Twisted Hearts, Billionaire's Game

The moment Charlotte Alston entered the Hamilton estate, she

knew that her choice in life had cast the dark shadow of an oncoming storm upon

her. For within this grand mansion, the air was thick with family history and

power that she had married into so begrudgingly. She was standing in the great

marble foyer, heels clicking against the highly polished floor as she adjusted

her vision to the dimness of the light. Richard Hamilton, her new husband,

awaited her.

"Mrs. Hamilton," a cold, male voice spoke from

across the room.

Charlotte looked up, locking eyes with the man in the

shadows. Richard was nothing like what she had envisioned. But even as his

reputation preceded him for being one of the most ruthless businessmen in the

country, the man before her was an enigma-half of his face shrouded behind a

mask, and the wheelchair he sat in was the last reminder of an accident that

had left him broken in more ways than one. He watched her with an expression of

disdain and curiosity, his sharp blue eyes cutting through the distance

separating them.

"Mr. Hamilton," she returned coolly, forcing

herself to hold his gaze.

"You're late," Richard said as impassive as ever.

She clamped her jaw on a reply. Of course he did-have an

issue with when she arrived. She should have come sooner, rather than keeping

her head in the sand, pretending this contractual marriage wasn't about to

become a fact in her life. But she was here now, in front of a man who quite

clearly did not want her.

She reminded herself what hung in the balance: her family

business was on the verge of going under, and Richard Hamilton had been their

only hope. This marriage wasn't about the money but a matter of survival.

"I'm here now," she said; her voice even, yet

tinged with an edge of defiance in it.

A shadow of a smile crossed Richard's lips, at best. "I

suppose that would have to do.

The silence between them hung heavy as cold. Charlotte's

eyes wandered, drinking in the acreage of high ceilings and priceless art, a

crystal chandelier above like an executioner's axe ready to drop. It felt so

much like a museum rather than a hom-full of warmth, full of life. Much like

its owner.

"You do understand the terms, don't you?"

Richard's voice cut into her reverie.

"Yes, I understand perfectly." She took a step

forward and squared her shoulders. "I stay married to you for one year.

You invest in my family's company and keep them from going under in return. We

part ways after a year."

Richard's eyes gleamed from behind his mask. "No

strings attached."

"No strings," she agreed, though the weight of the

lie settled heavy on her chest.

It was a simple arrangement, but none of it had felt that

way at all. Richard Hamilton wasn't some benevolent patron; he was hazardous.

Powerful. The kind of man who could destroy one's life without raising a little

finger. And now she was tangled up in his hands in the way she would never

quite have expected.

Richard watched her for a long moment, his eyes seeming to

bore into hers as if searching for assurance that she knew exactly what she was

getting herself into. Then, with an airy flick of the wrist, he motioned to a

folder resting on the small table beside him.

"The contract," he said, his tone glacial.

Charlotte walked over and picked up the folder, her hands

shaking a little. This was it; this sealed her fate. She flipped the pages,

scanning the cold, legal language laying out in detail every point of their

arrangement. It was all there what she was bound to do, his conditions, the

exit clause. But one thing that really twisted her stomach was the fact that

she had to live here, with him, for the whole year.

Any questions?" Richard's voice snapped her out of her

reverie.

She peered for another second before she closed the folder.

"No, it's all quite clear."

"Good." Richard relaxed back into his wheelchair,

his face impassive once more. "Then sign it.

Charlotte sat down in the little table, picked up the pen

left for her. For a moment, she considered turning and walking away-about

tearing this contract up and leaving this cold, empty mansion to its own

devices. But then she thought of her family-their debts, their desperation. She

couldn't afford to be selfish. Not now.

Taking a deep breath, she signed her name on the dotted

line.

"There," she said, laying the pen down and pushing

the contract back towards Richard.

Richard looked from her to the page and back again. He

remained still and silent. It seemed as though nothing had changed for a

heartbeat. But Charlotte knew better.

