All Chapters of The Contract Wife: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Elena Hart had £7.40 in tips, a blister on her heel, and a hospital bill folded in her apron pocket like a loaded gun.By nine o’clock, the diner smelled of burnt coffee, wet coats, and old frying oil. Rain streaked down the windows in silver lines, blurring the streetlights outside until the whole city looked tired. Elena wiped the same patch of counter for the third time, not because it was dirty, but because if she stopped moving, she might cry.Her mother’s bill was due Friday.Friday was tomorrow.“Elena,” her manager called from the kitchen, “you can clock out after table six.”She nodded, forcing a smile for a man who had complained twice about his eggs and still left nothing under his plate but ketchup fingerprints.Then the bell above the door rang.She looked up out of habit.And forgot what she was doing.The man who stepped inside did not belong in a place like this. He was too polished, too still, too expensive-looking. His black coat clung slightly at the shoulders from

Elena made it three steps into the rain before Natalie’s words caught up with her.*His last fiancée didn’t leave him.**She disappeared.*The street outside the diner was slick and shining, headlights bleeding across the puddles, rain tapping hard against the pavement like nervous fingers. Adrian’s black car waited by the kerb with its engine running, smooth and quiet, the kind of car that looked like it had never carried someone in a waitress uniform before.Elena stopped.Adrian stopped too, his hand still around hers.For a moment, neither of them moved. Rain soaked through the thin sleeves of her uniform and ran cold down the back of her neck, but she barely felt it. All she could feel was his hand. Warm. Firm. Too steady for a man whose ex had just whispered that kind of warning.She pulled free.Adrian looked down at his empty hand before looking at her. “What did she say?”Elena let out a small laugh, but there was no humour in it. “You already know, don’t you?”His face didn’

The phone rang again.Elena had never heard a sound so ordinary feel so wrong.It came from upstairs, thin and sharp, cutting through the grand hallway like it belonged to another time. Not a mobile. Not the smooth little buzz of money and modern life. An old phone. The kind that sat beside beds in films, the kind people answered before bad news ruined them.Adrian’s hand was still on her waist.She should have moved away. She knew that. But for one breath she stayed there, pressed close enough to feel the damp heat of his shirt beneath her palm, close enough to know his heart was beating faster than it should have been.So he did feel things.He just buried them well.The older woman at the foot of the stairs had gone pale. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her black dress, knuckles almost white.“Mrs Vale,” Adrian said, his voice low, “who is up there?”“No one, sir.”The phone rang again.Elena looked up the staircase. The landing above was dim, the hallway beyond it darke

The breathing came from inside the wardrobe.Elena heard it once and told herself she hadn’t.Then it came again.Slow. Shaky. Wet around the edges, like someone trying not to sob.Nobody moved.The old wardrobe stood across the room with Clara’s wedding dress hanging from one of the doors, still covered in clear plastic. The dress looked almost blue in the dim light, the lace pressed flat beneath the wrap, the empty sleeves drooping like tired arms. It was too beautiful to be in that room. Too untouched. Too much like someone had expected Clara to come back and wear it.Adrian’s hand closed around Elena’s before she realised he had reached for her.His palm was warm. Firm.“Stay behind me,” he said.This time, she didn’t argue. Her pride had limits, apparently, and one of them was breathing furniture.Mrs Vale stood near the locked door, one hand at her throat, lips moving silently as if she was praying. The mannequin arm lay on the bed between them, that stained ribbon tied around i

Elena looked down at the ring because looking at Adrian felt too dangerous.The stone sat cold and heavy on her finger, blue as deep water, bright as a bruise under the firelight. A minute ago, it had only been jewellery. A lie in a velvet box. Something rich people used to make other rich people believe whatever story suited them.Now it felt like Clara had reached out of the past and put her hand over Elena’s.Ask him why.The old man watched her from his chair, pleased with himself. The fire snapped beside him, throwing light across his thin face. He looked almost breakable sitting there with his cane between his knees, but Elena knew better now. Some men did not need strength in their hands when they had spent their whole lives learning where to press.Adrian stood beside her, silent.Too silent.His face had emptied in that frightening way again, like every feeling had been pushed down behind locked doors. But Elena had seen him upstairs. She had seen the picture. The blood on hi