Secrets of One Night: My Contract Husband

Even after an intense morning at the company, Olívia Bittencourt felt radiant.

On that rainy day, her heart beat to a different rhythm. It was her three-year anniversary with Peter Salvatore. Three years of believing she had finally found the right man.

As soon as she left work, she drove straight to the spa. She needed to look perfect, because something inside her told her she was about to have an unforgettable night.

Reclined in a plush chair, Olívia let herself sink into the gentle touch of the esthetician, who massaged her face in slow, circular motions. Her phone rang for the third time on the counter. She picked it up and smiled when she saw the name on the screen.

“Girl, I’m sorry I didn’t answer earlier,” she said lightly. “I was getting a facial massage.”

“Ohhh, so tonight is definitely going to be something,” Camila replied.

“I can’t handle how anxious I am—and to make it worse, it started pouring,” Olívia said, glancing at the spa’s glass wall. “I still have to do my makeup. I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous in my life.”

On the other end, Camila scoffed.

“Nervous for what, woman? You’re going to celebrate three years with the most incredible man in Dallas. If you keep this up, you’re going to have a panic attack and end up in the hospital instead of at dinner.”

Olívia sighed, studying her reflection in the mirror: luminous fair skin, blue eyes shining with anticipation, and long black hair falling loose all the way to her waist.

“Don’t even say that.” She paused, her voice softening. “It’s three years, you know? And today… something inside me says he’s going to propose.” She hesitated. “And I decided that… I’m going to give myself to him. I know I waited too long, and a lot of people think I’m old-fashioned, but… I finally feel ready. And I want it to be romantic.”

There was silence on the line.

“WOW,” Camila finally said. “Finally, friend. I don’t know how Peter—Mr. Trouble himself—survived all this time without sex.”

Olívia smiled, nervous.

“He waited because he loves me. And from the beginning, he knew I wanted it to be special—no pressure.” She lowered her voice. “A relationship isn’t just about sex.”

“I know,” Camila answered quickly. “But let’s be real: men think with the wrong head. They want a woman who’s always ready, bouncing on them.”

The makeup artist interrupted gently.

“Sweetie, I need you to either put on headphones or switch to speakerphone, okay?”

Olívia let out a small laugh.

“Camila, I have to hang up. I forgot my headphones at home, and you already started talking nonsense. Wish me luck!”

“Luck—and go all in,” Camila replied with a soft laugh. “Sometimes life rewards the ones who wait.”

“I hope so.” Olívia smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her shoulder. “Tonight… I want everything to go right.”

“It will,” Camila said immediately. “Kisses!”

When Olívia ended the call, silence settled over the room again. After a while, the makeup artist finished.

Olívia slipped into the red lace lingerie she had chosen on purpose—bold, but still delicate. Over it, she pulled on a pearl-pink dress that hugged her curves with effortless sophistication, defining her slim waist and elegant hips. She stepped into nude heels, put on her earrings, and once again studied herself in the mirror.

“Girl, tonight is going to be something,” the makeup artist said, winking mischievously. “Go get your man.”

Inside Olívia, only one sentence kept repeating—stubborn and quiet.

Tonight my life is going to change.

---

The restaurant inside the luxury hotel breathed exclusivity. Tables were decorated with white flower arrangements and candlelight; the distant sound of a piano filled the space with calm elegance.

Peter was already waiting for her: an impeccable black suit, blond hair slicked back, and that smooth, charming smile. To anyone watching, he looked like a man in love.

The moment Olívia walked in, heads turned. Peter stood immediately, as if showing off a prize.

“You look stunning, love,” he said, kissing her hand.

“And you look handsome, as always,” she replied, smiling with tenderness.

The waiter poured wine. Peter lifted his glass first, his voice steady.

“To our love.”

Olívia, eyes shining with emotion, completed the toast.

“May it last forever.”

The wine went down smooth, warming her throat. But before she could fully savor the moment, Peter’s phone vibrated on the table. The notification sound cut through the romantic atmosphere for a split second. He grabbed it quickly.

The screen lit up, and the message appeared in clear letters:

“I’m already on my way to the hotel. Tonight, you’re going to feed my addiction to virgin women.”

Peter locked the screen instantly. His smile didn’t falter, as if nothing had happened.

“Is it something important?” Olívia asked, concerned.

He placed his hand over hers.

“Nothing is more important than being here with you, right now.”

Her heart raced.

She believed him.

Dinner continued. Peter, however, seemed more focused on keeping the wine flowing.

“And the selection process for that new position, love?” Olívia asked.

“I’ve been working my ass off for it. That’s all I’ve been doing,” he replied, filling her glass again with an insistent gesture.

“I’ve already had enough alcohol tonight… love,” she murmured, hesitating.

“It’s a celebration, sweetheart. Don’t do this to me,” he said, his smile almost commanding.

She laughed, giving in.

“If I embarrass myself, it’ll be your fault.”

A little later, Olívia went to the restroom.

Peter discreetly pulled her glass closer. Carefully, he slipped something into the drink. He stirred the liquid gently, making sure nothing looked suspicious. Then he leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile returning to his lips.

When Olívia came back, she sat down again, smiling.

“Where were we?” she asked, lifting her glass.

With every sip, her vision blurred a little more. The piano sounded distant. Olívia felt light, floating—lost in illusion.

“You know, love…” she murmured, resting her chin on her hand, her voice dragging from the drink. “Tonight we’re going to have sex.”

He pretended to be surprised.

“Are you sure?”

Olívia inhaled slowly, trying to stay clear.

“I want you to taste every inch of me, love.”

His eyes lit up.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for that.” He caressed her hand.

She held his gaze for a few seconds, even though her eyelids felt heavy.

“Tonight you…” she said, completely out of it, “are going to find the way…” She giggled. “…to my hidden treasure.”

Peter kept his polished smile.

“Of course, angel. Let’s toast to that.”

Olívia tried to laugh, but her head spun.

“It’s too hot in here…” she whispered. “Put out my fire, Peter.”

“Easy, love.” He brushed his fingers along her face as if offering comfort. “Soon we’ll continue the celebration somewhere else.”

---

At the end of dinner, he guided her toward the front desk. Olívia could barely walk in a straight line, clinging to his arm. She was completely drunk—gone.

“A reservation under Peter Salvatore,” he told the receptionist.

The young employee, flustered by the heavy movement that night—since many guests had chosen not to drive in the storm—typed quickly. Without noticing, she switched suite 1240 for 1204. She handed him the keycard with a rushed smile.

Peter thanked her, and as he led Olívia toward the elevator, he discreetly pulled out his phone.

“I’m taking her to the room now,” he whispered.

On the other end, a woman’s voice replied, teasing:

“Are you going to take long, tiger?”

“No.” He smiled, victorious. “I’ll leave her in the suite and come straight to you, gorgeous. The boss is finally getting what he always wanted—one night with my girlfriend. My promotion is guaranteed.”

Olívia giggled to herself, making no sense.

“Love…” she slurred. “I’m… so wet.” And she laughed again, lost in delirium.

---

The hallway outside the luxury suite was quiet.

Peter opened the door, laid her on the bed, and covered her with white sheets.

“I have a surprise, love. Keep the lights off. I’ll be right back,” he whispered.

Olívia laughed loudly.

Minutes later, the door opened slowly.

A man stumbled inside, drunk. His steps were unsteady, his breathing heavy.

“Where the hell is the light?”