Rejecting The Billionaire's Contract Marriage

The harsh California sun sliced through the gap in the blackout curtains, hitting Carra directly in the eyes.

She gasped and sat up, clutching the heavy duvet to her chest.

Her entire body ached. Her muscles felt bruised. She looked down at the floor. Her torn dress, Jory's ruined shirt, and his expensive belt were scattered across the rug.

The memories of last night slammed into her brain like a freight train.

She slowly turned her head.

Jory Elliott was asleep beside her. He was lying on his stomach, the sheets tangled around his waist. Deep, angry red scratch marks tracked down his muscular back. Her scratch marks.

Panic seized her throat. She couldn't breathe.

She had slept with the CEO of the EK Group. The man who owned her agency. The man who had proposed a fake marriage to cover up her ex-boyfriend's affair.

Carra slid to the edge of the bed, trying to make absolutely no sound. She put one foot on the floor.

A massive, heavy arm shot out from under the covers. It wrapped around her waist and violently yanked her backward.

Carra shrieked as her back hit the mattress.

Jory didn't open his eyes. He buried his face in the crook of her neck. His voice was thick with sleep and gravel.

"Your stamina was a lot better last night," he murmured, his breath hot against her skin.

Carra's face burned hot enough to melt steel. She shoved at his chest, prying his heavy arm off her body.

She scrambled off the bed and grabbed the first thing she saw-one of his oversized white button-down shirts. She pulled it on, her hands shaking as she fumbled with the buttons.

"Last night was a mistake," Carra stammered, backing away toward the door. "We were angry. We were drunk. It didn't happen."

Jory finally opened his eyes. They were sharp, alert, and terrifyingly cold.

"Are you trying to hit and run, Carra?" he asked, a cruel smirk playing on his bruised lips.

Carra didn't answer. She turned and bolted into the master bathroom.

She stared at herself in the mirror. There were dark purple bruises blooming along her collarbone. She turned the water on freezing cold, splashed her face, and threw on her clothes from the dryer.

When she heard Jory's phone ring in the bedroom, she took her chance. She slipped out the front door and ran to the elevator.

She ordered an Uber. By the time she checked her phone, she was two hours late for work.

Carra walked through the glass doors of the EK Entertainment Agency in Beverly Hills. Her stomach was tied in knots.

She walked into the open-plan office.

Lisa Finch, a newly signed model who thought she owned the building, was sitting on Carra's desk.

Lisa swung her long legs, holding a plastic cup of iced coffee. When she saw Carra, she smiled maliciously.

Lisa casually tipped the cup. The brown liquid spilled directly onto Carra's open PR files, ruining weeks of work.

"Oops," Lisa said loudly. "Sorry, Carra. I guess you're just having a really bad week. Dumped by Vance, and now you can't even show up to work on time. Pathetic."

The typing in the office stopped. Every head turned to watch the show.

Carra walked over to her desk. She grabbed a wad of paper towels and started dabbing at the ruined ink.

"Get off my desk, Lisa," Carra said, her voice dangerously low.

Lisa laughed. She hopped off the desk and stepped into Carra's personal space.

"Don't use that tone with me," Lisa sneered. "Everyone knows you only got this job by spreading your legs for Vance. Now that he tossed you in the trash, you're nothing."

Lisa's eyes darted to Carra's neck. She reached out and yanked the collar of Carra's shirt down.

"Wow," Lisa gasped dramatically, pointing at the purple bruises. "Look at this! Did you go sell yourself on the street last night to pay rent?"

A few people in the office snickered.

Carra's vision went red. She had taken enough abuse for one lifetime.

She dropped the wet paper towels. She planted her feet, twisted her hips, and swung her hand.

Smack.

Carra slapped Lisa Finch so hard the model spun around and crashed into the filing cabinet.

The entire office went dead silent. You could hear a pin drop.

Lisa held her blistering red cheek. Her eyes were wide with shock.

"Keep your mouth shut," Carra warned, stepping closer. "Or I'll call your sugar daddy's wife and tell her exactly which hotel you were at last Tuesday."

Lisa screamed like a banshee. She grabbed a heavy metal stapler off the desk and hurled it directly at Carra's head.

Carra ducked. The stapler flew past her and smashed into the glass partition behind her. The glass shattered into a thousand pieces with a deafening crash.

"Carra Roach!"

Kloe, the head of the PR department, stormed out of her glass office. Her face was purple with rage.

Kloe looked at the broken glass, the crying model, and Carra.

"Pack your things," Kloe screamed. "You are suspended immediately for physically assaulting a premium talent!"