Contracted to the Cold Ceo

Chapter 1: The Trap

​“Sign it, Emaline. It’s the only way out.”

​Emaline staring at the legal documents spread across the glass table. Her hand trembled as she held the pen.

​Across from her sat Carter Vance—her fiancé of two years. Or rather, her ex-fiancé as of twenty minutes ago.

​“You framed me,” Emaline whispered, her voice shaking with a mix of fury and disbelief. “You transferred millions in debt from Vance Media into my name. You stole my father’s life savings!”

​Carter didn’t even flinch. He adjusted the cuff of his Rolex, a cold, arrogant smile playing on his lips.

​“Business is cruel, darling,” Carter said smoothly. “Your family was naive enough to trust me. Now, you owe sixty million dollars to creditors who don't take no for an answer. Sign over your father’s land rights, or you go to prison by midnight.”

​Emaline’s chest heaved. Her family was ruined. Her father had suffered a stroke two days ago from the stress, her mother was weeping in a hospital waiting room, and her younger sister’s college fund was gone.

​All because she had trusted the wrong man.

​“I will never give you his land,” Emaline spat, slamming her hands on the table as she stood up. “I will find a way to destroy you, Carter. I swear it.”

​Carter laughed, a sound that made her blood run cold. “With what money, Emaline? You’re broke. You’re blacklisted in Country Z. By tomorrow morning, my men will come collecting.”

​Emaline grabbed her bag, shoved her way past Carter’s guards, and burst out of the private club into the pouring rain.

​She needed to get to the airport. She had a flight to Country A in three hours—a desperate, last-ditch trip to liquidate her late grandmother’s small bank account before Carter’s lawyers froze everything she owned.

​An hour later, the terminal of Country Z’s international airport was a blur of noise and lights.

​Emaline sprinted through the crowd, dragging her small carry-on bag behind her. Her mind was racing so fast she could barely breathe. Sixty million dollars. She needed sixty million dollars, or her father would lose his hospital care and she would end up behind bars.

​Look at your phone, look at the gate, she told herself, pulling out her mobile to check her flight status.

​She was moving too fast. She didn't see the dark shadow stepping out from the VIP line.

​CRASH!

​Emaline slammed hard into a wall of solid chest. The hot paper cup in her hand exploded on impact, splashing dark, scalding coffee across a crisp, tailored white shirt and the lapel of a charcoal Italian suit.

​“Oh my God!” Emaline gasped, stumbling back.

​She reached into her bag frantically, pulling out a wad of napkins. “I am so, so sorry! I was looking at my phone, I didn't see—”

​She reached out to dab at the stain on his chest, but a hand clamped around her wrist like a vise.

​The grip was cold, firm, and entirely unyielding.

​Emaline’s breath caught in her throat. She looked up.

​Standing above her was a man built like a razor-sharp blade. Dark hair parted perfectly, broad shoulders, and a face sculpted with harsh, merciless perfection. But it was his eyes that stopped her heart—a piercing, icy grey that burned with pure, unadulterated contempt.

​He looked down at his ruined shirt, then back at her.

​“Hands off,” his voice was a deep, gravelly baritone that felt like a blade scraping against ice.

​“I—I can pay for the dry cleaning,” Emaline stammered, her usual sharp tongue paralyzed by the sheer power radiating off him. “Please, it was an accident.”

​The man didn't utter another word. He simply dropped her wrist, pulled out a silk handkerchief, and wiped his fingers as if touching her had contaminated him.

​A tall man in a dark suit stepped up behind him. “Mr. Blackwood, the private jet is prepped for Country A. We need to clear security.”

​The cold stranger tossed the silk handkerchief into a nearby trash can. He gave Emaline one final, freezing look—a look that made her feel smaller than a speck of dust—before walking away without a single word.

​Emaline stood frozen in the middle of the crowded terminal, rubbing her wrist where his grip had left a lingering warmth.

​“Mr. Blackwood…” she whispered, watching his imposing figure disappear behind the VIP security doors.

​Her phone buzzed violently in her palm. An email notification popped up from an anonymous sender.

​Subject: A Solution to Your Debt.

​Emaline opened it with shaking fingers. There was no greeting. Just a time, an address in Country A, and a single sentence:

​If you want to destroy Carter Vance and save your family, be at Blackwood Tower tomorrow at 8:00 AM sharp. Bring your signature.

​Emaline stared at the screen, her heart hammering against her ribs.

​She didn't know who sent the email. She didn't know what kind of trap was waiting for her in Country A. But as she looked toward the boarding gate, she knew one thing for certain:

​She had nothing left to lose.