บททั้งหมดของ Contracted to Deceive : บทที่ 51 - บทที่ 60

(Gloria)The next day I’m at home. I’d gone home early the previous day after telling Gabriel I’d take the day off, much to his delight. I guess he was happy to get me to relax a bit.Now, I’m on the couch, wrapped in my blanket mindlessly eating Chinese takeout. The TV’s on but I’m not really watching anything. I’m just sort of… there. My thoughts are too tangled, too all over the place, and I can’t seem to shake off this feeling of being stuck.I’m lost in the emptiness of the moment when the doorbell rings, interrupting the silence. I almost ignore it, who the hell is visiting me? I’m not expecting anyone. But the damn thing rings again, louder this time. So, I roll my eyes and reluctantly pull myself up off the couch.When I open the door, I’m hit with the surprise of a delivery guy standing there holding a big hamper. There’s food, fruit, and… flowers? My first thought is, What the hell?He hands me a card after I sign for it. I glance at it, almost as if I don’t want to know who

(Gabriel)“Well?” I ask, the word coming out as more of a command than a question. My eyes rake over her coldly but inside, a storm is raging. She looks like a mess, unkept, terrified, and I can barely keep it together.I’m fighting every impulse not to grab her and shake the answers out of her, demanding she tell me what the hell is going on. Instead, I stand there stiffly, my fists clenched at my sides trying to control the rage that’s boiling in my veins.Kate had walked into my office earlier, slamming that tablet down in front of me with an expression that said ‘you need to see this’. The documentary was everywhere, the headline hitting me like a slap across the face: Ex-Drug Dealer’s Secret Contract to Marry Montclair CEO. The words felt like they burned into my skin.Gloria, an ex-drug dealer working with her trash of an ex, Ethan. And then the real kicker, a contract from my mother, Eleanor Montclair, to marry me for money. All over the media. I’m still trying to wrap my head

(Gloria)My phone rings and I almost drop it. Eleanor Montclair.Her name stares back at me like it’s been branded on my screen. I freeze, every one of my muscles tightening. Suddenly, the idea of crying over a documentary feels like a warm up for the real horror show to come .Because if there’s one person who’s probably angrier than Gabriel right now, it’s his mother.I imagine her standing in a designer robe, swirling a glass of wine like a villain from a movie, already drafting the legal papers to sue me into poverty. I picture myself back on Elena’s couch begging for space, struggling to afford groceries, and eating cheap ramen in bulk while I try to pay back…The phone buzzes again in my palm demanding an answer.Shit. Okay.I swipe. “Hello?”No greeting and no hesitation.“I’ll pay it back,” I blurt. “Please. Just give me a payment plan or something. I… I know the contract’s over, but I swear I’ll find a way. You don’t have to take me to court or ruin my life or… ”“Gloria,” El

(Gabriel)The moment I step out of the car back home, flashes go off like fireworks from the cameras shoved into my face, with reporters barking questions I have zero interest in answering.“Mr. Montclair, is it true you fired your secretary?”“Was the relationship ever real?”“Did she seduce you for the money?”I keep walking with my sunglasses on. Let them feast on the scraps because I’m here for the queen of manipulation herself.I push open the grand double doors and make my way inside without a word to the housekeepers who bow and scurry out of my way. Up the marble stairs, past the lifeless portraits of smiling men I never cared to resemble, and straight to her favorite room, the tea room.The door’s already open of course. She probably wants this to feel casual and warm. My mother sits by the window elegantly like she’s been waiting for me to arrive. She smiles like I’m her darling boy coming home from war.“Gabriel,” she says softly, patting the velvet cushion beside her. “Co

(Gloria)“Breathe,” Elena whispered, tucking a stray curl behind my ear.I tried but the air caught in my throat, thick and dry. My lungs were working, but it didn’t feel like breathing, it felt like drowning.The dress fit like a custom made trap.Silk, delicate and stupidly expensive, clunging to every inch of me like it had a personal grudge. White, backless, tight around the ribs, I looked like the kind of dreamy bride people wrote poems about. But underneath? I felt like a prisoner.We stood just behind a pillar out of sight, but I could already hear the rustle of guests, the low hum of whispers, and the click-click-click of paparazzi cameras fighting for a shot. “You ready?” Elena asked, her fingers brushing mine.I nodded, but the truth was, I wanted to run, like, just bolt. But my heels stayed rooted to the grass, like even they knew escape was pointless.“You look like you’re about to jump the hedge,” she said. “If you do, I’m not wearing flats under this dress for nothing. I