Bound By Contract To The Secret Tycoon

Chapter 7

Word Count: 685 | Released on: Today at 14:04

he glow of her laptop screen illuminated her pale face. Her senior thesis data m

kitchen for a glass of water. A yellow sti

inner. The handwriting

ent pressed down on her, amplifying the feeling

oom and stared at the

n, bringing a rush of cold night air with him. He took off his coat and walked pa

ot eyes and the chaotic

sk and slammed the laptop shut. Th

d, jumping up. "I

er toward the door. "When your brain hits a wa

es later, she was sitting in the passenger seat of the black

he heated seat warmed her stiff back. The

t of a brightly lit, 24-hour retro

nt coffee hung in the air. A waitress in a pink

other. Harrison pushed the

and a basket of fries. Harrison or

e bite of the burger. The hot grease coate

shirt looked entirely out of place against the peeling vinyl booth. He watc

arrison had angled his long legs sharply to the side, en

is morning. The way he pulled his hand away

suspicion from earlier bubbled

reached across the center to grab a napkin from the dispenser, del

mediate retraction. He subtly shifted his elbow back a fraction of an inch, an almost im

hand hovering o

e had evaded her touch

oms, the physical evasion. It even explained the other oddities-the flawless business French, the commanding handwriting, the pristine apartment. He wasn't just a rug

with absolute certainty. He def

Chapter End

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Bound By Contract To The Secret Tycoon

Yan Huo Modern

“To escape my greedy stepmother, I signed a marriage contract with a cold, rigid construction manager, expecting a miserable life of poverty. But the moment the ink dried, I realized I had severely misjudged the man I just married. He wasn't a broke blue-collar worker. He lived in a multi-million-dollar penthouse, spoke flawless business French, and cooked gourmet meals while forbidding me from doing chores. Most bizarrely, he dodged my physical touch like it was a live wire. He gave me a massive separate bedroom. When a speeding bike nearly hit me on the street, he yanked me to safety, only to violently shove himself away a second later, seemingly terrified of holding a woman. I decided to test him, stating I wanted to delay having children for our fake marriage. "I will respect your wishes entirely and shield you from my family," he answered perfectly. The puzzle pieces snapped together in my mind. The immaculate apartment, the commanding presence, the absolute refusal to be intimate. I was absolutely certain: my wealthy fake husband was gay, and I was just his beard. Relieved that I wouldn't have to sleep with a stranger, I happily relaxed into my new role as his supportive best friend. But as elite job offers mysteriously began landing in my inbox, I started to realize my "gay" husband was hiding a much deeper, far more dangerous obsession.”