The moment that she signed that contract, everything was different.

"Welcome to your new life, Mrs. Hamilton," Richard

said, his voice oozing with sarcasm.

Charlotte forced a tight smile. "I'll try to make the

best of it."

"DO that," Richard returned, low and threatening.

"Because you'll find this is no ordinary marriage."

---

Charlotte had spent her first night beneath the Hamilton

estate, guest in her own life. The new room was a suite and sleekly modern,

floor-to-ceiling windows framing a city skyline view. It was still sterile,

flat of any warmth or comfort, as was the man who'd put her here.

She sat on the bed and gazed at the twinkling lights below.

Her mind flew back automatically to the happenings of the day, to the contract

that she had signed today, to Richard Hamilton.

But who was he, really? Why had he agreed to marry her? The

rumors about him were wild-some said he was a recluse; others whispered about

the brutal way he did business. None of this explained why a man like him would

have a need for a contract marriage. He had power, money, and influence enough

to get anyone he wanted.

Why her?

A soft tap at the door brought her out of her reverie. She

got up, smoothing her dress in the process. Opening it, she found a maid

standing there with a covered tray of food.

"Dinner, Mrs. Hamilton," she said politely, though

her eyes were downcast.

"Thank you," Charlotte said, taking the tray.

The servant girl nodded and scampered off down the hall,

leaving Charlotte once more to her own devices. She set the tray on the little

table before the window-seat, eyeing the spread upon it-a plain sandwich and a

glass of water. Scarcely the grand welcome she had expected.

As soon as she sat down to eat, her mind began to wander to

Richard. What kind of man gave his new wife a sandwich for the first meal?

She wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.

But one thing was crystal clear: life with Richard Hamilton

was going to be anything but normal.

---

The chill was still in the air the following morning, and

there was no sign of Richard to be found in that mansion. The mansion seemed

just as empty as ever. Taking a stroll down the halls, this small room at the

far end of the house came into sight accidentally.

Curiosity took the better of her, and she opened the door.

Inside, she found herself surrounded by strangers:

well-dressed, sharp-eyed, silently appraising her as though she were some

manner of prize. The name Hamilton carried influence, wealth, and an aura of

fear. A world was in its quiet conversations and sideways glances-a world which

Charlotte had just agreed to marry into.

Her gaze continued to dance across the sea of faces until

they finally came to rest on Emma Hamilton-Richard's little sister, the only

one who had treated her with as much as common courtesy since this whole

arrangement had begun. Emma strode toward her, her head full of blonde hair, a

soft, sweet smile on her face, a glass of champagne in hand.

"Charlotte," she said, extending the drink.

"You came."

"I didn't exactly have a choice, did I?" Charlotte

whispered, taking the glass but not drinking. She wasn't here to unwind. This

night wasn't about her comfort-it was about a contract.

Emma leant her head, the tiniest frown towing her lips down.

"You're right, but you can make it your own, you know. Richard isn't as

scary as they say."

Charlotte curbed herself from snorting. "I'll take your

word for it."

Richard Hamilton was the man she had agreed to marry instead

of her sister, infamous not only for his merciless business dealing but also

for mysterious reclusiveness part of which was contributed by the fact that a

terrible accident had left him bound to a wheelchair, partially hidden behind a

mask.

None of them had spoken about it openly, but the whispers

had been everywhere. Car accident, terrible burns, a face that had been

scarred-he still hadn't seen him right, and just a thought of what lay behind

the mask sent a shiver down her spine.

The crowd parted slightly, and there he sat at the far end

of the room, commanding with an intensity that did not require words. He was

impeccably dressed in his black tailored suit; his dark hair slicked back; half

his face hidden behind a black leather mask. If anything, the wheelchair added

an aura of unapproachability around him. He didn't come anywhere near her. He

simply watched.

Charlotte grasped the champagne glass tightly, as though it

were her lifeline. Now was the precise time when her life would drastically

change. She was not the type of girl who thought marriages out of fairy tales

and knights in shining armor were real. She was realistic. And sensible females

gave up things. Among such sacrifices was to marry Richard Hamilton.

