Todos los capítulos de Playboy CEO Contract Wife : Capítulo 1 - Capítulo 10

Elena's POV The hum of the tires against the road was the only sound in the back of the yellow cab. Outside, New York was just a blur of brake lights and heavy rain, but I couldn't stop smiling. I held my phone to my ear, listening to it ring until Maya finally picked up. "Elena! Tell me you're not still stuck in traffic," Maya said, her voice competing with the loud hiss of an espresso machine in the background. "I’m actually five minutes away," I said, leaning forward to check the meter. "The driver managed to cut around the mess on 5th Avenue." "Good, because if you missed tonight, I would never let you live it down. Two months, right?" "Two months today," I said, feeling a nervous flip in my stomach. "And Maya... tonight is the night." There was a loud gasp, followed by a clatter. "Wait, seriously? The *actual* night? No more stalling?" "Hey, I had a lot going on," I laughed. "But yes. The actual night. I went to that boutique and bought the ridiculously expensive lace stuf

Elena's POV The moment the door to Oliver Wyatt’s office clicked shut behind us, the air rushed out of my lungs. My legs felt like lead as I followed Frank toward a small, sleek desk tucked just outside the main suite.Oh my god, I thought, my hands trembling so hard I had to set my notebook down before I dropped it again. That was him. That was actually Oliver Wyatt.He was on the front of every business magazine and half the tabloids in the city. I should have recognized him instantly. The sharp jawline, the perfectly tailored gray suit, the arrogant tilt of his head—it was completely obvious. But my mind had been so far gone, buried under the weight of Chloe’s medical bills and the image of my ex in that apartment, that I hadn't even looked at him. I had just seen an annoying, impatient guy in a stairwell and snapped."Are you alright, Elena?" Frank asked, turning to look at me. He had a kind face, with deep lines around his eyes that made him look like a man who spent a lot of t

Oliver's POV The glass door clicked shut, and I finally let my shoulders drop an inch. I looked at the empty velvet chair where Elena had just been sitting. I had expected a lot of reactions to a million-dollar marriage proposal—tears, screaming, an immediate signature, or someone running out of the room crying. Instead, she had looked me dead in the eye, took a hit to her pride, and walked out with her spine perfectly straight. I had to admit, I admired that. She didn’t break under the pressure. Most people in this building trembled when I changed my tone, but she had stood her ground even while her entire world was crashing down around her. I leaned back in my chair, spinning a heavy gold pen between my fingers. Objectively, she was perfect for this. She was incredibly easy on the eye—natural, young, and possessing a quiet, sharp beauty that didn't look like the high-maintenance, camera-ready models I usually brought to parties. The public would buy it instantly. If I trotted he

Oliver's POV "Oliver! Some girl named Elena is on your phone," Serena called out, her voice cutting through the steady pulse of the bass echoing in my living room. She was holding my phone out, a massive, amused smirk on her face. "Sounds pretty serious." Julian chuckled from the bar, ice clinking loudly against his glass as he poured another drink. "Yeah, man. She sounded incredibly formal. What did she do, call to schedule a corporate auditing meeting? Who is she?" I ignored the teasing, my chest tightening slightly as I stepped across the plush rug to take the phone from Serena's hand. I glanced at the screen. It was my personal line. She's calling early, I thought, a wave of cold satisfaction washing over me. "Excuse me for a second," I told the group, turning on my heel. I walked briskly toward the floor-to-ceiling glass doors, sliding one open and stepping out onto the quiet, humid terrace. The heavy glass clicked shut behind me, instantly drowning out the loud music an

Elena's POV The city clerk’s office did not look like a place where dreams went to die, but it certainly didn’t look like a wedding venue either. It smelled of wet umbrellas, industrial floor wax, and cheap perfume. I stood under the flickering fluorescent lights of Manhattan Civil Court, staring down at a white piece of paper. My signature looked shaky next to Oliver’s bold, clean cursive. With a single stamp from a bored-looking clerk in a beige cardigan, it was over. We were married. "Congratulations," the clerk muttered, not looking up as she slid our copy of the certificate across the laminate counter. "Next." Oliver took the paper before I could even touch it, slipping it into the inner pocket of his charcoal suit coat. "Thank you," he said smoothly, turning on his heel. "Let’s go, Elena." I followed him out of the building, my heels clicking loudly against the marble floors of the hallway. My chest felt tight, the reality of what I had just done pressing down on my