💍 THE CONTRACT THAT WAS NEVER MINE

The first time Adrian Vale asked me to marry him, I thought he was joking.

The second time, I realized he was insane.

The third time, I understood that he had planned it all along.

Unfortunately, the third time was when I signed the contract.

But I didn’t know that yet.

I was standing in the middle of the largest office I’d ever seen, staring at the man sitting behind a black marble desk.

Adrian Vale didn’t look like someone who asked women to marry him.

He looked like someone who bought the building they were standing in.

Thirty floors of glass and steel belonged to him. Half the city seemed to know his name. His company was everywhere—hotels, technology, real estate, luxury brands.

And somehow, I had ended up here.

Begging him for money.

I hated that.

I hated him even more.

“Sit.”

His voice was calm.

Too calm.

I remained standing.

“I’d rather stand.”

His eyes lifted from the file in front of him.

Dark eyes. Cold eyes.

The kind of eyes that made people lower their voices without being asked.

“Then stand.”

I clenched my hands.

“Mr. Vale, I only need five minutes.”

“You’ve already had eight.”

I blinked.

He glanced at his watch.

“Seven minutes and forty-two seconds.”

Of course he counted.

I took a breath.

“My father’s surgery is tomorrow.”

“I know.”

My stomach tightened.

“You know?”

“I know everything that concerns my business.”

“My father isn’t your business.”

“No.”

He closed the file.

“Your father’s debt is.”

Silence.

That was the problem.

My father’s company had been drowning for months. One failed project had turned into three. Three had turned into unpaid loans, angry investors, and creditors waiting outside our house.

And now the bank had given us forty-eight hours.

Forty-eight hours to pay an amount of money I couldn’t even imagine earning in ten years.

I had sold my car.

My jewelry.

My mother’s watch.

Everything.

It still wasn’t enough.

“I can repay you,” I said.

Adrian’s expression didn’t change.

“With what?”

“I’ll work.”

“For me?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

A faint smile appeared on his lips.

It wasn’t a kind smile.

It was the smile of a man who had just found something amusing.

“You’d work for me?”

“Yes.”

“Doing what?”

“Anything.”

His smile disappeared.

“Be careful with that word, Elena.”

The way he said my name made my skin prickle.

“You don’t know what you’re offering.”

“I know exactly what I’m offering.”

“No.”

He leaned back in his chair.

“You don’t.”

I swallowed.

“Then tell me.”

He stared at me for several seconds.

Then he said the words that changed my life.

“Marry me.”

I actually laughed.

It was the only reasonable response.

“I’m sorry?”

“Marry me.”

I looked behind me, half expecting someone to jump out and tell me this was some elaborate prank.

Nobody did.

I looked back at him.

“You’ve lost your mind.”

“Probably.”

He stood.

That was when I remembered how tall he was.

He walked around the desk and stopped in front of me.

Not too close.

Just close enough that I could smell his cologne.

Clean. Expensive. Infuriating.

“Six months,” he said.

“What?”

“You marry me for six months.”

I stared at him.

“Then we divorce.”

“You expect me to believe this is real?”

“I don’t care what you believe.”

“Then why me?”

His expression hardened.

For the first time since I entered his office, something flickered behind his eyes.

Something I couldn’t understand.

“Because I need a wife.”

“There are thousands of women who would happily marry you.”

“I know.”

“Then why me?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he walked back to his desk and opened a drawer.

He took out a thin black folder.

My name was written on it.

ELENA HART.

I froze.

“You’ve been investigating me?”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not marrying a stranger.”

“You know everything about me?”

“Enough.”

He pushed the folder across the desk.

I didn’t touch it.

“What’s inside?”

“Your father’s financial records. Your mother’s medical records. Your university transcripts. Your employment history.”

My heart stopped.

“My mother’s medical records?”

Adrian’s jaw tightened.

“Yes.”

“Why would you have those?”

He didn’t answer.

I stepped closer.

“How did you get them?”

“That’s not important.”

“It is to me.”

“Elena.”

His voice changed.

Lower.

A warning.

“Don’t ask questions you aren’t prepared to hear the answers to.”

I stared at him.

Then I opened the folder.

The first few pages were exactly what he had described.

My father’s debts.

My university.

My old address.

Then I reached the last page.

A photograph fell out.

I caught it before it touched the floor.

And everything inside me went still.

It was my mother.

Young.

Smiling.

Alive.

She was standing beside a black car, wearing the pale blue dress I remembered from one of the few photographs I had from my childhood.

But she wasn’t alone.

There was a man beside her.

A man I had seen hundreds of times in newspapers.

Adrian’s father.

Richard Vale.

I looked up slowly.

“Where did you get this?”

