From Music to CEOs Contract Wife

Marrying My Runaway Groom's Powerful Father

Temple Madison

I was sitting in the Presidential Suite of The Pierre, wearing a Vera Wang gown worth more than most people earn in a decade. It was supposed to be the wedding of the century, the final move to merge two of Manhattan's most powerful empires. Then my phone buzzed. It was an Instagram Story from my fiancé, Jameson. He was at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris with a caption that read: "Fuck the chains. Chasing freedom." He hadn't just gotten cold feet; he had abandoned me at the altar to run across the world. My father didn't come in to comfort me. He burst through the door roaring about a lost acquisition deal, telling me the Holland Group would strip our family for parts if the ceremony didn't happen by noon. My stepmother wailed about us becoming the laughingstock of the Upper East Side. The Holland PR director even suggested I fake a "panic attack" to make myself look weak and sympathetic to save their stock price. Then Jameson’s sleazy cousin, Pierce, walked in with a lopsided grin, offering to "step in" and marry me just to get his hands on my assets. I looked at them and realized I wasn't a daughter or a bride to anyone in that room. I was a failed asset, a bouncing check, a girl whose own father told her to go to Paris and "beg" the man who had just publicly humiliated her. The girl who wanted to be loved died in that mirror. I realized that if I was going to be sold to save a merger, I was going to sell myself to the one who actually controlled the money. I marched past my parents and walked straight into the VIP holding room. I looked the most powerful man in the room—Jameson’s cold, ruthless uncle, Fletcher Holland—dead in the eye and threw the iPad on the table. "Jameson is gone," I said, my voice as hard as stone. "Marry me instead."

Billionaires Revenge Kickass Heroine Revenge Female-centered Ex-wife

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ALEXIS

"Be my pretend partner for six months, divorce your husband, and I'll compensate you generously."

Nathan Cole's words echoed through my mind like thunder as I gripped the leather steering wheel of my Toyota Corolla, my knuckles turning white. The morning sun glinted off the dashboard, momentarily blinding me – much like his outrageous proposal had done to my sensibilities.

"How disgusting!" I spat, my voice bouncing off the leather interior of my car as I pressed harder on the accelerator. The purr of the engine did nothing to calm my racing thoughts.

The absolute audacity of that man. Nathan Cole, billionaire CEO of Cole Industries, my boss of three years, had just propositioned me as if I were some commodity to be bought and sold. The worst part? He'd done it with that infuriatingly composed expression of his, those steel-gray eyes watching me as if he already knew my answer. As if my marriage meant nothing.

The same marriage I'd been forced into.

I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror – Alexis Pierce, twenty-seven, perfectly coiffed brown hair, designer suit, and eyes that held more secrets than I cared to admit. Including one that not even my husband knew about yet: the tiny life growing inside me.

My hand instinctively moved to my still-flat stomach. "What would the world say?" I whispered to myself, easing off the accelerator as I approached a red light. "That I'm just another gold-digger? That I divorced my husband for a better offer?" The thought made me sick.

But Nathan's offer tugged at something deep inside me. Was it desperation? Curiosity? Or perhaps it was the way he'd looked at me when he made the proposal – not with lust or greed, but with something else entirely. Something that reminded me of how he used to look at me before my marriage to Logan, when I was just his secretary with dreams bigger than my paycheck.

"He could have spoken up then," I muttered, accelerating as the light turned green. "Before my parents..." My throat tightened at the thought of them. Gone now, but their final act had been to ensure my marriage to Logan Pierce. "May their souls rest in peace," I whispered, even as bitterness coated my tongue.

A horn blared, shocking me back to reality. I'd drifted into the wrong lane, lost in my thoughts.

"Oh my goodness!" I jerked the wheel, heart pounding as I swerved back into my lane. "Focus, Alexis. Focus!"

The rest of the drive home was a blur of self-recrimination. How could I have forgotten such an important document? What was wrong with me today? First Nathan's proposal, now this near-accident – the universe seemed determined to throw me off balance.

I pulled up to my house – a modern mansion in the city's most exclusive neighborhood, all glass and steel and hollow luxury. The security guard bowed slightly as he opened the gates. "Welcome home, ma'am."

I barely acknowledged him, my mind already racing ahead to the documents I needed. But something felt off as I entered the house. Logan's Italian wool coat hung carelessly over our imported leather sofa, his signature cologne lingering in the air like an accusation.

My steps faltered. He was supposed to be on a business trip – I'd dropped him at the airport myself last night, watching as he'd boarded his private jet wearing that exact suit.

"Let me just grab what I need and go," I muttered, heading for the stairs. "I'm already running late."

As I approached our bedroom – our matrimonial bedroom, as Logan liked to call it – I heard it. The sound was unmistakable, but my brain refused to process it.

"Ah fck! You're fcking tight." Logan's voice, rough with pleasure.

"Easy daddy. It's my first time, I haven't..." A familiar female voice, cut off by Logan's shushing.

My blood turned to ice in my veins. That voice – it couldn't be. Not her. Not Abigail.

My feet carried me downstairs to my sister's room, even as my mind screamed at me to run, to pretend I'd heard nothing. The empty room confirmed my worst fears.

I climbed back upstairs, each step feeling like I was walking to my own execution. My hand trembled as I pushed open the bedroom door.

The scene before me burned itself into my retinas like acid: My husband and my sister, tangled in our marriage bed, their naked bodies illuminated by the morning sun streaming through our floor-to-ceiling windows. The same windows I'd spent hours choosing, imagining peaceful mornings watching the sunrise with my husband.

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