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Chapter Eleven: A Perfect Fit, A Perfect Lie
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2025-06-30 21:18:08
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CONTRACT BRIDE FOR THE DEVIL Chapter Fifteen: Lines We Don't Crosss
The ride to Mr. Denmark’s estate was filled with silence thick enough to choke on. Andrew sat beside me, scrolling through emails, jaw locked tight. Since the press conference, we’d been glued together in public. Smiling, hand-holding, whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears. But behind closed doors, we barely spoke unless necessary. That, too, was part of the performance. A lie we were both trying desperately not to believe. I kept my gaze on the passing trees, arms folded tightly. Every now and then, I caught him glancing at me through the window’s reflection, but neither of us said a word. When we arrived, the gates to Denmark’s estate opened like something out of a fairytale. A vast stretch of manicured lawns and symmetrical hedges led up to a glassy modern mansion that screamed wealth in the most understated way.Andrew adjusted his cuffs as we stepped out. “Let me do most of the talking.”I nodded, biting back the urge to snap. I wasn’t here for ego wars. I was here
CONTRACT BRIDE FOR THE DEVIL Chapter Fourteen: Breaking the Silence
The gym was quieter than usual. Only the soft hum of treadmills and clinks of weights filled the air. It was early—barely 7 a.m.—but I liked it that way. No eyes. No distractions. Just me and the echo of my breath. I pulled my ponytail tighter and studied my reflection in the mirror. The difference was subtle but real. My waist was smaller, face more defined. The softness that used to make me invisible now turned heads. My old body was gone—buried under weeks of early mornings, meal preps, and sweat-soaked leggings. Still, this wasn’t about looking good for anyone. Not Andrew. Not the world. This was about not recognizing the girl Bryan used to mock. The girl he called names behind cafeteria tables. I owed her this. I stepped onto the treadmill, tapped play on my favorite playlist, and let the rhythm drown out everything else—until my phone buzzed. Susan 🤍: “Girl… what the hell is this??” She attached a link and followed it with: “You seriously need to see this. Befo
CONTRACT BRIDE FOR THE DEVIL Chapter Thirteen: A Friend's Visit
The room was still thick with tension when the elevator doors slid open.Susan stepped in like she owned the place, perfectly poised in a crimson satin dress, a casual smirk playing on her lips. Her perfume arrived before she did—something floral, expensive, and far too invasive for someone who hadn’t been invited. I blinked, stunned. “Susan?” “Surprise!” she sang, stepping across the marble floor. “Hope I’m not crashing anything.”Andrew’s stare sharpened like a blade. “How did you get in here?”She waved it off like it was nothing. “Your security recognized me. Said I came by a few times to drop Maria off from the gym. I told him I had an important appointment with her tonight, and he waved me through. You might want to revisit your protocols.” She giggled.Andrew’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t respond. “Susan, you should’ve called,” I said, still trying to wrap my head around her sudden appearance. “You can’t just show up—” “I did call,” she cut in smoothly, digging into her clu
CONTRACT BRIDE FOR THE DEVIL Chapter Twelve: The Distance Between Us
The city lights blurred behind the tinted windows as we rode home in silence. I sat stiffly beside Andrew, fingers twitching in my lap. I could still feel the weight of every gaze from that ballroom—every judgment, every fake smile, every word that tried too hard to sound like praise. “You did well tonight,” Andrew finally said as we pulled into the garage. His tone was flat, unreadable. “I survived,” I muttered, stepping out as the driver opened my door. The moment we entered the penthouse, I kicked off my heels with a groan. My toes throbbed like I’d just walked on coals. I glanced at Andrew, who’d already unbuttoned his jacket and was heading for the bar like nothing happened. He poured himself a drink. Whiskey. Neat. “Want one?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder. I laughed bitterly. “Does it come with a side of ‘thanks for selling your soul tonight’?” He didn’t flinch. “You knew the deal.” “Yeah,” I said, pulling a hairpin out. “But that didn’t mean I knew I’d have t
CONTRACT BRIDE FOR THE DEVIL Chapter Eleven: A Perfect Fit, A Perfect Lie
The sunlight that poured through the glass walls of Andrew’s penthouse was somehow… ruder than usual. I groaned, pulling the sheets over my face like they could shield me from the new reality I’d signed up for — living under the same roof as Andrew Walker. Technically in a room three hallways away, but still. It felt like I’d moved into the belly of a beast wearing a designer suit. A knock on the door came just as I sat up. “Miss Smith?” a crisp female voice called. “I’m here for your styling session.” Styling session. God help me. “I’m coming,” I called, pulling on the nearest robe I could find. Silk. Monogrammed with a golden “A.” Of course. When I opened the door, a tall woman in her early thirties gave me a tight-lipped smile. She wore all black, hair pulled into a sleek bun, and held a tablet like it was an extension of her arm. “I’m Isla. Mr. Walker sent me.” “Of course he did.” Within twenty minutes, the suite had transformed into a mini fashion house. Rack
CONTRACT BRIDE FOR THE DEVIL Chapter Ten: Room for Two
I had barely kicked off my heels when my phone buzzed again. Andrew Walker. Of course. I considered ignoring it. For once, I wanted a long bath, a bowl of overpriced cereal, and the comfort of peeling off my lashes without being summoned like a foot soldier. But curiosity — or foolishness — won. I answered. “What now?” “I’ll have a driver at your place tomorrow morning,” Andrew said, voice cool as ever. “Pack what you need.” I sat up on the couch. “Excuse me?” “You’re moving in with me.” I blinked. “You’ve lost your mind.” “You live in a one-bedroom apartment with squeaky pipes and no security. It doesn’t align with the image we’re presenting.” “Translation,” I snapped, “you think my apartment screams peasant.” “I didn’t say that,” he said smoothly. “But since you did…” “Andrew—” “Maria,” he interrupted, firm. “We’re engaged. At least to the world. Do you think the press won’t follow you home eventually? You think Mr. Denmark’s people won’t raise a brow when th
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