Adrian didn’t move.

“That’s my mother.”

“I know.”

“And that’s your father.”

“I know.”

“Why were they together?”

Silence.

My fingers tightened around the photograph.

“My mother hated your family.”

“I know.”

“She told me never to trust a Vale.”

His eyes darkened.

“She was right.”

I frowned.

“What?”

Adrian took the photograph from my hand.

His thumb brushed over the corner.

For one brief second, his expression softened.

Then it was gone.

“Forget the photograph.”

“You can’t tell me to forget this.”

“I just did.”

“Adrian—”

“Six months.”

He placed a second document in front of me.

A contract.

“Your father’s debts disappear.”

I stared at the paper.

“All of them?”

“All.”

“And my father’s surgery?”

“Paid.”

“My family keeps the house?”

“Yes.”

I looked at him.

“What do you want in return?”

He met my eyes.

“You.”

My breath caught.

“Six months,” he repeated. “You live in my house. You attend public events with me. You play the role of my wife.”

“And after six months?”

“We divorce.”

“No complications?”

“No.”

“No sleeping together?”

His eyes remained on mine.

“No.”

“No expectations?”

“None.”

“No love?”

Something unreadable crossed his face.

“Especially not that.”

I almost laughed again.

“Why would a man like you need a fake wife?”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“Then I’m not signing.”

I pushed the contract back toward him.

His fingers stopped it.

“Your father’s surgery is tomorrow.”

My heart sank.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I don’t have to.”

He looked at me calmly.

“The bank will take everything.”

I hated him.

God, I hated him.

But I hated the fact that he was right even more.

My father’s face appeared in my mind.

His tired eyes.

The way he had whispered yesterday that he was sorry for ruining my life.

I looked down at the contract.

Six months.

That was all.

Six months of pretending to be Adrian Vale’s wife.

I could survive that.

Couldn’t I?

“One condition.”

His eyebrow lifted.

“What?”

“I want the contract to state that you will never interfere with my personal life.”

“Agreed.”

“And you don’t get to control where I go.”

“Agreed.”

“And if you break any of the rules, the contract is terminated immediately.”

He studied me.

Then he held out his hand.

“Deal.”

I looked at his hand.

Then at his face.

Something about this felt wrong.

Very wrong.

But desperation has a way of making warning signs look like opportunities.

I shook his hand.

His fingers closed around mine.

Warm.

Firm.

Almost possessive.

He didn’t let go immediately.

His eyes stayed on mine.

For the first time, I wondered if I’d made a mistake.

Then he released my hand.

“There’s one more thing.”

I frowned.

“What?”

“You can’t tell anyone this marriage is fake.”

“Fine.”

“And you can’t tell anyone about the contract.”

“Fine.”

His expression changed.

“And you can never enter my father’s study.”

I blinked.

“Why?”

“Because it’s private.”

“What’s in there?”

His eyes hardened.

“Nothing that concerns you.”

I should have listened to the warning in his voice.

I should have walked away.

Instead, I picked up the pen.

I signed my name.

Elena Hart.

Adrian watched silently.

Then he took the contract from me.

He looked at my signature for several seconds.

Almost like he was waiting for something.

“Tomorrow,” he said.

“What happens tomorrow?”

“Our wedding.”

I nearly dropped the pen.

“Tomorrow?”

“You agreed to marry me.”

“I thought we’d have at least a week.”

“No.”

He stood.

“The sooner, the better.”

“For you?”

His gaze met mine.

“For you.”

I didn’t understand.

I wouldn’t understand until much later.

I walked toward the door.

My hand was already on the handle when Adrian spoke again.

“Elena.”

I turned.

He was standing beside the desk, holding the photograph of my mother.

“Yes?”

His voice was strangely quiet.

“If anyone asks why I chose you...”

He paused.

Then looked directly into my eyes.

“Tell them I fell in love with you.”

I stared at him.

“But that’s not true.”

A faint, bitter smile touched his lips.

“I know.”

I left his office without another word.

I didn’t see what Adrian did after the door closed.

I didn’t see him open the bottom drawer of his desk.

And I certainly didn’t see the old photograph he pulled out.

It was another picture of my mother.

But this one had three people in it.

My mother.

Richard Vale.

And a much younger Adrian.

On the back of the photograph, there was a handwritten sentence.

Keep Elena safe until her twenty-fifth birthday.

Underneath it was another line.

One that had been written in Adrian’s handwriting.

Even if she hates me for it.

And beneath that—

A date.

Tomorrow.

My twenty-fifth birthday.

The day of our wedding.

The day I thought I was signing a contract to become Adrian Vale’s wife.

I didn’t know that I had just signed a contract that had been waiting for me for twenty-two years.