LOGINShe thought she was just a contract wife, a convenient arrangement to keep his reputation spotless and his empire stable. But when Duke Austen’s billion-dollar empire begins to crumble, he turns to her, the woman he once treated like a business deal, and suddenly, his coldness melts into obsession. He protects her like she’s his only weakness, kisses her like he’s afraid to lose her, and holds her like she’s the only thing keeping him alive. Until she discovers the truth. She was never just his contract wife. She’s been his real wife all along. And she’s the only one who didn’t know. Now, between love, lies, and a hidden marriage certificate that could destroy everything, she must decide if she will fight for the man who deceived her, or finally walk away as the woman he can never own?
View More“Miss Larsen, Mr. Austen will see you now,” the secretary said. Celine swallowed hard before standing up from the couch. She held her old portfolio close to her chest.
Although the hall was warm, her hands were becoming cold because of nervousness. “Thank you,” she said, though her voice shook slightly due to anxiety. The double doors opened, and she saw the large office that had a clear view of New York City. At the far end of the room, Duke Austen was sitting behind his desk. He was the Chief Executive Officer of Austen Holdings and one of the youngest billionaires in the country. He did not look up right away. He was writing something on a piece of paper and focusing on it completely. Celine’s throat felt tight just by watching him. What am I doing here? she thought. She was a freelance fashion designer who was struggling to pay her rent. She did not feel like she belonged in a place like this. “Sit,” he said finally, without looking at her. She sat down immediately. He then put down his pen and looked at her. His gray eyes were narrow. He examined her face carefully. Celine felt uncomfortable because she could tell he was observing her reactions. “Do you know why you’re here, Miss Larsen?” he asked. Celine shook her head. “Your secretary said you wanted to discuss a project, but I don’t understand how I can help your company, sir. I’m not exactly—” He interrupted her. “You’re not being considered for a design position, Miss Larsen.” Her eyebrows came together. “Then why am I here?” He leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingertips together. “Tell me, how much money do you need?” Celine blinked. “W-What?” She felt insulted by the question. “I reviewed your background,” he said. “You’re talented, but you have debts. Your brother has Stage IV leukemia. His medical bills are expensive, correct?” His words shocked her. She stopped speaking for a few seconds. “How did you find out about that?” “I have people who research information for me,” he said. “The point is that you need money urgently. I have money and a problem that needs to be solved.” Celine’s skin started to tingle. “What kind of problem?” He stood up from his chair and walked to the window. From there, he could see most of the city. “A merger,” he said. “With Wexler International. That company values public image as much as business performance. My board thinks a married CEO looks more reliable and stable. I’m not married, and I don’t have plans to fall in love. Therefore, I’ve decided to arrange a marriage.” Celine’s stomach felt heavy. “You’re joking.” He looked at her seriously. “Do I look like I’m joking?” “No, but what exactly are you suggesting?” “A contract marriage,” he said in a calm and serious tone. “It will be legal and binding. You will become Mrs. Austen for six months. In public, we will act as a married couple. In private, you can continue your normal life and your work. When the merger is finished, we will end the marriage quietly. You will receive full payment, enough to cover your brother’s medical treatments and more.” Celine froze. Her heartbeat became faster. “You can’t be serious!” “I am serious,” he said. “I need someone who is discreet, respectable, and intelligent enough to handle public attention. You meet those three requirements.” Celine shook her head. “You don’t even know me, Sir." His mouth moved slightly, as if almost smiling. “I know enough. You’re honest, hardworking, and too proud to ask for help. That makes you a safe choice.” “Safe?” she repeated. “I don’t want emotional complications,” he said. “This is only a business deal. You help me, and I will help you.” Her throat felt dry. “You’re asking me to pretend to be your wife.” “Not pretend,” he said, stepping closer. “Legally, it will be real. In every other sense, it will be temporary.” She looked at him, searching for any sign of humor, but there was none. “Why me? You could choose someone else, someone from your own social circle.” “Exactly,” he said. “Women from my social circle expect things that I won’t give, love, control, and permanence. You don’t want those things.” Celine caught her breath. “How do