Bound By Contract: The Possessive CEO's Bride

Kaylee sat frozen in the wet sand, buried under the massive suit jacket.

"Get in," Ernest ordered. His voice was flat. He turned his back to her and walked toward the rear door of the Maybach.

The bodyguard immediately let go of her arm. His demeanor flipped instantly. He stepped forward and respectfully held the heavy car door open for her.

Kaylee was stunned. She dragged her muddy, bleeding feet across the sand and climbed into the luxurious leather backseat.

The moment the door closed, the roaring storm was completely cut off. Warm air blasted from the vents, wrapping around her freezing skin. She sank into the soft leather, a shaky sigh escaping her lips.

The opposite door opened. Ernest slid into the seat.

A wide center console separated them, but his physical presence was overwhelming. The sheer size of him seemed to suck the oxygen out of the cabin. Kaylee pressed her knees together and tried not to breathe too loudly.

The interior of the car was dead silent. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife.

In the front seat, Edson glanced at the rearview mirror. His eyes widened in shock at the sight of the filthy girl ruining the pristine leather.

Ernest caught his eye in the mirror. He shot Edson a look so lethal that the assistant instantly snapped his eyes back to the windshield.

Ernest pressed a button on the door panel. A thick soundproof glass partition glided up, completely sealing off the back seat from the front.

He turned his head and locked his eyes on Kaylee. It felt like an X-ray scanning her bones.

"Explain your situation," he demanded coldly. His long fingers tapped an impatient rhythm against his knee. "I have no tolerance for wasted time."

Kaylee forced her racing heart to slow down. She spoke fast. She detailed the Fletcher family's impending bankruptcy. She explained Donita's plan to sell her off to Mitch Ziegler to cover the debts.

When she mentioned Mitch's name, a sneer formed on Ernest's lips. He clearly knew of the old man's disgusting reputation.

Kaylee's voice cracked when she talked about her mother's confiscated belongings. She swallowed hard, biting the inside of her cheek to force the tears back down. She refused to cry in front of him.

Ernest watched her jaw tighten. His tapping fingers paused for a fraction of a second. A strange glint flickered in his dark eyes.

He leaned back against the headrest and crossed his arms over his chest. "I will clear your debts and handle the old man. In exchange, you will play a role for me."

Kaylee's head snapped up. Pure relief washed over her face. She nodded frantically. "I will do anything."

"Three months," Ernest stated, his voice hard as steel. "For three months, you will act as my devoted wife. You will deal with my family."

He leaned forward. His broad shoulders invaded her space. "During this contract, you follow my orders absolutely. Do not ask questions. Do not touch things that aren't yours."

The heavy scent of his cologne and raw male pheromones hit her face. Kaylee's heart skipped a beat. She instinctively pressed her back harder against the door.

"When the three months are over, the contract terminates. I will wire you a compensation fee large enough to fund the rest of your life. We walk away clean," he finished ruthlessly.

Hearing the words "walk away clean," a tiny, irrational sting hit Kaylee's chest. But the overwhelming joy of buying her freedom crushed it instantly.

She didn't hesitate. She reached out her right hand. It was covered in dried mud, blood, and rust. "Deal, Mr. Blackwell."

Ernest looked down at her hand. His severe germaphobia kicked in immediately. His body went rigid. A deep crease formed between his eyebrows.

Kaylee realized what she had done. Heat rushed to her cheeks. She felt sick with embarrassment. She quickly tried to pull her dirty hand back, wishing the floorboards would swallow her whole.

Just as her fingers began to retreat, Ernest reached out. His jaw tight with an ingrained, visceral revulsion to dirt, his hand hovered for a fraction of a second. Every instinct screamed at him to pull away from the mud and blood. Yet, driven by a strange, inexplicable compulsion that overrode his severe germaphobia, his large, strong hand clamped down over hers.

The physical contact was an absolute violation of his own rules, a shock to his highly controlled system. His palm was warm and slightly rough. The grip was firm and undeniable. A jolt of electricity shot up Kaylee's arm. She shivered.

He held her hand for exactly one second before letting go.

He pressed the intercom button to the front seat. "Edson. City Hall."

The car swerved slightly. Edson's voice came through the speaker, stammering. "Boss? Right now? It's one in the morning."

Ernest's eyes narrowed. "Do I need to teach you how to drag the mayor out of his bed to open the doors?"

"No, sir!" Edson barked back.

The Maybach's engine roared. The car shot forward into the rainy night with brutal acceleration.

Kaylee was pushed deep into the seat by the force. She turned her head and stared out the window at the blurred streetlights. Her brain could not process reality.

She stole a glance at the man sitting next to her. He had his eyes closed. She pulled his warm suit jacket tighter around her shoulders, her fingers gripping the lapels like a lifeline.