CHAPTER 3

Hannah pov

My grandmother used to sit me down whenever I felt crushed and hopeless, looking into my eyes with gentleness.

"You're going to be okay, Hannah," she would whisper. 

“You have your mother's green eyes, her grace, and her spirit. You are special, my sweet girl."

I wanted so badly to believe her. 

But after losing my mother at birth, learning what severe abuse meant before my tenth birthday, and being systematically stripped of my life by my stepbrother, "special" felt like a cruel joke. 

My grandmother had been the only person in that cold estate who protected me. 

But when my stepmother, Janet , manipulated my father into locking her away in a private care facility, I lost my only ally.

Sitting in the grand, wood-paneled boardroom of the Vance Conglomerate three weeks after my escape, my grandmother’s words echoed faintly in my mind.

Across the long mahogany table sat Bernard  Vance, the billionaire patriarch and founder of the company. 

Standing quietly behind his chair, arms crossed over his chest, was James—brooding, distant, and intimidating as ever.

"What is this?" I asked softly, looking down at the heavy document sliding across the table toward me.

"It's a marriage contract," Bernard  said, his voice deep and commanding despite his silver hair and frail posture.

My heart slammed against my ribs. "A... a marriage contract?"

"You're going to marry my son, James," Bernard  stated calmly, leaving no room for argument. 

"For the past three weeks, we have provided you with refuge, medical care, and total anonymity from your family. But protection in my world comes with a price, Hannah."

I glanced up at James. His face was an unreadable mask of stone, though a dangerous glint flickered in his silver eyes.

"Mr. Vance, I... I don't understand," I stammered, my hands trembling against the leather armrests.

“Why me?"

"Because you carry the legitimate Bloodhound lineage, yet you are untainted by your father's corruption," Bernard  explained smoothly. 

"This merger stabilizes our corporate holdings and publicly silences any rumors regarding your stepbrother's hostile takeover. 

In exchange, you gain the full protection of the Vance family name—a shield Gabriel  will never dare touch."

"And what does James think about this?" I asked, looking directly at the handsome billionaire. 

"Does he want a contract bride?"

James stepped forward, leaning his hands on the back of his father's chair.

"What I want is irrelevant to the terms of business, Hannah," James said, his voice smooth and laced with cold authority.

“You owed me a debt for saving your life. Signing that contract pays it in full."

I looked back down at the final page. 

My skin had regained its color over the last three weeks, my body was healing, and for the first time in years, I felt safe.

A contract marriage to a ruthless CEO was far better than returning to the living nightmare Gabriel  had prepared for me.

"I'll do it," I said quietly, lifting my chin. "I'll marry him."

Four days later, I walked down the aisle of a private estate chapel in a custom floor-length white silk gown. 

To the high-society press outside, it was the wedding of the century—the bachelor billionaire finally tamed by an elusive heiress. 

Heavy makeup covered the lingering faint bruises on my collarbone, disguising my fragile past.

James stood at the altar in a tailored dark tuxedo with a subtle lavender lapel.

 As I reached him, he took my hand in his, his grip firm and possessive as he slid a massive diamond ring onto my finger.

When the officiant pronounced us husband and wife, James wrapped a heavy arm around my waist, pulling me firmly against his broad chest.

"Smile for the cameras, wife," he murmured against my ear before his lips pressed forcefully against mine.

The kiss was electrifying, hot, and overwhelming—a dangerous taste of control that left my head spinning and my knees weak.

Pulling back just an inch, his dark gaze locked onto mine. Put on a show," he whispered dryly, before turning to face the applause of elite executives and dignitaries.

Later that evening, the heavy doors of James’s private penthouse suite clicked shut behind us. 

The glittering facade of the wedding vanished instantly.

"I need to get out of this dress," I breathed out, stepping toward the guest wing.

Before I could take three steps, James’s hand caught my arm, pulling me back toward his master bedroom.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. 

He unknotted his silk tie with one hand and tossed it carelessly to the floor.

"James, I thought... I assumed we had separate rooms—"

"You didn't read the finer details of the contract, did you?" James asked, stepping closer until I was backed against the wall. 

He reached out, his long fingers gently framing my flushed cheek. 

"The primary clause of this union is to produce an heir for the Vance estate."

My breath hitched in my throat. "An heir?"

"My father is dying, Hannah," James murmured, his eyes darkening. 

"He wants an heir before he steps down from the board. Why else do you think he agreed to this alliance?"

He slowly lowered the zipper down the back of my dress. 

The cold silk fell away, leaving me exposed in the warm glow of the bedroom lamps. 

My heart hammered against my ribcage—not out of terror, but from a sudden, dizzying wave of desire.

James paused, his silver eyes drinking in my form. Seeing my hesitation, his expression softened slightly.

"We don't have to do this tonight if you're not ready," he muttered, turning his head slightly as if trying to exercise restraint. 

"I won't force you."

"No," I whispered softly, reaching out to touch his chest. 

"I want to. I'm not afraid of you, James."

A low growl slipped from his throat as he lifted me into his arms, carrying me over to the massive bed. 

That night, James kept his promise. 

He was fierce yet agonizingly gentle, erasing every painful memory of my past and replacing them with his touch, his heat, and his name.

But the fairytale ended the moment morning arrived.

When I woke up, James was already fully dressed in a sharp suit, adjusting his cufflinks in front of the mirror. 

Without a single word or look in my direction, he pulled on his jacket and walked out, closing the door firmly behind him.

That was when the reality of our dynamic settled in.

Over the next two years, James grew cold, distant, and engrossed in his corporate empire. 

Our interactions were reduced to scheduled nights twice a month—purely transactional encounters designed for one purpose: conceiving a child.

And month after month, I failed.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Vance, but the pregnancy test is negative again," the family physician would say during my routine monthly checkups.

James would stand by the window of the clinic room, listening to the doctor's report, offering nothing more than a cold scoff or a disappointed shake of his head. 

Whispers began to circulate through the high-society tabloids and the Vance household staff.

"She's useless." 

“She can't even give him an heir." 

“The marriage was a mistake."

I cried myself to sleep in my empty bed almost every night, feeling smaller and more defective with each passing month, wondering if my grandmother had been wrong about me all along.

Two full years passed in cold, miserable silence. 

I was on the absolute brink of giving up entirely.

Then, on a rainy Tuesday afternoon, my phone rang on the nightstand.

I picked it up weakly. "Hello?"

"Hannah?" the doctor's voice came through the speaker, breathless and excited. 

"I just got your bloodwork back from this morning... You're finally pregnant."