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.”

not afraid,” I protested.

“Of what? Me?”

us. “It’s

lips curved into a slow smile. “Maybe the lines

“Alexander-”

off. “Nothing more. Unless you

charged and tempting.

1/3

finally. “I

with unexpected grace.

door, he leaned in to kiss my cheek, his lips lingering near the corner of my mouth. It was part of our routine now,

murmured, his breath warm against

“Goodnight, Alexander.”

him walk away. The door closed with a soft click, and I leaned against it, exhaling slowly. My body hummed with a frustration I wasn’t ready to acknowledge. I could have called him back. Could have invited him in. The contract certainly allowed for

what happens when the year is up? When he decides he’s fulfilled his obligation to his

kicked off my heels, wincing as they clattered against the hardwood

No excuses. Meet us at

grateful for the distraction. Maybe a night out with friends was exactly what I needed to clear my head of thoughts of Alexander Carter and his

doors of Velvet, the pulsing music hitting me like a physical force. The club

them at a

the music, waving

the glass of wine Claire pushed

nodding toward the wine. “Figured you

I took a generous sip.

leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Please, not you, too. I’ve

hands in surrender.

I said, relaxing