Alle Kapitel von Contractually Yours, Brother: Kapitel 1 – Kapitel 10

“Tell me who paid you, or you won't see daylight for the next twenty years.”Sylvester's voice cuts through the quiet penthouse like a razor. His fingers tighten on my chin, his thumb digging into my skin, forcing my face up so I have to look straight into his dark, furious eyes."Nobody paid me!" I snap back, my breath coming in short, jagged gasps against his lips. "I told you, I was setting up the estate paintings! The service lift was jammed, the hallway was crowded, and I hit the wrong button!""Lie." He tosses my chin away like I'm trash. He paces toward the edge of the bed, broad shoulders tense beneath his tux. "You step onto a restricted private lift, bypass biometric security, and end up in my dead mother's silk robe right when the board is counting down my final seventy-two hours? Who is your employer? Is it Hale? Is it the board directors?""I am an independent curator," I say, my throat tight as I pull the black silk tighter over my chest. "I don't have an employer! Check

“Move your suitcase out of the doorway.”Sylvester’s voice hits me the second Lily steps back and lets the heavy double doors of the glass-and-steel penthouse click shut. I stand in the center of the massive, vaulted living room, my knuckles white on the handle of my single thrift-store suitcase.I don't move an inch. I turn around slowly and glare at him. "I just got here, Mr. Arlington. You can give your orders to someone who actually gets paid to listen to your voice.""You get paid five million dollars, Mrs. Arlington," Sylvester growls, shedding his black suit jacket and tossing it onto the arm of a velvet couch. His white shirt is crisp, the top button open, exposing the thick, bronze plane of his collarbone. "And in this penthouse, my rules are law. You sleep in the primary bedroom. You keep your personal items out of the common areas. And you don't touch the thermostat.""I'll set the thermostat to whatever temperature keeps me from freezing to death in your ice palace," I sna

“Eat the salad, Alice. The news photographers outside the floor-to-ceiling windows don’t pay to take pictures of an untouched plate.”Sylvester doesn’t even look up from his tablet as he speaks, his tone dropping over the long, black marble dining table like a block of ice.I slam my silver fork down against the fine porcelain, the sharp clatter echoing through the massive penthouse. “I am not an animal you can feed on a schedule, Mr. Arlington. And I certainly don't eat on command just so your corporate board thinks I’m a well-trained pet.”Sylvester slowly sets his tablet down, his dark, calculating eyes locking onto mine. “You are paid five million dollars to look content. Right now, you look like a hostage.”“That’s because I am one,” I snap back, resting my elbows on the table and leaning forward. “You lock me in this sky-high fortress, hand me schedules printed by your assistant, and expect me to smile like a brainless trophy wife whenever a camera flashes.”“I expect you to exe

“Move away from the door, Sylvester.”I grip the strap of my thrift-store leather bag, standing in the center of the penthouse foyer while the private elevator hums behind him.Sylvester doesn’t yell. He doesn’t move fast. He simply steps into the center of the doorway, his broad frame completely blocking my only exit, his dark eyes tracking my shaking hands with brutal focus.“You are not packing your bags, Alice,” he says, his voice low, even, and entirely absolute. “And you are not leaving this penthouse.”“I’m tired of playing your domestic game!” I yell, my pulse hammering against my ribs as I take a defiant step toward him. “You skip half your board meetings to sit across from me at dinner and stare at me like I’m a problem you can’t solve! I can’t breathe in this place!”“I stay home for dinner because the press is camped outside,” he lies smoothly, his jaw clenching hard. “And because you have a habit of digging into rooms you don’t belong in the second my back is turned.”“Yo

“I’m carrying triplets, Sylvester.”The words drop like a heavy weight in the dead silence of the penthouse, long past midnight.Sylvester goes completely still. For several agonizing seconds he says nothing, his tall frame frozen in the center of the living room while the low, distant hum of the city hums through the thick glass behind him.He slowly lowers his eyes to the folded white paper in my trembling hands. His dark gaze burns through the printed medical text, scanning the diagnostic summary, the hormone counts, and the three distinct heartbeats.Then, right before my eyes, something inside him snaps and rewrites itself with terrifying force.He doesn’t break down. He doesn’t offer a word of tenderness or love. Instead, a raw, possessive, protective switch flips in his dark eyes, turning his expression into an unyielding mask of absolute ownership."You are not leaving this penthouse," Sylvester says, his voice dropping into a deep, gravelly register that vibrates through the