you know what I want?” “Because I read your application carefully,” he said. “You are someone who keeps fighting even when it’s difficult. You can endure hardships, and you are willing to do anything to save your brother.” Celine opened her mouth slightly. He was right, and that made her afraid. “This is crazy,” she said quietly. “You’re asking me to sell myself.” “No,” he said calmly. “I’m offering you a choice. You can leave now and continue your life as it is, with your brother’s situation unchanged. Or you can sign this contract and become Mrs. Austen, with enough money to change your circumstances.” He placed a thick folder in front of her. Inside it were printed pages with legal seals and her name, Celine Rose Larsen. Her hands were shaking as she touched the paper. She imagined her brother’s face, pale and weak in the hospital bed. She thought about the hospital bills that kept increasing. “Why me,” she said again, her voice trembling, “of all people? I don't still understand." “Because you won’t fall in love with me,” Duke said. “That is the rule.” She gave a weak laugh. “And if I do?” “Then you lose,” he said. Celine stared at the contract. She felt torn between her sense of right and wrong and her need to survive. She felt guilt, but she couldn’t think of any other solution. “You’re really not giving me time to think?” she asked. “I don’t have time to waste,” Duke said. “The merger will be announced in three days. If you refuse, I’ll find another person.” Celine took a shallow breath. She remembered her brother’s face again and his weak voice saying, “Don’t worry about me, Celine.” She inhaled deeply. “If I agree to this, my brother gets his treatment right away?” Duke nodded once. “It’s already arranged.” “And there are no other conditions?” His eyes darkened slightly. “You’ll live in my penthouse. You’ll attend public events. You’ll smile for the cameras. Aside from that, nothing will happen unless you want it to.” She bit her lip. “That sounds like something you’ve practiced saying.” “It is,” he admitted, almost smiling. “I’ve thought about it before but never done it.” Her pulse quickened. “So I’d be your temporary wife?” “Yeah,” he corrected again. “Austen Holdings will handle all the paperwork quietly. You’ll sign today, and tomorrow, the media will publish the news that Duke Austen, the man who never settles down, is finally married.” Celine stood up and began walking back and forth. “This is unbelievable. Completely unbelievable!" “Maybe,” he said calmly, “but it’s practical. For both of us.” She stopped walking and looked at him directly. “You make it sound simple, aren't you?" “It is simple,” he said. “As long as you don’t let emotions interfere.” Her breath caught. “You really don’t believe in love, do you?” “Love,” he said, walking back to his desk, “is a risk I can’t take.” For a short moment, his face looked tired, but the expression disappeared quickly. Celine looked at the pen beside the folder. “I can’t believe I’m considering this,” she whispered. Duke didn’t reply. He already knew what her decision would be. Her hands trembled as she picked up the pen and signed her name slowly and carefully. It was a decision she could not take back. When she looked up, Duke was watching her with an unreadable expression. For a brief second, she thought he looked relieved, but it was gone almost immediately. “It’s done,” she said quietly. He took the papers, placed them back in the folder, and closed it. “It’s done.” “What happens now?” she asked. “Now,” he said, walking around the desk until he stood close to her, “you move into my penthouse. A car will pick you up in the morning. My assistant will prepare your clothes and schedule.” “Clothes?” she repeated weakly. “You’ll need to look at the part, Mrs.—” He paused, still looking at her face. Then he finished, “You’ll thank me one day, Mrs. Austen.”Duke didn’t answer Alexandra. He couldn’t. Not with Celine’s figure framed by the boutique’s window, her head bent as she adjusted a mannequin’s scarf with a delicate, absent-minded grace. Alexandra, seeing his hesitation, leaned casually against the car. “You can’t hide forever, you know. One day, you’ll have to face her. Or face yourself.” Duke’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. He hated her. He hated the sharp precision with which she could cut through his control. Yet, worse than hate, he hated the truth Alexandra had uncovered: he was powerless when it came to Celine. And she knew it. He finally shifted the car into gear, forcing himself to leave. Hours later, Duke returned to his penthouse, empty and silent. The office that once pulsed with ambition now felt hollow. He lit a single cigarette, inhaling the acrid smoke, tasting the regret that had lodged itself in his lungs. Years had passed since the accident. One year of watching Celine rebuild her life from a dista
