LOGINDanica Laurent never imagined one mistake could change her entire life. After a reckless night with a stranger, she finds herself pregnant and shamed in front of the world. Eden Cross, a ruthless billionaire with everything never planned to take responsibility for the pregnancy when he finds out. He still loves his ex, fashion icon Erica Lancaster. But under pressure from his grandmother and the looming media storm, he steps forward… on one condition. A one-year contract. One year of marriage. One hundred million dollars will be given to her. And after that? She must disappear—without the child. But Danica has dreams of her own. A struggling medical student, she agrees to the contract. But what happens when hearts start to shift? When Eden’s cold heart starts to burn for her? He gave her one year, but she might steal a lifetime.
View More_Danica’s POV_
The music vibrated through the floorboards of the hotel and I tried my best to remain calm. I wasn't sure if I wanted to be here. “Come on, Dani! Loosen up!” Freya shrieked over the dining, her hand clamped around my wrist as she pulled me further into the hotel. Apparently, our class president was having a party and Freya being extra social was definitely on the invite list and felt the need to bring me along. It felt more like an impending headache. “I don't know, Freya. It's a lot harder than you think,” I clutch my purse tighter, the velvet slipping against my sweaty palms. I wasn't used to attending parties or having fun like this, not to mention how intimidating the interior of this hotel was. It reeked of money, the kind of money I didn't have. It was overwhelming to say the least and I was afraid to make a mistake. A stream of excited classmates walked past us, heading for the main hall. “Aren't you coming, Freya?” One of the girls asked, totally ignoring my presence. “We'll be right there with you,” Freya smiled and they moved ahead. She had always been rather popular and loved by all. “I feel like a misfit here,” I sighed. Most of the students here came from prestigious families, well, I wasn't much of an exemption but my case was rather different. My affiliation with my family's prominence was only on paper…so to say. “Don't say that,” Freya frowned. “Look, we just came to have fun so let nothing else matter, okay?” She placed both hands on my shoulders. “I told you it's a lot to take in. I don't think you get,” I folded my arms. Freya rolled her eyes before letting out a sigh. “That’s the point, silly! ‘A lot’ is exactly what you need. You’ve been cooped up studying for weeks.” Before I could even protest, she somehow snatched a glass of champagne from a waiter's tray and shoved it into my hand. "Here. Drink up. It'll help." “How so?” I asked with raised brows despite sipping from the flute. “What better way is there to loosen up than taking alcohol?” She smirked, wrapping an arm around my neck. “By not being where you're not needed?” I answered like I was stating the obvious. I was. “You really have a long way to go,” she sighed nearly like she had given up. “Anyway, for tonight alcohol should be the solution.” I took another sip from the champagne. It was sweet, way too sweet, with this weird, tangy aftertaste. My stomach churned a bit; I wasn't used to anything stronger than lukewarm tea. But Freya was already dragging me away, her laughter echoing over the music. The party was a sensory overload, at least for me. Flashing strobe lights painted fleeting patterns on all the dancing bodies, making it hard to tell anyone apart. The music continued to boom at full volume and I was left genuinely wondering what made parties like this interesting to attend. My ears were about to explode and the lights made me a bit dizzy. Meanwhile, Freya was having the time of her life on the dance floor. “I envy you sometimes,” I smiled as I watched her do her thing. I did envy how she got along with everyone and how she was very confident. “What do you think you're doing spacing out in a party, Bookie?” She pulled me by the arm and dragged me on to the dance floor. She tried to teach me some steps but even in my head, I knew I couldn't move like that. “You're too stiff!” She yelled, leaning close. “That's because I'm not exactly a good dancer,” I answered, trying to ignore the eyes on us. “Liar. You've never even tried so how can you know,” she continued to dance around me to get me in the groove which of course wasn't working. “You need to relax, Dani. Have another,” she skillfully whisked away another glass of champagne whilst still dancing and pressed it into my hand. I continued to drink what she gave me, mostly to drown my social anxiety and soon the music started to sound less like a threat and more like a lullaby. The flashing lights became less jarring and for once, I thought that this wasn't so bad. I didn't mind the time right now or how long we had spent in this party. I laughed at almost everything and I felt surprisingly good and at peace. Freya’s face began to waver, her features blurring. “Is this…is this the power of alcohol?” I hiccupped, wondering why I felt so happy and at peace. "Okay," she slurred, her voice a little garbled, "I think you’ve had enough, even for you." She giggled. "I booked a room. Just in case. I had a feeling this moment would come." She leaned in conspiratorially, her breath warm against my ear. "Fifty-seventh floor. Room 572. Go take a little rest, Dani. You look like you’re about to sprout wings and fly." The idea of a quiet, dark room was suddenly the most appealing thing in the world. My head was spinning, the room tilting alarmingly. I nodded, a monumental effort. "Okay… okay." Navigating through the throng of people felt like pushing through thick mud. I should be grateful that I'm still a bit sober to move, any more drinks than what I had and I would have been wasted. I stumbled inside the elevator once its doors opened up. I leaned heavily against the cool metal wall. I