The Contract Wife of Mr. Black

--- The letter on my kitchen table said "FINAL NOTICE" in red, the kind of red meant to scare people into action. I stared at it longer than I should have, keys still dangling from my fingers, like the words might change if I gave them enough attention. They didn’t. Rent overdue. Grace period expired. Eviction imminent. Every sentence felt like a shove closer to the edge. Beside it lay another envelope, thinner but heavier in every way that mattered, the hospital bill. I didn’t open it. I already knew the amount would make my stomach knot. Numbers had stopped feeling real months ago; they were just another way to be told I was failing. My phone vibrated against the table. PHARMACY: Prescription on hold. Payment required before release. I squeezed my eyes shut, and squeezed my phone even tighter, images of my poor mother in the hospital filled my mind, my stomach dropping. This interview was my last card. If I lost today, I wasn’t just losing a job, I was losing the fra

"This is Rowan Cole speaking" I furrowed my brows, that name sounded awfully familiar, it landed in my mind softly, like a feather, I was certain I had heard it before, I just had to remember where. "Okay?" “I work for Mr. Blackwood ma'am” That did it. My shoulders tensed instantly, and it finally clicked, Rowan, the apparently hot assistant Mila was fangirling over. "I hope you're having a good evening miss" His voice was smooth, and deep, almost as deep as Mr. blacks, but with a low hum at the back of his throat whenever he made a sound. "God damnit Elera, why're you comparing the two men". I snapped out of it and put on my tough front. “If this is about the contract,” I said, “I haven’t decided.” “I know,” Rowan replied easily. “That’s why I’m calling now instead of tomorrow.” If circumstances were normal, I would definitely shoot my shot at him on Mila's behalf, he sounded shit good. I started walking again, the gravel crunching under my shoes. “Then you’re w

I stood in front of my full length mirror in my apartment, twisting and turning in front of it. The red gown fit like it had been waiting for me. It clung where it should, skimmed where it needed to, the fabric soft against my skin as if it knew my body better than I did. The neckline was modest, but the back dipped low enough to make my spine feel exposed. Elegant. Dangerous. Not something a woman wore by accident. I checked the time on my phone more often than I was used to, 5: 50pm. I was ready I paired gold accessories with the red dress, the smooth silk hugging me like a prison cell. The car that arrived wasn’t just expensive. It was intentional. Long, black, quiet in a way that swallowed sound, it pulled up to the curb exactly at six. The engine purred once and went still, like it was waiting for permission to breathe. Then the back door opened. “Good evening, Miss Elara.” I froze. The man standing there was tall, clean cut, dressed in charcoal gray tha

“Where do you think you’re going?” The question cut through the hall like a blade. I froze mid-step. Slowly, I turned around. Adrian Blackwood stood a few feet away, the man who conveniently ignored the woman in his house all night, his one hand resting casually on the back of a chair, the other holding a cup of coffee. I couldn't believe I had missed him coming down the stairs, my excitement probably had gotten the better of me. I cleared my throat, “I’m going to work,” I said, lifting my chin with a smile. “I got the job.” "hmm" hmm?, that's all he could say?, this arrogant man, making my excitement seem like nothing. "you haven't had breakfast" he reminded me like I wasn't aware of the emptyness in my stomach. "I know that, I'll have it when I get back" I turned sharply towards the door to walk out. "No" What?, did he just say "no"? I turned yet again, he was standing now, directly in front of me, his robe opening slightly, revealing his hard chest. That

The car ride back to the villa was steeped in a silence more charged than any argument. I sat rigid in my seat, Adrian’s words echoing in the space between us. "I own the place" It wasn’t a boast. It was a reminder. A statement of his reach, his control, over stores, over my movements, over the very narrative of my life. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t need to. His attention was a physical weight, and I felt it even as he stared at his phone. When the car stopped at the villa’s entrance, he was out before the driver could open the door. He came around to my side, his expression unreadable in the dim courtyard light. “I can walk,” I said, my voice tighter than I intended. “I know you can,” Adrian replied, his tone flat. “But you won’t.” He leaned in, and before I could protest further, his arms were under me again, lifting me from the seat with effortless strength. I instinctively gripped his shoulders, my fingers digging into the fine wool of his suit jacket. “Put