The CEO's Contractual Wife

Olivia

I gathered my things, my stomach fluttering with nerves. Alexander had texted the address of a restaurant for tonight, along with instructions to “dress to impress.” I hadn’t agreed to stay at his penthouse yet, preferring the safety of my own apartment for now.

Over the next two weeks, Alexander and I fell into a rhythm. We’d meet for dinner at high–end restaurants, where photographers would conveniently appear, capturing images of us looking intimate but never quite showing my full face. He’d kiss my cheek, hold my hand, and place his arm possessively around my waist–always when cameras might be watching.

Each time, I wore dresses from his collection, each more stunning than the last. Each time, his eyes would darken when he saw me, his gaze lingering on my curves in a way that made my skin tingle.

“You’re a natural at this,” he said one night as we left a trendy rooftop bar, his hand resting on the small of my back.

“At what? Pretending to be your girlfriend?”

“At being desired,” he corrected, his voice low against my ear. “Every man in that room wanted you tonight.”

“But only you get to take me home,” I replied, playing along for the benefit of the paparazzi I’d spotted across the street.

Alexander’s fingers tightened slightly on my hip. “Exactly.”

In the car, he maintained the charade, his thumb tracing circles on my knee as his driver navigated the LA streets. It was becoming harder to remember this was all for the show, especially when he looked at me like he wanted to devour me whole.

“Will you stay tonight?” he asked as the car pulled up to his building.

I hesitated. We’d established a pattern: dinner, drinks, and a lingering goodbye at my apartment door. I hadn’t spent the night at his penthouse since that first day.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said carefully.

“Why not? The contract allows for it.”

“The contract allows for a lot of things,” I reminded him. “That doesn’t mean we have to do them all immediately.”

Alexander studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable. “You’re afraid.”

I protested.

“Of what? Me?”

I gestured between us. “It’s too

lips curved into a slow smile. “Maybe the lines should

“Alexander-”

off. “Nothing more. Unless you want it

us, charged and tempting.

1/3

finally.

my decision with unexpected grace. “I’ll take

of my mouth. It was part of our routine

murmured, his breath warm against

“Goodnight, Alexander.”

a soft click, and I leaned against it, exhaling slowly. My body hummed with a frustration I wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

One night of passion, and then what happens when the year is up? When he decides

my heels, wincing as they clattered against the hardwood floor. My phone buzzed in my purse.

night. No excuses. Meet us at

Maybe a night out with friends was exactly what I needed to clear my head of thoughts of Alexander Carter and

minutes later, I pushed through the doors of Velvet, the pulsing music hitting me like a physical force. The club was packed, bodies pressed together on the dance floor, the bar three deep with people

a booth

Emilia shouted over the music,

slid into the booth beside her, gratefully accepting the glass of wine Claire pushed toward me. “Sorry I’m

nodding toward

took a generous sip. “Thank

Claire leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Please, not you, too. I’ve had enough of that

Claire raised her hands in surrender.

I said,