Pleasure Contract: The Mother the CEO Swore to Dominate

Juliet Pierce

I was parked on the shoulder of I-95, rain hammering the roof of the car. The sound of rain had always calmed me. My dad used to say, “A real downpour can wash your soul clean, Juliet.” I glanced at the back seat for a moment. My two little ones were sleeping peacefully, curled up under the blanket, as if the entire world hadn’t just collapsed around us only hours ago.

Then I looked at myself in the rearview mirror. The deep purple bruises around my eyes were still there. So were the fingerprints on my wrists and the faint marks on my forearms.

A brutal reminder that years of love, sacrifice, and devotion had always been repaid with screams, slaps, punches, kicks… I straightened my spine and gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white.

From this day forward, I was no longer Juliet Monroe. I was Juliet Pierce again.

The phone rang one more time. Him. There was nothing left to say. I had signed the divorce papers. And—even deceived—he had signed too. I dried the tears running down my face, turned the key in the ignition, and pulled back onto the highway.

I had no idea where I was going, but I had to decide soon. The money my father left us would keep us afloat for a while… but not forever.

A sleepy little voice came from the back seat. “Are we there yet, Mommy? I’m hungry.”

“Almost, baby,” I said, forcing a smile as I looked at him in the mirror. “Just a few more minutes and we’ll stop at a diner. And we’re going to have the most delicious pancakes in the whole world.”

“I want a burger and fries,” Heitor declared.

I laughed softly, even though my heart was still in pieces. “It’s eight in the morning, sir, but today is a special day. Today you can have a burger and fries for breakfast.”

“Can I have a milkshake?” Laurinha’s sleepy voice joined in.

“Of course you can, princess.”

I desperately needed a break. I had driven all night. I remembered seeing a sign a while back for a motel with a diner attached. Perfect—feed the kids, let them stretch their legs, maybe sleep for a couple of hours.

Ten minutes later we pulled into the parking lot. To my genuine surprise, the place looked warm and welcoming, almost like someone’s home. I let out a breath of pure relief. The last thing I could handle right now was one of those filthy roadside motels full of truckers and addicts.

Before getting out, I pulled on a long-sleeved hoodie to cover the bruises. The black eye was still visible under layers of concealer. I took a deep breath, climbed out, and took my children’s tiny hands in mine.

Inside the diner, a kind-faced older woman behind the counter greeted us with a bright smile. “Good morning, sweethearts!”

“Good morning!” we answered together.

“Have a seat anywhere you like. I’ll bring menus right over.”

We chose a booth in the back, close to an old Pac-Man arcade machine that immediately caught Heitor’s attention. The woman—her name tag read ANNE—brought crayons for the kids and took our order. Ten minutes later the table was overflowing: pancakes, burgers, fries, milkshakes, and an enormous slice of chocolate cake “on the house, because every new day deserves chocolate.”

After we ate, the kids ran off to play while I rested my elbows on the table and buried my face in my hands. Exhaustion hit me like a truck. My body screamed, but the worst pain was the knot of pure terror in my chest. George’s messages hadn’t stopped all night. I needed to get rid of that phone before he tracked it.

“Mind if I sit down, dear?”

I looked up. Anne stood there with two fresh cups of coffee.

“Of course, please.”

She slid into the booth across from me. “Your children are absolutely beautiful.”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

Her eyes dropped to my wrists where the sleeve had ridden up. “Did you report him?”

I stiffened, instantly uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, lowering her voice. “I don’t mean to pry. But I saw your eye… and now the marks on your arms. I just… I worry about you and those babies.”

“I appreciate it, ma’am.” I managed a tiny smile. “What’s your name?”

“Anne. Anne Thompson. I own the place.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Thompson. I’m Juliet Mon—” I caught myself, took a deep breath, and corrected, “Juliet Pierce.”

“The pleasure is mine, Juliet.”

A few seconds of silence passed before she spoke again. “Does he know where you are?”

I shook my head, blinking back fresh tears. “No. I signed the divorce papers and left with the kids in the middle of the night.”

“And where are you headed?”

I let out a shaky laugh that sounded more like a sob. “I have no idea. My mom died when I was a little girl. My dad passed seven years ago. No siblings. No close family. Barely any friends left.”

“Oh, sweetheart…” Anne reached across the table and covered my trembling hand with hers. Her eyes were warm, full of understanding instead of pity.

“Want to talk about it?”

“There’s not much to tell,” I said, voice breaking. “We met in college, got married right after graduation. I gave up my career to support his. A year later Dad died… I was pregnant with Heitor. After our son was born, George changed. Completely.”

“They never show their true colors at the beginning,” Anne said quietly, anger flashing behind her kind eyes.

“There were signs. I just… I was too blind, too in love to see them. Now I feel so stupid.”

“Don’t you dare blame yourself,” she said fiercely. “The only thing that matters is that you see it now. You found the courage to leave. And you will win this fight. You know how I know that?”

I shook my head, tears rolling freely now.

She glanced at my children and smiled the softest smile I’d ever seen. “Because you have the two most beautiful reasons in the world to keep going. When you feel like you can’t take another step, look at them. And remember—for them, you can do anything.”

I smiled through the tears. It was my silent thank you.

We talked for a little longer. It felt so good to speak without being judged. Afterward, Anne showed us to one of the motel rooms. It was simple, clean, and somehow felt safer than the mansion I’d shared with George for years.

The bathroom smelled faintly of lavender. I bathed the kids first, then stood under the shower myself for what felt like hours, letting the hot water pour over me until it felt like every last trace of George was finally washed away.

When I came out, the kids were mesmerized by cartoons on the tiny TV. I tucked them into the big bed with me and we napped for a while. Anne lent me her daughter’s old laptop so I could search for somewhere—anywhere—to start over.

I was hundreds of miles from Charleston by now, but George still had money, power, connections. He could find me.

I was about to give up when an ad popped up on the screen. A nightclub. Nothing special about the ad itself, but the location made my heart stop.

Manhattan.

I closed the laptop, packed our few bags, and buckled the kids into the car. Anne had prepared a care package—sandwiches, juice boxes, cookies, even little toys for the road.

“One more gift,” she said, handing me an old portable CD player with headphones already plugged in.

I stared at it, confused.

“When I made the same choice you’re making right now,” she said, voice thick with emotion, “I grabbed my little girl, threw a bag in the truck, and just drove. No destination. That CD player was the only thing I took for myself. I hit play on the first station that came in and didn’t look back. I won, Juliet. For her. For me. Now it’s your turn.”

Tears spilled over again.

“So you…”

“One survivor always recognizes another.” She pulled me into a tight hug. “Go write your new story, baby girl.”

We said goodbye. I climbed behind the wheel and looked at my babies in the rearview mirror.

“Ready for an adventure?”

“YES!” they shouted together.

My phone buzzed one final time. George again. This time I typed back.

“It’s over, you bastard.”

A wild, free smile spread across my face—the first real one in years. I rolled down the window and threw the phone onto the asphalt, watching it shatter in the side mirror.

One last wave to Anne, who stood in the doorway beaming with pride.

I slipped on the headphones, pressed play on whatever burned CD was inside. Natasha Bedingfield’s voice filled my ears:

“No one else, no one else Can speak the words on your lips Live your life with arms wide open Today is where your book begins The rest is still unwritten…”

I took a deep, shaky breath, wiped my tears, and pressed the accelerator.

“Let’s go, Juliet. Time to write a whole new fucking story.”