All Chapters of My contracted wife: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

The applause still lingered in the air as Luna stepped down from the stage. The lights dimmed back to their warm golden hue, violins softly resumed their waltz, and yet the silence between her and George was louder than any spotlight. He rose halfway from his seat as she approached, unsure whether to help her down the final step or let her glide past like the woman of steel she'd just portrayed. “Thank you,” George said quietly, his voice low enough that only she could hear. Luna turned her head just enough to glance at him. “For what?” “For... for saving the night,” he said, clearing his throat as if the words were too tight in his mouth. “You didn’t have to.” Luna’s gaze lingered on him for a beat. Then she nodded, slowly. “I know.” That was it. No soft smile. No reassuring pat on the hand. No shared moment of marital solidarity. Just a quiet, calculated, professional nod. Like she’d merely fulfilled a clause in their contract. George sat back down, jaw tightening, the unspo

Luna moved past George, her heart pounding, but she refused to let it show. She could feel his gaze on her back, a weight that pressed down heavily. The echo of her heels against the wooden floor filled the silence, and she quickened her pace, needing to escape the tension that swirled around them.As she rounded the corner into the kitchen, the scent of coffee lingered, juxtaposing the turmoil inside her. She poured herself a cup, willing the warmth to seep into her bones, to chase away the chill that settled in after last night. The bustling sounds of the house felt alien, too cheerful for the shadows lurking in her mind.“ Ma Luna!” Ava’s voice broke through her thoughts. The maid entered the kitchen, a bright smile plastered on her face as she arranged fresh flowers on the table. “You’re up early! How was your night?”Luna forced a smile, though it felt brittle on her lips. “Just fine, Ava. Thank you.”Ava’s gaze flickered with concern, but she busied herself with the flowers, giv

Sebastian Vance stared at the flickering television screen, entranced by the image of Luna, his former wife, beaming with a fire that had long been extinguished in their shared life. The news anchor spoke of her recent success, a tribute to her resilience that only fueled the dark remnants of his obsession. He could feel the familiar burn in his chest of anger, jealousy, and an insatiable hunger to reclaim the control he once had. As the segment ended, he glanced around the dimly lit apartment lined with remnants of his past: a cracked mirror, dust-covered furniture, and shadows that whispered memories too painful to revisit. But he reveled in those memories, each one a twisted reminder of the power he exerted over her, and the lengths he would go to restore that power. It hadn’t always been this way. Once, Luna had been the light in his darkness, her laughter a melody that danced through their home. Those early days were filled with dreams and whispered promises. But with each pa

George had made sure the meeting with Mr. Thompson would be held today.He rose early, as always, his routine precise and unbothered. The sunlight barely filtered through the blinds when he stepped out of the bathroom, freshly groomed and dressed in his signature charcoal suit. Yet, as he descended the grand staircase of the mansion, there was no sign of Luna.Again.She was avoiding him no question about it.Ever since he’d offered to help with whatever silent storm she had been battling, she had kept her distance, shrouding herself in polite silence and cold walls. He couldn’t blame her entirely. Vulnerability didn’t come easy, not for people like them. And though he saw her as a strong woman, someone who didn’t break easily, something in her had cracked.Still, helping her wasn’t a priority right now. Not when his own demons were clawing at his door.He walked into the dining room, grabbed the cup of coffee already set at the head of the table by one of the servants, nodded absentl

The walls of the penthouse echoed with tension as the sun dipped behind the city skyline, casting long shadows across the marble floors. Emily stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, her arms folded tightly across her chest, watching the evening lights flicker to life across Manhattan. Behind her, Nolan slammed the folder onto the table. “How long, Emily?” His voice was low, trembling not with fear, but something dangerously close to heartbreak. “How long have you been plotting this?” Emily didn’t flinch. She turned slowly, her expression unreadable, but her eyes glittered with a calm cruelty. “Plotting? You make it sound so sinister. I prefer the word... premeditated.” Nolan took a few steps toward her, stopping just short of touching her. “You don’t have to do this. Whatever you’re planning whatever revenge fantasy you're feeding off we can let it go. Let’s leave it behind. We can build something real, Emily.” That made her laugh a sharp, bitter sound that cracked like glas