All Chapters of The CEO’s Contract Bride: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

ETHAN’S POV The building was almost empty when Caleb arrived.The executive floor lights were dimmed to night mode, only a few offices still glowing. I stood by the window of my office, staring down at the city without really seeing it. Sophia’s words kept re-echoing in my head.I had called Caleb an hour earlier with no explanation. Just a request. He hadn’t asked questions.The door opened quietly.“You look like someone who hasn’t slept,” Caleb said as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.“I haven’t,” I replied.Caleb dropped his tablet onto the desk and studied my face. “You want to tell me why you dragged me out here at this hour?”I turned from the window. “I need you to pull someone’s files.”Caleb raised an eyebrow. “Whose?”“Isabella’s,” I said.His expression shifted, just slightly.“Your wife’s?”“Yes,” I replied, nodding my head.“Personnel or personal?”“Personnel. From her time at Dexter Holdings.”There it was. The pause.Caleb didn’t sit. He crossed his arm

ISABELLA’S POV The first property smelled like fresh paint and impatience.I stood near the entrance while the agent talked. Lucia walked slowly, already dismissing it without needing to say a word. The ceilings were low. The offices were narrow. Everything felt temporary.Temporary was something I had outgrown. ISMARA was no longer something I needed to prove. It was something I needed to protect.“This won’t work,” I said quietly.The agent blinked. “It’s one of the fastest growing areas in Midtown.”“It’s cramped,” I replied. “And too visible.”Lucia nodded. “Next.”We were back in the car within minutes.The second building was glass and steel, all angles and open floors. Too exposed. Every wall transparent. Too many eyes.Lucia stopped near the window. “This invites scrutiny.”“It invites performance,” I said. “I don’t want ISMARA to look like a statement. I want it to look inevitable.”“Yes,” Lucia replied.We left again.By the fourth property, my patience was thinning. I watc

ISABELLA’S POV If you’re available, we can meet publicly to discuss the lease. Dinner. Neutral ground. No pressure.My thumb hovered over the screen for a moment.“I’m not replying,” I muttered to myself, leaning back in my chair.Lucia appeared in the doorway almost immediately, her tablet in hand. “Already saw it?” she asked, her voice calm but curious.“I decline,” I replied flatly, tossing the phone onto the desk.Lucia glanced at the screen anyway. “You do?” She raised an eyebrow. “That was fast.”“I want the building, not a social engagement. He can wait,” I said, folding my arms.Lucia leaned against the doorframe. “Isabella…” She paused, studying me. “You do know why he suggested dinner? This isn’t personal. It’s optics. Public visibility matters.”“I know exactly what it is,” I said, irritation creeping into my tone. “I have work to do.”Lucia didn’t flinch. She simply pulled up a chair and sat across from me. “The building won’t wait for your pride.”My gaze dropped to the

ISABELLA’S POV“What do you want in return?”Ethan leaned back in his chair, studying me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.“What do you have to offer?”“Just charge me for the building. I’ll pay whatever price you name.”“No.”The single word was flat, final.“What do you mean, no?”“I mean I don’t want your money.” Ethan picked up his wine glass, swirling the deep red liquid without drinking. “I want the past put behind us. That’s my condition.”I stared at him. I had prepared for demands and complicated negotiations. I had not prepared for this. “Why?”“Because I’m tired.” He set the glass down, his fingers still curved around the stem. He finally looked directly at me. “I want peace, Isabella. Is that so hard to believe?”I wanted to say yes. I wanted to tell him that after everything that had happened, after all the ways he had hurt me, peace seemed like a fantasy.But something in his voice stopped me. Something that sounded almost like exhaustion.“I have a condition o

ETHAN’S POV The reports from Paris arrived at six in the morning, delivered by encrypted email to my private server. I had been awake for an hour already, coffee cooling on my desk while I stared at the city skyline.I opened the first file. Financial records for ISMARA, spanning three years. Revenue streams, profit margins, investor contributions. Everything looked legitimate on the surface. Clean. Professional.Too clean.My accountant had flagged several large deposits that coincided with major fashion shows. All properly documented as sales proceeds. Nothing suspicious if you weren’t looking for it.But I was looking.I pulled up the second report, the one from the private investigator I had hired. Bank statements, wire transfers, business registrations. ISMARA had expanded methodically. Paris first, then London, now New York. Each location was funded through Isabella’s own capital and strategic investors.The investors. That was where I needed to focus.I scrolled through the li