All Chapters of His contract Bride, His secret child : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Amara’s POVThe rain in Northwood didn’t just fall; it punished. It lashed against the cracked window of "Silas’s Tailor Shop," a rhythmic, mocking sound that matched the thudding of my heart."Please," I whispered, my voice cracking as I stared at the man standing across the cutting table. "Just two more weeks. My father is still in recovery. If you take the sewing machines, he’ll have nothing to come back to."The man, a debt collector named Miller with breath that smelled of stale cigarettes and cheap coffee, didn't even look up from his clipboard. He kicked the leg of the vintage Singer machine—the one my grandfather had used, the one that had put me through design school."Two weeks turned into two months, Amara," Miller grunted. "The bank doesn't care about your father’s heart surgery. They care about the six figures he owes on this mortgage. As of five o’clock today, the inventory is ours.""Six figures?" I gasped, the air leaving my lungs. "That’s impossible. The loan was for

Amara’s POVThe courthouse didn't smell like lilies or expensive perfume. It smelled of floor wax, old paper, and the weary desperation of people waiting for traffic court.I sat in the back of the blacked-out SUV, my fingers digging into the silk of my skirt. I wasn't wearing white. I was wearing a tailored, pale grey suit—the color of a storm cloud. It felt appropriate. This wasn't a union of souls; it was a merger of assets."You're shaking," Adrian said.He wasn't looking at me. He was typing a final email on his phone, the blue light reflecting off his sharp cheekbones."I'm not shaking. I'm cold," I lied.Adrian finally tucked his phone away and turned to me. His gaze was heavy, weighing my worth in seconds. Without a word, he reached out and took my hand. His skin was warm, his grip firm and grounding. For a second, I forgot to breathe."The reporters are already at the north exit," he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "When we walk out of those doors, you don't look at

Amara’s POVThe encounter with Eleanor Wolfe left me feeling like I’d been scrubbed raw with steel wool. I stayed in my studio until the sun dipped below the horizon, the golden light turning into long, eerie shadows across the marble floor. I didn't want to leave. In this room, surrounded by silk and pins, I was Amara the Designer. Outside those doors, I was a ghost haunting a billionaire’s halls.Hunger eventually forced me out. My stomach had been knotted all day, but now it was a dull, insistent ache.I made my way down the grand staircase, my footsteps echoing in the cavernous foyer. The house was too quiet. It lacked the smells of a real home—there was no scent of garlic or simmering soup, only the sterile fragrance of expensive floor wax and fresh lilies.I found the dining room, but the table was cleared. Not even a glass of water remained."Looking for something?"I jumped, spinning around. A woman in a black-and-white uniform stood by the sideboard. Her name tag read Mrs. Ga

Amara’s POVThe gala was a sea of champagne and sharks. After Adrian left me to "attend to business," I felt like a brightly colored lure dropped into deep, dark water. Every woman in a five-thousand-dollar gown looked at me with a mixture of envy and suspicion. They didn't see a person; they saw a girl who had won the billionaire lottery, and they were waiting for me to trip over my own hem.I retreated to a quiet balcony overlooking the museum’s courtyard. The night air was crisp, a welcome relief from the suffocating scent of expensive perfumes and fake laughter inside."The view is better from here, isn't it?"I turned to see a man leaning against the stone railing. He was younger than Adrian, with a playful smirk and eyes that wandered a little too freely."I’m Julian," he said, stepping closer. "Vance’s rival. Or should I say, Wolfe’s rival now? It’s hard to keep track of who owns you these days.""No one owns me," I said, my voice cold."Is that so?" Julian laughed, a hollow, m

Amara’s POVThe platinum watch felt like a shackle. I stared at it as the Rolls-Royce glided through the city streets. Adrian’s world was one of cold surfaces and hidden depths, and I was starting to realize that the "protection" he offered was really just a way to keep his secrets under lock and key.When I arrived back at the mansion, the atmosphere had shifted. The air was thick with a tension that hadn't been there a few hours ago. Thorne was on his phone before the car even came to a complete stop, his face a mask of professional panic."Mrs. Wolfe, please go straight to your room," Thorne said, his voice clipped."What happened? Is it my father?" My heart leaped into my throat."No, Madam. Just... stay away from the television and the internet for the next hour."Of course, that was the one thing I couldn't do.The Digital FirestormI didn't go to my room. I went to the library, the only place I knew had a large screen and felt somewhat isolated from the prying eyes of the staff