Hunted By My Secret Billionaire Employer

CHLOE POV:

Clause 8: Party B waives all rights to claim any personal, academic, or romantic association with Party A, under penalty of a one-million-dollar fine.

I sat in my creaky used Honda, the engine ticking as it cooled, and stared at the document in my hands. Contract Termination Agreement.

One last check.

I took a deep breath. With a cheap pen that was running out of ink, I signed my name on the line next to "Party B": Chloe Miller.

My eyes snagged on the final page, on the clause about financial settlement. A six-figure "compensation" was listed.

A number that could change everything for a student like me.

My gaze lingered for less than a second.

I picked up the pen again. Without hesitation, I checked the box next to the line: Waive all rights to financial compensation.

I didn't need his money. I needed my freedom.

For a year, I had tutored Donovan Carlisle in philosophy, a ghostwriter for his GPA, ensuring the great ice hockey captain remained eligible to play.

I poured my soul into meticulously crafted notes and late-night emails, only to be met with his deafening silence and arrogant indifference—to him, I wasn't a living person, just a convenient, disposable tool.

Now, it was over. I was taking my life back.

I pushed open the car door. The cold evening air was a sharp, welcome slap to my face. The magnificent iron gates of the Carlisle estate loomed before me, a silent, sleeping beast.

I knew his world was paved with gold and privilege, a realm where someone like me didn't even register as a blip on his radar. In his eyes, I was nothing more than dust on his hockey skates—easily wiped away and instantly forgotten.

I didn't go in. Instead, I pulled out my phone and dialed the familiar number. It rang three times before a calm voice answered.

"Mr. Price, it's Chloe," I said. My voice sounded thin in the vast, empty parking lot. "I'm at the gate. I've signed the agreement."

"Please wait a moment, Miss Miller," the voice on the other end replied.

A few minutes later, a man in a perfectly tailored suit, his hair combed without a single strand out of place, emerged from a side gate. Philip Price, the Carlisle family's butler.

I waited by my car as he approached. He gave me a slight nod, his eyes holding a hint of curiosity, but he asked no questions. He was a professional.

"All the documents are inside," I said, handing him the folder. My movements were crisp, final. "I've signed everything."

He took the folder but didn't leave immediately. He flipped to the last page, his eyes landing on my signature waiving the compensation.

His eyebrow twitched, a barely perceptible motion. Surprise. "Are you certain, Miss Miller? This sum was stipulated in the agreement."

"I'm certain." I shrugged, trying to make my tone as casual as if we were discussing the weather. "I fulfilled my tutoring duties. He paid his tuition. We don't owe each other anything."

I didn't want him to see the tension in my shoulders. I just wanted to get out of here, to sever every last tie to the name "Donovan Carlisle."

Philip Price closed the folder. "Very well. I will deliver the agreement to Mr. Donovan."

His tone reverted to that impeccable, professional neutrality, as if I had just given up a library book, not a small fortune.

He turned and walked back toward the estate, his posture straight and distant. I watched until he disappeared behind the side gate. A complicated mix of relief and uncertainty washed over me.

To hell with playing a shadow in a rich boy's world. I'm done chasing ghosts; it's time to build my own damn empire.