recounted Freya’s room number. Fifty…seventy… I squinted at the panel, my fingers fumbling. The numbers swam before my eyes. My thumb, sluggish and uncooperative, pressed. Beep. The doors sighed shut. The elevator ascended quietly, a comforting vibration against my back. When it chimed and the doors slid open, I blinked in the sudden quiet of the hallway. It was much quieter here than downstairs, almost eerily so. The plush carpet absorbed any sound, and the elegance felt miles away from the loud party, nearly like it wasn't in the same hotel. At the far end of the corridor, two hulking figures stood outside a grand double door. Guards. They looked intimidating even through my blurry vision. As I wobbled uncertainly from the elevator, their heads snapped up. They exchanged a quick glance that sent a tiny shiver down my spine. Did everyone on this floor have huge men guarding them? I wondered. “Erm…Can I…” the men in black suits grabbed me before I could ask my question. Their strong hands seized my arms roughly and pulled me forward. "Hey!" I slurred, trying to yank free, but their grip was like iron. They dragged me towards the double doors despite how I whispered in panic. They didn’t say a word, just exchanged another glance and then, without any warning, I was propelled forward, through the grand doors, and into a dimly lit room. Before I could even register the unfamiliar surroundings, a man from nowhere appeared and grabbed me by the arm, not as rough as I expected. “Where are you taking me?” I hiccupped. I couldn't make out his face in this dimly lit room, not to mention how blurry my vision was already. “I don't have all night to waste here,” he pulled me closer to himself, his voice as charming as his silhouette. I felt his lips against mine and I found myself drowning in his kisses. Was it because I was drunk that I let a stranger touch and kiss me as he pleased?_Author’s POV_Eden’s fingers hovered over the remote as the news anchor’s voice filled his penthouse suite. Danica’s face flashed across the screen, another scandal. He clicked the television off and tossed the remote onto the leather sofa.He couldn’t be bothered with what Danica did with her life anymore. Their marriage was nothing more than a business arrangement, a facade they both maintained for appearances. As long as she didn’t drag the Cross name through the mud, she could do whatever she pleased.Work. That’s what mattered now. That’s what had always mattered.Eden loosened his tie and moved to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Buenos Aires. The city sprawled beneath him, vibrant and alive, so different from the steel, and, glass jungle of New York. He’d flown in two days ago to meet with Ricardo Vega, a notoriously difficult client who controlled half the commercial real estate market in South America.The negotiation had been brutal. Vega was calculating, and didn’t
_Danica’s POV_ The fallout began immediately. By morning, my phone was exploding with notifications. I made the mistake of opening social media, and there it was, photos from the mall incident, pictures of me at the police station, all plastered across every gossip site and news outlet imaginable. The headlines made my stomach turn. “Billionaire’s Pregnant Wife Sends Stepmother to Jail.” “Eden Cross’s Wife Shows No Mercy to Family.” “Power Couple’s Cruel Treatment of Elderly Woman.” I threw my phone across the bed and pressed my hands against my face. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. I’d stood up for myself, defended myself against people who’d hurt me for years, and somehow I was still the villain in their story. But what bothered me most wasn’t that they were painting me as cruel. It was that every single article assumed Eden had orchestrated the whole thing. That I was just his puppet, his protected property, incapable of making my own decisions or fighting my own bat
_Danica’s POV_ The silence in the police station after my declaration felt heavy, almost suffocating. My father stood frozen, his face cycling through shades of red and purple as he processed what I’d just said. Behind him, through the bars of the holding cell, I could see Margot clutching the metal bars with white-knuckled hands, her mouth hanging open in shock. Celeste had collapsed onto the bench inside, sobbing dramatically. “You…” My father finally found his voice, though it came out strangled. “You’ve become heartless. Absolutely heartless.” I didn’t flinch. For the first time in my life, I didn’t shrink under his anger or look away from his disappointment. I met his gaze head-on, my chin lifted, my shoulders back. “Heartless?” I repeated calmly. “That’s an interesting word coming from you.” “How dare you speak to me that way!” he shouted. “I’m your father!” “Are you?” The question came out quietly, but it landed like a bomb. “Because a father protects his daughter. A fath
_Danica’s POV_The crowd that had been jeering at me just moments ago suddenly shifted. Their hostile faces melted into expressions of remorse and embarrassment as they realized who I was—or more accurately, who my husband was.“We’re so sorry, Mrs. Cross,” one woman said, wringing her hands nervously. “Please don’t take offense to what happened. We didn’t know—”“We were completely out of line,” another man added quickly. “Please forgive us.”I frowned at them, crossing my arms over my chest. The tears I’d shed just minutes ago were already drying on my cheeks, but the humiliation still burned hot in my throat. These people had been ready to tear me apart based on lies, based on assumptions, without even bothering to hear my side of the story.“You should all be ashamed of yourselves,” I said, my voice steady despite the lingering hurt. “You were so quick to judge me, so ready to believe the worst without knowing anything about the situation. What if I hadn’t been able to prove my in












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