The world has changed in the year since Ashley died, or at least, since Ashley ceased to exist.In her place and new life Celine, a gentle woman with soft smiles and a blank past, a woman who believed she’d simply survived an accident that wiped her memories clean. A woman who had no idea she had once loved a man so deeply it nearly broke her. A woman who had no idea that same man watched over her like a ghost terrified of being seen. Her villa was small, and quiet — the opposite of the rich world she once ruled as Ashley Austen. Every morning, Celine opened the windows and let the breeze slip in. She brewed coffee she never remembered liking. She sat on the porch with a book she could never fully focus on. Something was always tugging at her chest. “Maybe I’m just lonely…” she whispered to herself one morning, rubbing her temple as a sudden pang hit her — the flash of a man’s voice calling her sweetheart, a hand reaching for hers, the sound of rain. But like always, the imag
The nights had grown quieter. Not peaceful— it's just quiet. Duke Austen stood on the wide balcony of his mansion, fingers curled over the railing as he stared out at the faraway villa across the hill. Celine... or Ashley. The woman he loved… and the woman who no longer knew his name. From this distance, she was just a silhouette moving through a gentle pool of light from her porch. But Duke could see her as clearly as if she stood inches away—the soft sway of her hair, the small smile she wore when a butterfly landed near the chrysanthemums, the way she tucked a strand behind her ear even though no one was watching. He had not felt peace in weeks. Tonight, he felt something worse. A slow, grinding ache—longing sharpened by guilt. “She looks happy,” a voice said behind him. Duke didn’t react. He didn’t need to turn to know who it was. Alexandra Harper walked onto the balcony. She leaned on the railing beside him, eyes following his gaze toward the distant villa. Her to
Duke Austen sat behind his desk, head bowed, hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles were white. Outside the window, the city lights flickered like distant stars, indifferent to the wreckage inside him. He hadn’t slept in two days. His assistant had been dismissed hours ago. The office was silent except for the faint sound of the hospital wing located on the same floor—as if he had built his empire close enough to hear people fight for their lives but far enough to pretend he wasn’t responsible for any of it. Across from him sat Ashley’s older brother. Ashley's brother's face was carved in stone, jaw clenched, eyes raw with something between fury and heartbreak. The thick envelope on the table sat like a bomb between them. He stared at it. “You’re serious.” Duke didn’t lift his head. “Yes.” “You’re actually doing this.” his voice rose. “You’re paying me to hide her from her own life? From you?" Duke forced himself to look up. His eyes were red—glassy, exhausted, and hol
The moment Duke stepped out of the recovery wing, the weight of his lie wrapped around his throat like a tightening noose. Every step is brought back with what he had just done. He felt like he was walking away from the burning wreckage of his own soul. A nurse hurried after him. “Mr. Austen—sir, wait!” He stopped, barely turning. “What?” The nurse looked rattled. “She’s awake. She'd been asking a lot. We don't know what to say," Duke’s breath stuttered. The nurse continued softly, "There must be someone to accompany her. She's still not in a good condition." He stepped back instinctively, shaking his head. “I—I can’t. It’s better if I’m not there. I'll call someone to look for her. Just do your best for her fast recovery." Without another word, he turned and strode down the hallway until the voices behind him faded. He didn’t notice Alexandra leaning against the wall near the elevators, arms crossed, watching him like a hawk waiting to consume something already dying.
The fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor buzzed faintly, a sterile hum that grated against Duke Austen’s nerves as he stood rigidly outside the trauma unit. His suit was still soaked from the storm. Blood smeared his sleeves—her blood. His hands trembled, not from the cold, but from the memory of her limp body in his arms. Ashley. The sliding doors finally opened. A doctor stepped out, removing his gloves with a practiced calm that Duke found unbearable. “Mr. Austen,” the doctor began gently, “we managed to stabilize her.”vDuke’s chest lifted with a painful, fleeting breath of relief. “But…” The doctor hesitated. “There is significant head trauma.” Duke felt the floor tilt beneath him. “What does that mean? Is she— Is she going to wake up?” “She is breathing on her own now,” the doctor said. “But when she does wake, there may be neurological complications. Memory disruption. Confusion. Trauma-induced amnesia is a possibility.” Duke stared blankly, as if the words were fil












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