Share

Three-Years Contract Marriage with the Billionaire
Three-Years Contract Marriage with the Billionaire
Author: Kathy L. Senior

CHAPTER 1: The Invisible Daughter

last update publish date: 2026-04-23 13:40:13

Lena.

I refilled the champagne glasses carefully, weaving through clusters of glittering guests who looked through me rather than at me. The black dress I wore, the same one I'd worn to every family event for the past three years had a small tear at the hem that no one had noticed. No one ever noticed.

"More champagne here," a woman in diamonds called out, snapping her fingers without bothering to look at my face.

I moved to her, my footsteps silent on the marble floor of the Carter mansion's ballroom. Cassie's engagement party was in full swing, two hundred guests celebrating my stepsister's upcoming marriage to Liam Whitley, heir to a pharmaceutical fortune. A string quartet played in the corner. The air smelled of expensive perfume and imported flowers.

I belonged to none of it.

But in exactly seven days, none of this would matter anymore.

Seven days until I had enough money saved. Seven days until my interview at the marketing firm in Boston. Seven days until I could disappear from this house and never look back.

I touched the envelope hidden in my bra—my mother's death certificate, the one document I would need to access the small trust fund she had left me. The lawyer's appointment was scheduled for Monday morning. After three years of hiding money in my mattress, working secret jobs Bridget didn't know about, I finally had enough for a security deposit and first month's rent on a tiny studio apartment five hours away.

Freedom was seven days away.

"The hors d'oeuvres are running low on the west table." Bridget's sharp voice cut through my thoughts. My stepmother appeared at my elbow, her perfectly painted lips pressed into a thin line. "Were you planning to let our guests starve?"

"I'll refill them now," I said quietly.

"You should have done it ten minutes ago." Her manicured nails dug into my arm. "Must I do everything myself? Go. And try not to look so pathetic. You're embarrassing us."

Just seven more days, I reminded myself. Seven more days of this, then I'd never have to hear her voice again.

I hurried toward the kitchen, my cheeks burning. Behind me, I heard Bridget's laugh as she greeted another guest. The transformation was instant, like flipping a switch.

In the kitchen, I loaded canapés onto a silver tray, my hands moving automatically. The catering staff gave me sympathetic looks but said nothing. They knew better than to interfere in family matters.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I checked it quickly, it as a text from Landon, my manager at the coffee shop where I worked early mornings before anyone in this house woke up.

“Your last paycheck is ready. $340. That puts you at your goal, right?"

My heart soared. I didn't need to wait seven more days. I had enough now. I could leave tomorrow if I wanted to.

I typed back quickly: “Yes. Thank you for everything."

“Good luck in Boston. You deserve better than this."

I deleted the conversation and pocketed my phone, my hands shaking with suppressed excitement. Tomorrow. I could leave tomorrow, right after the lawyer's appointment. I had already packed a small bag and hidden it in the garden shed. I had bus tickets purchased under a fake name. I had…

"Lena!" Cassie's voice shattered my planning. "Come here for a second."

I returned to the ballroom, a tray balanced in my hands. Cassie stood at the center of a group of her friends, her engagement ring catching the light with every dramatic gesture. She looked beautiful in her rose-gold gown, her blonde hair swept into an elegant updo, her laugh was musical and confident.

Everything I wasn't. Everything I had stopped trying to be.

"I just wanted to introduce you to everyone," Cassie said sweetly as I approached. "This is my stepsister, Lena. She's been so helpful tonight, playing servant." She leaned closer, as if sharing a secret. "She really commits to the role, doesn't she?"

Her friends tittered. I stood frozen, the familiar burn of humiliation spreading through my chest.

Tomorrow, I reminded myself. Just get through tonight.

"Actually, I think she enjoys it," one of them said. "Some people just know their place."

Cassie reached for a glass of wine from a passing waiter. She turned back to me, smiling. "Oh, how clumsy of me!"

The red wine hit my dress in a splash of burgundy, soaking through the fabric. The wine was cold against my skin, and for a moment, I felt the envelope in my bra getting damp. Panic shot through me, if the death certificate was ruined, I would have to order another one, which would take weeks.

I set down the tray with shaking hands and hurried toward the bathroom, Cassie's laughter following me down the hall. In the bathroom, I carefully extracted the envelope. The certificate was fine, protected by the envelope's thick paper. Relief flooded through me.

