All Chapters of The Billionaire's Unwanted Contract Wife: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Elena Vale knew she had made a mistake the moment the chapel doors opened.Not because of the flowers, though there were too many of them — white roses hanging from every arch, spilling over the pews, perfuming the air until it felt almost sweet enough to choke on. Not because of the guests either, all polished smiles and diamond watches, turning to stare as if she were something expensive being delivered.It was him.Damian Blackwood waited at the altar like he was attending a funeral instead of his own wedding.Tall, still, unreadable. Black suit. Dark eyes. A mouth that looked as if it had forgotten how to be kind.For a second, Elena’s steps faltered.Her fingers tightened around the bouquet. Somewhere behind her, the wedding planner made a sharp little sound, probably terrified the bride was about to ruin the most photographed marriage deal of the year.Marriage deal.That was all it was.One year. One signature. One ruthless billionaire paying off her family’s debts in exchange

Elena looked at the ring on her finger as if it had bitten her.A minute ago, it had only been heavy. Too large for her hand. Too bright under the balcony lights. Now it felt like a stranger’s touch. Another woman’s promise. Another woman’s future, slipped onto Elena’s finger because Damian Blackwood had needed a bride and she had been poor enough to say yes.Vivienne watched the realisation settle.That was what made Elena’s stomach twist. Not the words themselves, but the pleasure in Vivienne’s eyes. She had waited for this. Maybe all night. Maybe since the moment Elena had stepped out of the wedding car in white silk and borrowed diamonds.Damian said nothing.That was worse.Elena slowly pulled the ring off.His hand moved. “Elena.”One word. Low. Warning.She looked at him, and something inside her went quiet.“You don’t get to warn me.”Then she dropped the ring into his whisky glass.It hit the bottom with a small, sharp sound.The kind of sound that should not have mattered. B

Vivienne’s words did not leave the hallway when she did.They stayed there, pressed into the walls, sliding under Elena’s skin until even the silk of her wedding dress felt too tight.The child has to be conceived before the contract ends.Elena stood very still, because if she moved too quickly, she might do something humiliating. Cry. Scream. Tear the dress from her body and walk barefoot out of the Blackwood mansion in front of every rich, smiling stranger who had toasted her like she was the luckiest woman alive.Damian watched the door Vivienne had disappeared through, his face half-shadowed, his mouth set in a hard line. He looked angry. Not embarrassed. Not guilty enough. Angry, as if the night had betrayed him instead of her.Elena almost laughed.“You should go after her,” she said. Her voice sounded strange to her own ears. Too calm. Too cold. “She seems to know more about my marriage than I do.”Damian turned. “Vivienne likes to hurt people.”“And you don’t?”That landed.F

Elena did not remember letting go of Damian.One moment she was in his arms, trapped beneath the chandelier light while the ballroom cheered for the child she had never agreed to have. The next, her hand was slipping from his shoulder, her wedding dress brushing cold against her legs as she stepped back from him.The applause kept going.That was what made it worse.People were smiling. Laughing softly. Raising champagne glasses as if Damian’s grandfather had said something charming, something sweet, something a bride should blush over.An heir.Elena felt the word crawl over her skin.Damian’s hand caught hers before she could move farther.“Elena,” he said, low enough that no one else would hear.She looked at him.His face was calm, because of course it was. Damian Blackwood could probably stand in the middle of a fire and look mildly inconvenienced. But his eyes were different. Darker. Tighter. Fixed on her like he knew she was one breath away from breaking.Across the room, Vivie

Elena could not stop looking at her father’s face.That was the cruelest part of it. Not the forged signature. Not the hospital forms soaked soft at the edges from the rain. Not even the message written on the back of the photograph like a threat slipped under a door.Tell your wife to behave, Damian.It was her father’s face.He was asleep in the picture, turned slightly towards the window, one hand resting above the blanket. Small. Grey. Tired in a way he never allowed himself to be when she visited. Her father always smiled for her. Always squeezed her fingers and told her not to worry, even when his voice was thin and the machines beside him told the truth his mouth would not.Someone had stood beside his bed and taken this.Someone had watched him while he slept.Elena’s fingers curled so tightly around the photograph that the corner bent.“Who took it?” she asked.The rain battered the stone steps, turning the driveway into a black river. Damian stood in front of her with water