All Chapters of Contract Marriage with the Disabled Billionaire : Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Isadora’s POVI sat in the wooden chair near the orchids, the soft hum of the heating lamp overhead.This was where I always came when I needed to feel something pure.The scent of soil. The bloom of color. The memory of a life before contracts and cameras.But I wasn’t afraid anymore.I could feel it in my bones — we were getting closer.Not to peace, maybe.But to something real.Darren’s POVThe last reporter’s request hit my inbox just after 10 p.m.Will logan attend the gala if you host it?I didn’t reply.Because the answer was simple:Logan wouldn’t decide that.I would.And when the night came?It wouldn’t be his spotlight.It would be mine.****Isadora’s POVI didn’t recognize the estate anymore.Not because it looked different. The grand chandeliers still glittered above. The walls were still lined with Darren’s old oil paintings, dusty books in tall shelves, and windows taller than I could reach.But something in the air had shifted.Not dread. Not exactly.Anticipation.I

Darren’s POVThe tuxedo jacket was heavier than it should have been.Or maybe that was just my heartbeat.I fastened the cufflinks—silver with the Barlowe crest—and stood by the wide bay window.Guests were already arriving. I could see the shimmer of headlights weaving through the pines leading to the estate gates.Limousines. Black SUVs. Town cars.People who’d once whispered behind our backs were now showing up dressed like diplomats.Alex entered quietly. “Jace has everything in place.”“Metal detectors?”“Hidden at the garden entrance.”“And cameras?”“Synced.”I didn’t respond.Because I wasn’t worried about technology.I was worried about what kind of man Richard had become since the last time I saw him.Dozens of staff swept the floor again, even though it gleamed already.Servers rehearsed their routes with trays. Musicians in the corner tuned violins and ran fingers over piano keys.White roses—Isadora’s favorite—lined the stairway banister. Champagne flutes glittered beside

Darren’s POVThe cuffs clicked tighter than necessary.My knuckles were scraped. My temple bruised. My jacket—ruined.Across from me in the other cruiser, Alex was still arguing with officers about handling evidence properly.I closed my eyes.Rain battered the windows.This wasn’t supposed to happen.But maybe it was always meant to.I had enemies. I had power. I had her.And power always draws fire.Isadora’s POVThey wouldn’t let me speak to him.“Standard protocol,” the desk officer repeated. “You’ll need to wait until he’s processed.”“Processed for what? For defending his life?”He didn’t answer.Alex arrived beside me with a flash drive.“Footage from the garden cameras,” he whispered. “Three angles. We caught everything—barely, but enough.”I clutched his hand.“I’m going to get him out of this.”“I know,” he said.Then he handed me a coat.I hadn’t realized I was still in my gown.Darren’s POVThe detective across from me looked like he hadn't slept in days.“We have eyewitne

Alex’s POV“Two judges have already recused themselves,” Alex said.“Why?”“Pressure. Conflict of interest. Or they’re scared of being smeared if they support Darren.”“And the mayor?”“Silent. Which in Logan’s case means planning something.”Isadora’s hands clenched the notebook.“We have facts,” Alex continued. “But this isn’t about facts anymore. It’s about who can move faster. Louder.”Isadora’s POVI sat in the back pew.I hadn’t prayed since I was seventeen.I didn’t know if I believed anymore.But something about the silence there reminded me of who I used to be—before Darren. Before contracts and knives and ultimatums.I whispered, “Show me another door.”But the chapel remained quiet.And the door stayed closed.Jace Jace updated the guest list log.Cross-referenced entry scans. Richard had no tag. No facial match on arrival cams.But still, someone had let him in.He filed the possibility under "Internal Investigation" and flagged the timestamp.Just in case.Isadora’s POV

I stood just inside the penthouse door, spine locked straight, pulse pounding loud enough to drown the soft jazz humming through invisible speakers. Everything about the space was curated—designed to look effortless and powerful. Cream walls. Dark wood. A dinner table set for two under a low chandelier.And at its center: a silver bowl of grapes.So casual. So sinister.Logan stood a few feet away, tie loosened, drink in hand, like he had every reason to feel relaxed. After all, in his mind, he’d already won.“I like punctuality,” he said without looking up. “It shows respect.”“I didn’t come to earn your respect.”He turned to face me, that same slick smile curving his mouth. “Then what did you come for?”I reached into my purse and pulled out the envelope.The deed. The signed agreement. The price.His smile widened like a man unwrapping a gift he’d waited years to touch.He gestured toward the table. “Sit. Let’s at least pretend it’s dinner.”I stayed standing.He stepped closer, s