expansive and organized. My computer monitor is dark. The sunlight streams through the window behind me. I stare at the tabloid spread across the desk. My mind flashes.Percival appears in seconds, tie undone, eyes alert. "Sir?"I nod at the article. "Read this.".He takes the page and reads it. His brows knit together. "This is libelous. They have no source, no evidence."I shut my eyes. I remember Elena, alone in the penthouse reading this. I feel something like rage, but more biting. "We must do something."Percival

Dominic's POVIarrive at the Grand Arcadia Ballroom at about eight. Chandeliers shine like stars in the sky. Guests dressed in evening gowns and tuxedos walk by in the room. Perfume and champagne perfume the air. I search the room for Elena.I see her standing next to the string quartet. She is standing next to an extended table, her right hand holding a flute of water that glistens. Her gray gown is more becoming on her now. She appears serene, but I can observe the look of uncertainty in her eyes.I approach her. My heels rap against the marble floor. Percival hangs back politely. He looks at his phone and gives me a nod. Agenda for this evening: schmooze, schmooze with donors, show off our coalition.When I arrive at Elena's side, Giselle Van Dorn is standing next to her. Giselle wears emerald green and pearls that glint. She's smiling too brightly. Her eyes are glinting with a flash of sharpness."Elena," says Giselle, her voice honeyed.Elena's smile is courteous. "Thank you, Gis

Dominic's POVI stay at my desk late into the evening after the cleaners have gone. City lights glare off windows which run to the ceiling. Project reports and documents clutter the desk top in a disorganized fashion. My coffee has iced over. I massage weary eyes.I tap a pen on the ledger. Figures dance in my head for the next ad campaign. Margins, forecasts, risk assessment. I remember to switch out the ad budget with Percival. My phone buzzes with reminders: nine a.m. board meeting, tonight's charity gala, next week's press conference. I shut my eyes for a moment.A gentle tap on the door, and I glance up. It's midnight. I snarl and say out loud, "Enter."Elena comes into the study. She's wearing a loose sweater and jeans. Her hair's loose and falling about her face. She's carrying a cup of tea." Dominic," she whispers. "I didn't expect you'd still be awake."I stand up and slump back in the chair. "You shouldn't be awake."She makes her way across the room and places the mug on a

Dominic's POVI arrive at the hospital early morning. The sky is gray, and streetlights light up long sections of wet sidewalk. I drive into the canopy and step out. A nurse approaches me, clipboard in her hand."Mr. Blackwood?""Yes," I say. "How is she?"Her face is sympathetic. "Your wife's mother is in surgery right now. Another two hours."I nod and lead her through the gleaming corridors to the waiting area behind the operating rooms. White walls, immaculate floor. I sit in the second row of chairs. Palms slippery with sweat. I remind myself to breathe.I glance at my watch. Elena's surgery was at seven fifteen. Now eight thirty. A head nurse emerges from behind a glass door. Scrubs, mask, eyes tired but professional."Mr. Blackwood?""That's me."She refers to her chart. "The surgeon will be out in ten minutes. Be patient.".I bow my head and recumbent. All my muscles stay taut. I replay our final night together. She sat beside me in the warehouse office, calm under duress. She