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Contract Bride: Rising From The Shadows Novel Cover

Contract Bride: Rising From The Shadows

Hired as a corporate asset to stabilize Casper Stuart’s image, my marriage was a cold contract of compliance. After he gave my anniversary diamond to his mistress and replaced it with a cheap trinket, his cruelty peaked. Casper blocked my divorce settlement, buying my family’s debts to ensure my eternal servitude. Abandoned in the rain and stripped of everything, I’ve stopped playing the loyal wife. Now, this actress is becoming his greatest liability.
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Chapter 4

The silence in the dining room the next morning was heavy enough to choke on. Casper sat at the head of the table, reading the Wall Street Journal. He drank his coffee black.

Dosha sliced her avocado toast into precise, geometric squares. Asset was under the table, his chin resting on her foot.

"The bracelet," Casper said, not looking up from the paper. "If you don't like it, throw it away."

"It's been cataloged," Dosha said. "It's an asset."

Casper made a noise in his throat, a sound of disgust. He hated how much she cared about the money. It made him feel like he was just a wallet.

Dosha's phone lit up on the table. An Instagram notification. She had set an alert for Sienna's account.

She tapped the screen.

A photo filled the display. It was a selfie. Sienna was on a boat, the wind in her hair. Around her neck was a necklace. A pink diamond pendant, surrounded by a halo of white diamonds.

The caption read: Best anniversary gift ever. Love you C. <3

Dosha stopped breathing for a moment.

She knew that necklace. It was listed in the Appendix of their Prenup. It was the item designated for the Second Year Anniversary Bonus.

It was valued at three million dollars.

The bracelet in her drawer was worth fifty thousand, retail.

Dosha set her fork down. The ceramic clink was loud.

Casper lowered the paper. "What? Is the toast not to your liking?"

Dosha turned the phone around and held it up.

"This was my annual bonus, Casper. You are in default."

Casper glanced at the screen. He didn't even blink.

"That is a reward for loyalty," he said smoothly. "For performance. Your performance last night... did not warrant that price point."

The air left the room.

He was pricing her dignity. He was assigning a dollar value to her submission.

Dosha felt a heat rise in her chest that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with rage. She stood up. She picked up the printed itinerary for the day-the one that listed Breakfast with Eleanor Stuart at 9:00 AM.

She ripped it in half.

Casper narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Since the budget has been cut," Dosha said, her voice trembling slightly, "services are being reduced. I am not attending the breakfast."

Casper stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor. "Eleanor is waiting. You do not cancel on my mother."

"Tell her I'm sick," Dosha said, walking toward the bedroom. "Tell her I have a contagious disease. Tell her I have a moral deficiency."

Casper grabbed her wrist. His grip was hard. "Dosha Young. Do not forget who pays your bills."

Dosha looked at his hand on her wrist. Then she looked at the dog, who had come out from under the table and was whining softly.

"Asset's water bowl is empty," she said. She yanked her arm free. "Since you are the master of the house, you fill it."

She walked into the bedroom and slammed the door. The lock clicked.

Casper stood alone in the dining room. He looked down. The greyhound looked up at him, tail wagging tentatively, waiting for water.

Casper kicked the chair. The dog scrambled away, claws clicking on the wood.

He pulled out his phone. He dialed Liam.

"The receipt for the necklace," Casper said, his voice tight. "Code it as a charitable donation. Do not let the Board see it."

He hung up and stormed out of the apartment.

Inside the bedroom, Dosha leaned against the door. She slid down until she hit the floor. She wasn't crying because he didn't love her. She was crying because three million dollars would have bought her freedom.

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