Emma did lean in closer to whisper, "Don't be scared of

him; he doesn't bite."

Charlotte shot a sideways glance at her. "That's

supposed to be comforting?"

Emma smiled and gave her a gentle nudge forward towards

Richard. "Go on; he's waiting for you."

Smoothing her nerves, Charlotte wove through the crowd, her

every step turning each gaze toward her, it seemed, in watchful, waiting

silence. It was unreal, as if she was approaching a cliff edge that was to

plunge into who-knew-where.

Richard didn't bat an eyebrow as she drew closer. When at

last she stood before him, the first thing she noticed was the glint of

amusement in his unpatched eye. He didn't smile, yet there was something about

the set of his face that spoke volumes on the notion he found farce amusing.

"Charlotte Alston," he said, his voice so low it

was smooth. "The woman who dared take her sister's place.

She winced at the reminder, her quick recovery including the

tilting up of her chin. "I am here to fulfill the agreement. Wasn't that

what you wanted?"

His eyes roved over her, weighing, as if testing how much of

what she was saying was the truth. "It wasn't my choice but I respect

your. loyalty to family.".

Loyalty. If only he knew. It had nothing to do with loyalty.

It was just a question of survival. Her family had needed this deal with the

Hamiltons. Her failing father's company, her sister's sudden disappearance-it

was all on her shoulders. And here she was now-standing before him who could

squash her with just a little squeeze as he could save her.

"Let's not romance the fact that this is anything other

than what it is," Charlotte whispered low, the flatness of her tone no

less stark for all its softness. "A business transaction. We do know

what's at stake in this."

Richard's lips quirked just a little at the corners,

something perilous threatening to break free of his unrippled veneer.

"You're not wrong."

He reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out the

folded piece of paper inside - The Contract. Charlotte had seen it, had signed

it, but seeing it now in his hands felt like the final nail in the coffin.

She remained silent for a while as he held it out to her.

This piece of paper represented the end of her previous existence and the start

of a whole new one, not because she hadn't made her decision.

With firm hands, she took the contract and felt the weight

settle into her palms.

"I'll play my part," she said, her voice flat

despite the terror eating away at her belly. "But don't expect anything

more."

Richard's eyes narrowed, and for one brief moment, she could

have sworn there was a flicker in his eye. Surprise? Amusement?

"Of course," he returned, silky smooth.

"We're both professionals here, after all."

But before any word could fall from her lips, footsteps

boomed and they were interrupted. Mr. Hamilton strode into the room,

commanding, just like his son. Two piercing blue eyes landed on Charlotte, his

expression approving.

"So, it is done?" he asked them.

Charlotte handed the contract back to Richard. Her fingers

brushed his in passing, and she didn't yank hers away too fast. That was all.

"It's done," Richard tucked the contract back into

his jacket pocket.

"Good," Mr. Hamilton said, a smile not quite

reaching his eyes. "Welcome to the family, Charlotte. You've made a very

wise decision."

Wise. So hoped Charlotte.

The longer the night drew on, the more she was lost in

introductions and polite conversation, all her thoughts darting back to

Richard: the calculating gaze, the cryptic words. What kind of man had she just

shackled herself to? More importantly, what sort of life lay in store for her

beyond these gilded cage doors?

As the evening finally drew to a close, Emma sought her out

once more, quietly sliding into her side.

"You did well tonight," Emma said in a soft,

soothing voice.

Charlotte turned to her and searched for a flicker of

deceit, but there wasn't any. Emma was telling the truth. "Thanks. I'm not

sure I'll ever get used to this."

"You will." Emma paused a second before

continuing, "Richard isn't what he seems. Give him time.

Time. Charlotte wasn't quite sure whether time was her

friend or foe in this twisted game she had just entered. But one thing was for

sure-she had long since passed the point of no return.