I looked at my reflection: wine-stained, exhausted, invisible. Tomorrow, this version of Lena Carter would cease to exist.

I slipped out the side door into the garden, needing air, needing to see the one place in this house that still felt like home. My mother had planted these roses herself, back when she was alive, back when this house held warmth and laughter. I had hidden my escape bag behind the largest rose bush, wrapped in plastic.

I knelt beside it now, checking to make sure it was still there. Everything was intact—clothes, documents, the small amount of jewelry my mother had left me that Bridget didn't know about.

"I'm leaving tomorrow, Mom," I whispered to the roses. "I'm finally getting out."

A crash from inside the house shattered the moment. Then shouting, loud enough to carry through the walls.

My escape would have to wait a few more hours. I stood, brushing dirt from my ruined dress, and returned to find chaos.

A crash from inside the house shattered the quiet. Then shouting, loud enough to carry through the walls. I stood, brushing dirt from my ruined dress.

When I returned to the ballroom, it was chaotic. Cassie stood in the center of the room, her face blotchy with tears, while Liam Whitley faced her with crossed arms.

"I'm done," he said loud enough for everyone to hear. "I can't marry someone so spoiled, so entitled. My family won't allow it anyway, your father's company is hemorrhaging money. This engagement is over."

He pulled the ring from his pocket…Cassie must have thrown it at him and set it on a nearby table. Then he walked out.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Cassie's scream pierced the air. She grabbed the nearest vase and hurled it at the wall, where it shattered into a thousand pieces. "How dare he! How dare he embarrass me like this!"

Guests began making hurried exits, murmuring apologies and excuses. Within minutes, the ballroom had emptied except for family and staff.

Bridget's hand connected with my cheek before I saw it coming. The slap echoed through the nearly empty room.

"This is your fault," she hissed. "Looking like trash in front of our guests, bringing bad luck to this family. You've embarrassed us for the last time."

I pressed my hand to my stinging cheek but said nothing. My father stood in the corner, avoiding my eyes.

"Get out of my sight," Bridget said. "And clean up this mess before you go to bed."

I spent the next two hours picking up broken glass and discarded napkins while the caterers packed up around me. My father and Bridget had disappeared into his study. I could hear their voices, through the heavy door.

By the time I finished cleaning, it was past midnight. I was heading toward the stairs when my father's voice stopped me cold.

"The company is failing. We'll be bankrupt within six months."

I froze outside his study door, my heart pounding.

"Then we need the Blackwood deal," Bridget said. "It's our only option."

"Julian Blackwood wants a marriage alliance. His father insisted on it."

"Then we give them a bride."

No. No, no, no.

"Cassie's engagement just ended publicly," my father said. "The Blackwoods won't want damaged goods."

"They've never met Cassie in person. They've only seen photos. We'll give them Lena instead."

The trash bag slipped from my hands.

"Lena?" My father sounded uncertain.

"She's useless here anyway. At least this way she'll finally contribute something to this family."

I pressed myself against the wall, my carefully constructed escape plan crumbling around me.

"Lena!" My father's sharp voice cut through my panic. "Get in here. Now."

Continue to read this book for free
Scan code to download App

Latest chapter

  • Three-Years Contract Marriage with the Billionaire    CHAPTER 124: THE FINAL

    LENA'S POV"I know," Cassie said. Very quiet. The quietest I had ever heard her."I'm going to need time," I said."I know," she said. "I'm not calling to ask for anything. I just, I needed to say it. That I'm sorry. That I knew things were wrong and I chose to make them worse because it was easier than asking why my mother only knew how to love me when she was hurting you."I stood in my kitchen in the October afternoon, one hand on the counter, and I thought about eight-year-old Cassie watching her mother attend to me with the specific and terrible attention of a woman who expressed ownership through control, and I thought about how that would look to a child who did not understand what she was watching.I thought about my mother's roses on the terrace.I thought about what it meant to grow things instead of burning them."I'll call you," I said. "Not yet. But I will."She breathed. "Okay," she said."Get better," I said. "Not for me. For yourself.""Okay," she said again.I hung up

  • Three-Years Contract Marriage with the Billionaire    CHAPTER 123: THE REAL THING

