His Contract Wife, His Greatest Mistake

In the past, when disagreements between them stretched into long, icy silences, it had always been Alexander who gave in first.

After a few days of mutual avoidance—meals eaten separately, doors closed too firmly—he would eventually break the tension. Sometimes it was a brief handwritten note slipped onto her desk. Other times, a short message: Let’s drop it. It was never poetic, never elaborate. But it was enough to restore normalcy.

Back then, Lillian had treasured those small concessions. She had taken them as proof that he valued what they had—that his pride would bend, at least slightly, for her.

Now she saw the pattern more clearly.

If his signature had once restored peace between them, perhaps a signature could also sever what little remained.

“I don’t need you planning my career for me,” she said, her tone light but edged with something sharper. “If I rise in rank, it’ll be because I earned it. Not because you cleared the path.”

Alexander let out a low chuckle, clearly entertained.

To him, she sounded like a junior associate insisting on independence from a powerful Don.

“Do whatever you want,” he replied lazily, leaning back against the headboard. “That saves me the effort. Just don’t come running back when nobody acknowledges your so-called talent. Pride has a way of becoming regret.”

His words carried amusement, but beneath the humor lay something more dismissive.

Lillian heard it.

She held his gaze without wavering. “I won’t come to you,” she said calmly. “In fact, there’s something I need you to sign.”

His brows lifted slightly. “Sign what?”

Instead of answering immediately, she rose from the bed and crossed to the desk. Her movements were controlled, though her palms were damp.

She pulled out a blank sheet of paper and began writing in steady strokes:

From this day forward, Lillian Montgomery and Don Alexander Carter shall operate independently in all professional and personal matters. Lillian Montgomery assumes complete responsibility for her decisions, actions, and consequences. Under no circumstances shall her affairs involve, implicate, or require intervention from Don Alexander Carter or his authority. All liabilities shall be borne solely by Lillian Montgomery.

Signed: Alexander Carter.

She reread the document once before carrying it back to him along with a pen.

Her fingers trembled faintly as she set both on the bedside table.

“Sign it.”

Alexander didn’t move at once. His eyes sharpened as he studied her face.

There was something unfamiliar in her expression tonight—something he couldn’t quite name.

“Why?” he asked evenly.

She met his gaze without blinking.

“What’s wrong?” she countered smoothly. “Are you hesitating? Or are you worried you won’t be able to stop yourself from interfering?”

She knew exactly where to strike.

Alexander’s pride had always been both his strength and his weakness.

As expected, his expression hardened.

“Do you remember who brought you into this organization’s medical division?” he said sharply. “Without me, you’d still be in some rural town patching up minor injuries for small-time crews. Don’t overestimate your worth.”

The words landed heavily.

For a brief second, something tightened painfully in her chest.

But she kept her voice steady.

“Then prove me wrong,” she replied coolly. “Sign it. Let’s see whether I ever depend on you.”

Her defiance erased his remaining hesitation.

With a faint scoff, he snatched the pen.

“Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll watch how long this independence lasts.”

He signed his name in one fluid motion.

The scratch of ink against paper sounded louder than it should have in the quiet room.

Lillian watched the signature settle.

A strange calm spread through her.

Carefully, she folded the document and slipped it into her coat pocket as though it were something priceless.

She didn’t say the words aloud.

But they echoed clearly in her mind.

This is the last thing I will ever ask from you.

That signature was not reconciliation.

It was liberation.

---

The following morning, Lillian rose before sunrise.

The folded document was still in her coat pocket. For the first time in weeks, she felt something resembling clarity.

She dressed quietly and stepped outside toward Alexander’s car, intending to take her usual seat in the front passenger side.

The window slid down.

Scarlett’s face appeared instead—bright, smiling, entirely at ease.

“Lillian, sorry,” Scarlett said sweetly. “I get carsick when I sit in the back. I need the front seat.”

Her tone was light, almost playful.

Lillian stopped where she stood.

She knew, without question, that Scarlett had never once complained about sitting in the back. They had traveled together numerous times—to meetings, charity events, even out-of-town gatherings.

If anyone had struggled with motion sickness, it had always been Lillian.

That was precisely why she usually occupied the front seat.

Yet today, Scarlett sat there comfortably, as though the space had always belonged to her.

As though claiming it required no explanation at all.