The Billionaire's Contract Lover

CHAPTER 2.

Leaving again?

The pain was too much. The fear was too much. Her vision blurred, the ceiling spinning above her as the sounds around her faded into a dull roar.

Vivian froze.

For half a second, the anger vanished from her face, replaced by something like panic. She stared at Ruby’s still body on the floor, her chest rising and falling too fast, her eyes fluttering shut.

“Ruby?” Vivian said sharply, as if expecting the girl to jump up.

Ruby didn’t move.

The silence that followed was louder than the crash had been.

Vivian’s heart slammed against her ribs. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She took a step back, then another, her mind racing. The house suddenly felt dangerous because of what could happen if anyone else walked in.

As if summoned by the thought, the front door opened.

“Vivian?”

Her husband’s voice echoed down the hallway.

Vivian spun around.

He stood there, confusion etched across his face, keys still in his hand. “I forgot my wallet,” he said. “What’s going on?”

He smelled the kitchen before he saw it.

His eyes widened as he took in the mess—the overturned pot, the spilled food, the chaos. Then his gaze dropped to the floor.

To Ruby.

“Ruby!” he shouted, rushing forward.

Vivian reacted instantly.

“She slipped!” she cried, forcing panic into her voice as she dropped to her knees. “I told her to be careful—she was cooking and she slipped and the pot fell on her!”

It came out fast, breathless, rehearsed in seconds.

Her husband knelt beside Ruby, his hands shaking as he touched her shoulder. “Ruby, baby, wake up. Please.” Ruby didn’t respond.

“She was insisting on cooking even though I told her to stop,” Vivian continued, tears forming in her eyes on command. “I turned my back for one second and then—this happened. I tried to catch her.”

Her husband didn't question it. Fear had swallowed everything else.

“Call an ambulance,” he said urgently.

“I already am,” Vivian said, reaching for her phone with trembling fingers.

She played the role perfectly—shaking, crying, devastated. Anyone watching would see a worried stepmother, a woman in shock over a terrible accident.

But inside, Vivian’s thoughts were cold and sharp, this cannot come back to me.

The ambulance arrived quickly, lights flashing against the house like accusing eyes. Paramedics rushed in, lifting Ruby carefully onto a stretcher. She was still unconscious, her breathing shallow.

Her father followed, his face pale, hands clenched into fists he didn’t even realize he’d made.

Vivian stayed close, her arm around him, whispering reassurances.

“She didn’t mean to,” Vivian said softly. “She was just trying to help.”

At the hospital, the hours dragged on like a punishment no one spoke aloud.

Doctors moved in and out. Nurses asked questions. Forms were signed, explanations were repeated, every time Vivian told the same story, Ruby had been cooking, she slipped.

It was an accident.

Her husband sat beside Ruby’s bed when they finally allowed them in. He held her hand carefully, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

“I should never have left,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have stormed out.”

Vivian stood behind him, her expression sorrowful, her posture supportive.

Inside, she felt something else entirely.

The story had worked. No one was looking at her strangely.

Ruby stirred hours later, her eyes opening slowly, confusion clouding her face.

Her father leaned forward immediately. “Ruby? Can you hear me?” She nodded faintly.

“What happened?” he asked gently.

Ruby’s gaze drifted past him—to Vivian.

For a moment, something flickered in her eyes. Fear….memory. The weight of truth pressing against her chest.

Vivian met her stare calmly, the message was clear, Ruby swallowed.

“I… I fell,” she whispered.

Her father exhaled shakily, relief washing over his face. “Thank God.”

Vivian smiled softly.

……………

In the days after the hospital, her body healed faster than her mind. Bandages were changed, medications administered, voices spoke softly around her bed. The nurses smiled kindly. Doctors used careful words. Her father hovered like a shadow that refused to leave.

Vivian played her role flawlessly.

She brought soup she claimed to have cooked herself. She dabbed Ruby’s forehead with a cloth. She cried at the right moments, her shoulders shaking just enough to seem believable. To everyone else, she was the image of regret—a woman shaken by an accident she wished she could undo.

Only Ruby knew the truth and she understood how dangerous it was.

At night, when the hospital lights dimmed and the hallway quieted, Ruby lay awake staring at the ceiling, replaying the moment over and over. The way Vivian’s hands had moved. The suddenness. The look in her eyes when it happened.

Ruby’s fingers curled beneath the blanket as if gripping something invisible. Every time she closed her eyes, she smelled the kitchen again. Heard the crash. Felt the world tilt.

She never screamed in her sleep. She’d learned not to.

On the third day, a social worker came.

Her name was Mrs. Ade. She spoke gently, sat at the edge of the bed, asked careful questions about school, about home, about how Ruby felt living with her stepmother.

Vivian stayed by the door, arms folded loosely, smiling in that calm, patient way.

Ruby answered everything the way she was supposed to.

“Yes, ma’am, she’s kind, It was an accident, I just slipped.” Each word tasted like ash.

Mrs. Ade nodded, scribbling notes. “Accidents happen,” she said kindly. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” Ruby nodded too.

Vivian caught her eye and smiled wider.

That night, after Ruby was discharged, they returned home.

The house felt different.

The kitchen had been cleaned so thoroughly it no longer smelled like food. The tiles gleamed. The pot was gone. Ruby never asked where it went.

Her father insisted she rest. He moved her into the guest room temporarily, saying the bed was softer, closer to theirs. He hovered too much now—asking if she needed water, if she was in pain, if she wanted to talk.

Vivian encouraged it.

“Your father’s just worried,” she said sweetly. “He loves you so much. Ruby nodded.

Anderson Ruby's Father stood by the living room window, tall, immaculate in his suit, the early sunlight reflecting off his wristwatch. He had always been a man who commanded a room without speaking, someone whose presence alone made people straighten their backs. But today, he looked tired, older somehow, as though something had drained the color from his soul.

Ruby stood a few steps away, clutching the straps of her bag as she was going out for school lessons, she healed faster than anyone could have imagined.

“Dad… are you really leaving?” she asked quietly.