    LENA'S POVThe foundation opened on the first of April.I had not planned the date. It had simply worked out that way, the permits and the lease and the final signatures aligning on a morning in spring, and I chose to read it as a thing that meant something, that new things were allowed to begin in the same month the world started greening again, that April was as good a month as any for the specific and practical work of rebuilding.We called it The Sophia Foundation.Not for our daughter. For my mother.Sophia Carter had been a woman who gave things: her time, her roses, her specific and patient attention to the people who needed it. She had given me everything she had before Bridget took her. It seemed right that her name should be on the door of a place where women came who needed what she had always offered — safety, dignity, and the particular and concrete belief that they were worth saving.Mrs. Billy was the director.This had been my idea. Julian had looked at me across the b

  • Three-Years Contract Marriage with the Billionaire    CHAPTER 122: SOPHIA COMES HOME

    LENA'S POVThe hospital bag had been packed for two months.It sat by the door of the NICU family room, soft pink handles folded over each other, a onesie on top that Mrs. Billy had chosen because she said yellow was the color of things beginning. I had looked at it every day for sixty-one days. I had touched the handles on the hard days and the good days both, the days when Sophia's oxygen levels climbed and the days when the monitors screamed and the nurses moved fast and Julian stood at the incubator glass with his hand pressed flat against it like the pressure of his hand could reach her through the barrier and hold her here.He did that a lot. The hand against the glass.I don't think he knew he was doing it.I knew. I had watched him the way you watch a man who doesn't know he's being watched, who has let down every defense because the thing behind the glass is four pounds and fighting and it has his jaw and my mother's name and it is the realest thing either of us has ever made

  • Three-Years Contract Marriage with the Billionaire    CHAPTER 121:THE EVIDENCE

    JULIANI sat with the why.I sat with it in the quiet of the dining room with the specific and remaining evidence of the dinner, the glasses, the plates Mrs. Billy had cleared, the napkin she had folded with the particular and tidy quality of her hands, and I sat with the why of tonight and I thought about what had changed between the previous runnings and this one.The terrace had changed it.The one centimeter.I thought: she said something tonight because of the one centimeter.I thought: she needed to say something because of the one centimeter.I thought about what that meant.I thought about it carefully.I thought: a woman does not call a thing out because it does not matter to her.I thought: she said you're running because the running mattered.I thought: the running mattered because the thing you are running from matters.I thought: to both of you.I sat at the table.I looked at the wall.The lamp on the credenza was the specific and only light in the room now, the particul

  • Three-Years Contract Marriage with the Billionaire    CHAPTER 121: THE UNDERSTANDING

    JULIANI understood this with the specific and clear recognition of a man who understood cause and effect. She had named it tonight because the terrace had made the running visible in a way the previous instances had not, because one centimeter and a phone call and a man who reappeared at dinner as a perfect and managed professional version of himself was a sequence with a specific and readable logic, and Lena Carter read things with the particular and careful precision of a woman who wrote like she meant every word.She had read it.She had named it.She had gone to bed.You're running again.You also don't reheat food for people.Or move rose bushes.Or put books outside doors.I thought about the rose bushes.I thought about the specific and particular evening in October when I had arranged the transplanting, when I had described the roses to Mrs. Billy from the photographs in Lena's paperwork and Mrs. Billy had said she knew them, had known them from the years of the Carter househ

  • Three-Years Contract Marriage with the Billionaire    CHAPTER 120: A WOMAN VOICE

    JULIAN"Those things," she said, in the specific and quiet voice of a woman completing a thought, "are not the things a man does when he is managing a professional arrangement."She set the wine down."And tonight," she said, "you are being exactly what a man is when he is managing a professional arrangement."She looked at me."So," she said.She did not complete the sentence.She did not need to.The so sat on the table between us with the particular and complete quality of a sentence that was its own conclusion, that did not need the rest of the sentence because the rest of the sentence was already in the room, was in the specific and present air of the dinner table and had been in it since I had sat down with my perfect and brutal politeness and my careful and managed sequence of professional inquiries.The so.I looked at her.She looked at me.I did not have anything to say.I want to be precise about this: I am a man who usually has something to say, who has the particular and

More Chapters
Explore and read good novels for free
Free access to a vast number of good novels on GoodNovel app. Download the books you like and read anywhere & anytime.
Read books for free on the app
SCAN CODE TO READ ON APP
DMCA.com Protection Status