All Chapters of THE BILLIONAIRE'S CONTRACT WIFE : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Nathan’s POVI had been staring at that letter for three days before she walked into my office and ruined my shirt.My father’s lawyer found it while going through the old family files, tucked behind a box of photographs nobody had touched since my parents died. It was written in my grandfather’s handwriting, dated forty years ago, addressed to a man named Walter Hartman.I read it so many times I had it memorized.Should a Cross ever need a Hartman, a Hartman will answer, and should a Hartman ever need a Cross, a Cross will answer. This I swear on my name and my company.Underneath it, in a different pen, someone had written one more line. If the debt is ever called, let it be paid in full, whatever the cost.I did not believe in old family promises. I believed in numbers, in contracts, in things that could be proven. But three days ago my father’s will had been read aloud in a boardroom full of people who wanted to see me fail, and it had said something I still could not fully accep

Nathan’s POV“You are actually going through with this,” Gerald said, leaning back in his chair with the smug look he had worn since the will was read. “A baker’s granddaughter. How romantic.”“It is a legal arrangement, Uncle Gerald. Nothing more.”“Does it matter what it is, so long as the board believes it satisfies the terms?” He steepled his fingers. “Though I admit, I am curious to meet the girl who thinks she can simply walk into a contract like this and walk back out again in one year, unscathed.”I did not answer him. I had learned a long time ago that giving Gerald a reaction was the same as giving him ammunition. He had spent thirty years perfecting the art of the small cruel comment, the kind designed to look harmless if anyone repeated it back to him later. My father had warned me about him once, years before he died. Your uncle does not want to destroy you quickly, Nathan. He wants to watch you struggle first. I had not understood what he meant until I was the one sittin

Ellie's POV"If you are going to stand outside my window at midnight, Mr. Cross, the least you could do is knock like a normal person," I said, arms crossed, still in my flour dusted apron.I could not sleep. Nine days had turned into five, and every time I closed my eyes I saw Vanessa Cole's cold smile and heard her voice telling me things will go back to how they were always supposed to be. So at eleven at night I gave up, pulled on my apron, and went downstairs to knead dough I did not need to make, because my hands needed something to do besides shake.That was when I saw him standing across the street, hands in his coat pockets, looking at the bakery like it was a museum he was not sure he was allowed inside.I unlocked the door before I let myself think about it."You could have called," I said."I tried. You did not answer.""I was busy avoiding my phone. Vanessa has that effect on people."Something shifted in his face, quick and careful, like he was deciding how much to say.

Ellie's POV"You must be the arrangement everyone at this table is too polite to call an arrangement," Gerald Cross said, raising his glass to me with a smile that never touched his eyes.The dining room at Cross Tower's private club looked like something out of a magazine, crystal glasses and low gold light and a table long enough to seat twenty people who all had opinions about me. Nathan squeezed my hand once under the table before we sat down, a small, silent promise I clung to for the next two hours like it was the only solid thing in the room.Gerald sat at the far end, close enough to the head of the table that it made my skin crawl. He was polished in the way certain men learn to be polished, the kind that hides sharp teeth behind an expensive smile and a tailored suit that probably cost more than my grandmother's monthly rent used to be."Uncle Gerald," Nathan said evenly, "I believe you have already met my fiancee.""Briefly. In the papers, mostly." Gerald's eyes moved over

Ellie's POV"You look like a woman about to marry a man she actually wants," the stylist said, pinning the last inch of lace, "which, for the record, is not how most of my brides look."I stood on the small platform in front of three mirrors, staring at a version of myself I barely recognized, silk and lace instead of flour and apron strings, and tried to decide whether the stylist's comment was a compliment or a warning."It shows?" I asked."Sweetheart, it always shows," she said, standing back to study the dress with narrowed eyes. "The nervous ones fidget. The unhappy ones cry in a way that has nothing to do with beauty. You just keep smiling at nothing, like you are thinking about someone specific."I did not get the chance to answer, because that was the exact moment Vanessa Cole walked into the fitting room like she owned it, heels clicking sharp against the marble floor."I hope I am not interrupting," she said, in a tone that made it clear she did not care either way."You ar