Semua Bab CONTRACTED TO MY EX 11 DAYS TO FALL : Bab 1 - Bab 10

The dress was red. Too red. Too expensive. Too Marco.Giulia stared at herself in the mirror of his Milan penthouse guest room. The stylist he hired had pinned her hair up, painted her lips, and made her look like she belonged in a room full of billionaires.“You look perfect,” Marco said from the doorway. He was in black tie. No tie. Just open collar, watch glinting. He looked like sin.“I look like I’m lying,” Giulia muttered.“You are lying.” He walked in, holding a small velvet box. “Rule 1: no touching. Rule 2: no kissing. Rule 3: I forgot the ring.”He opened the box. A diamond the size of her thumbnail winked at her.Giulia took a step back. “I’m not wearing that.”“It’s fake. For the photos.” Marco’s voice was low. “Unless you want my grandfather to ask why my ‘fiancée’ has no ring.”Her hands shook as he slid it on her finger. His thumb brushed her knuckle. 8 years gone, but her skin still remembered him.“Stop,” she whispered.“Stop what?” He didn’t pull away.“Stop looking

The Bianchi villa sat on Lake Como like it owned the water. Stone walls, ivy crawling up centuries-old gates, and a gate that cost more than Giulia’s mom’s hospital bill. Two security guards scanned the car before it opened.Giulia gripped her clutch until her knuckles went white. “I’m not ready for this.”Marco met her at the gate, still in CEO mode. Navy suit, watch that probably paid rent for a year, no smile. “You don’t have to be. Just breathe and let me handle Contessa Isabella.”“Your mother hates me already,” Giulia whispered as the driver took their coats. “She hasn’t even met me.”“She doesn’t hate you,” Marco said. But his jaw was tight. He didn’t believe his own words. “She hates change. And you’re change.”The dining room was a war zone disguised as pasta. Crystal that caught the chandelier light, silver that had probably been in the family for 100 years, and Contessa Isabella Bianchi at the head of the table. Eyes like Marco’s, but colder. Sharper. She didn’t stand when

“Breaking Point” Milan, Day 18. The storm hit like a warning.Giulia was soaked by the time she reached Bianchi Towers. Her blouse clung to her skin. She hadn’t meant to come. But her mom’s hospital called. Bill due. And Marco was the only one who could authorize the emergency transfer tonight.She burst into his office without knocking. “I need—”Marco was on the phone. He held up a hand, but his eyes ran over her, soaked dress to trembling lips. When he hung up, he was already moving.“Stai bene?” Are you okay?“I’m fine.” She wasn’t. “Just sign this. €35,000. Mom’s medication. Please.”Marco didn’t look at the papers. He walked to her, shrugged off his suit jacket, and draped it over her shoulders. “You’re freezing.”“It’s nothing.” She tried to pull away. “Just sign it.”He took the pen, signed, and set it down. Then he didn’t step back. “Why didn’t you call me?” he asked quietly.“Because this isn’t part of the deal.” Rain ran down her face. Or maybe tears. “30 days. No favors.

The Bianchi villa woke up colder than it had gone to sleep. Giulia stood at the window of the guest room, watching the Roman sun crawl over cypress trees. She had not slept. The word “tomorrow, 9am” echoed in her head like a sentence. Behind her, the dress from last night lay on the chair. Red silk. €4,000. A costume for a lie. She touched the zipper and felt sick. A knock. Soft, hesitant. “Signorina?” Sofia, the maid, slipped inside with a tray. Espresso. Cornetto. And a black folder. “Signore Bianchi’s lawyer sent this. For you to review before 9am.” Giulia took the folder. Her hands did not shake. That was new. Eight years ago, Marco’s voice would’ve made her tremble. Now, it was fear that steadied her. Fear of signing her life away. Inside: 12 pages. Legal Italian. Clauses highlighted in yellow. _Clause 4.2: In event of divorce within 5 years, spouse forfeits all personal assets to Bianchi Holdings._ _Clause 7.1: Spouse agrees to non-disclosure of family matters, v

The car ride back to the villa was silent. Giulia sat with her phone face-down on her lap. The deleted message burned behind her eyes. _I know why he really left you._ She did not look at Marco. She could still feel his mouth on hers. Still taste coffee and something reckless. 9 days left. Marco broke the silence first. “You’re shaking.” Giulia pulled her hand from his grip and pressed it against the window. Cold glass. “I’m fine.” “You’re not fine,” he said. “You kissed me back in front of fifty reporters. That’s not fine. That’s war.” “It was your idea,” Giulia snapped. Then softer: “Wasn’t it?” Marco didn’t answer. He stared at the road ahead, jaw tight. The CEO mask was cracked, but he wore it anyway. When they reached the villa, Sofia met them at the door. “Signorina, a package came for you.” She held out a small black box. No sender. No label. Giulia took it with both hands. Inside: a USB drive and a single printed photo. The same photo from the message. Sevent