Contract Marriage With The Devil: Billionaire

“I’m not staying because I want to,” she said, stepping into his space. His arms came around her like he’d been waiting his whole life to hold her. “I’m staying because I love you, you impossible devil.”

“Then I’ll find someone else. But I’ve done my research. You’re stubborn, desperate, and too proud to steal. You won’t fall in love with me. That’s your greatest qualification.” contract marriage with the devil billionaire

“My wife’s taste,” he said quietly, “is none of your concern. Neither is her presence. You’ll apologize, or you’ll find your foundation’s funding reconsidered by morning.” “I’m not staying because I want to,” she

Lena had gotten the call an hour ago. Her brother, Leo, had gone into surgery three days early—complications. She wasn’t there. She was in a penthouse wearing designer pajamas she hadn’t chosen, married to a man who paid her like an invoice. The tears came hot and silent, her face buried in a towel that cost more than her first car. But I’ve done my research

She didn’t thank him. Not in words. Instead, she started leaving things for him: a book she thought he’d like (he read it in one night, though he never admitted it), a cup of coffee at exactly the temperature he preferred (she’d watched the barista make it enough times), a single fresh peony on his desk every Monday morning.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Calling the head of cardiothoracic surgery at Mass General. He owes me a favor.” His voice was flat, efficient, but his hands—those hands that signed billion-dollar deals—were shaking slightly as he typed. “You’ll be on a private jet in twenty minutes. You’ll be there before he wakes up.”