Marry me; The Billionaire's contract

ANASTASIA“Marry me, Miss Brooks,” Dominic says, like he’s offering me an invitation to a soap opera.I stare at the contract in front of me, as if staring hard enough would make it somehow disappear, turn into something that isn’t a marriage contract to the most condescending person on earth – Dominic Blackwood, the same man who now rules the business world, my dead father’s rival.“Why would I want to marry you?” I ask, meeting his gaze, those blue eyes too pretty, too bright for the personality behind them.“Because you need it. You need me, and the money, to stay afloat,” he supplies, leaning against his seat.This son of a bitch makes my life hell without even trying, he's the reason behind all the late nights dad couldn't come home, all the diners dad couldn't make it to, all the times he drank because he couldn't handle anything, it's because Dominic is fucking ruthless, he'll do anything to beat anyone in his way.“I can survive on my own,” I say. My hands tighten at my side.

ANASTASIAI stare up at the mansion in front of me, it’s huge, the building standing tall, representing power and everything the owner stands for. The air carries the faint smell of rain, old money, and fresh roses from the garden surrounding the mansion. The building reminds me of him: tall, big, and distant, the obvious lack of color around the building except for the roses at the side.Parked at the side is Dominic’s sleek black Bentley.I drag my suitcase toward the building, typing a reply to Rita’s thousands of texts.I press the doorbell, tapping my fingers impatiently at my side. No reply. I raise my hand to press it again, but the door swings open before my finger lands.Dominic stands near the doorway, except he doesn’t look like the cold, distant man in a suit I married.Standing near the doorway, fresh from the shower, the faint scent of his body wash in the air, droplets of water drip down the wet strands of his hair, down his chest, sliding lower, a towel draped around h

ANASTASIAWe follow Matteo deeper into the mansion. His back rigid and every step calculated as if afraid one wrong step would piss the man behind him off. He stops in front of a room.“A dress has been arranged for Mrs. Blackwood. Please make yourself comfortable.” The title makes me shift uncomfortably.“That should be all, Thank you.” Dominic says. He didn't sound grateful. It sounds like Matteo is a servant boy showing him around his estate, but the man doesn’t seem to mind. He nods eagerly and disappears down the hall.“You sounded very grateful,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. The familiar smirk plays at the edge of his lips. He’s dressed in a black suit, hair styled back, jawline sharp. His eyes focus on me.“We don't have time for this,” he says.“I wouldn't be downed in red wine if you didn't decide to walk in like you owned the place”“I was busy,” he supplies, Leaning against the wall. I turn to enter the room, then stop.“if the cleaners or guests pass by and see y

DOMINIC“What the fuck happened to my clothes?” she asks, clenching and unclenching her jaw for the third time.“I threw them away.”Her eyes flare instantly. Her skin is still damp from the shower, hair dripping in uneven strands, face bare, the mole on her cheek no longer hidden by makeup.“The fuck, do you know how much those cost?”“I’m sure everything in your wardrobe costs more.”Her jaw ticks again.“I don’t give a fuck how much anything in my wardrobe costs. Everything there looks like it was picked for a rich monk,” she snaps back.I glance at my watch again.Ten more minutes.“They were inappropriate.”“They were mine,” she argues, her voice rising, chest lifting with each breath.“They were too revealing, too short, too tight.”I pause just long enough for her snarky reply.Her lips part like she wants to fire back immediately—but she doesn’t. Instead, she steps closer. Her mole seems even bigger than before.“Too revealing my ass. You don’t have the right over my body or w

ANASTASIAThe room is lit only by moonlight seeping through the curtains. The curtains flutter with the wind, rising like something big lurks behind them, then flattening again. Each flutter brings bone-chattering cold.I toss on the bed, eyes shut tight, minutes dragging. “Shit. I can’t fucking get any sleep,” I curse. I kick the mattress until it bunches at my feet and bury my face in the pillow.“Shit. I can’t fucking get any sleep,” I groan, my words muffling into the pillow.I reach for my phone and stare at the text illuminating the screen. _‘Do you think Dominic is only here for the shares?’_ Shit.My hands tighten on the pillow. I kick the mattress off, get out of bed, and walk into the bathroom. I splash water on my face and stare at my reflection in the mirror, at the dark circles under my eyes. “I could be a ghost,” I grin at my own joke, dabbing a towel against my skin. I walk out of the bathroom. My eyes fall on my phone resting on the nightstand. I reach for it