The Billionaire's Ruthless Contract Bride

The room was dark except for the city lights bleeding through the glass wall. My back pressed to the cold window, my heartbeat louder than the rain sliding down outside. He stood across from me, jacket gone, tie hanging loose, eyes locked on mine like a storm that had finally reached land.

"You're still lying to me," he said, voice low.

I crossed my arms though my hands shook. "And you're still pretending you don't care."

He moved closer. "Care is dangerous. We had rules."

"I didn't make last night happen," I whispered. "You did."

His jaw clenched. "And you kissed me back."

"You never asked what I wanted."

"Then tell me now." His eyes burned into me. "Tell me to stop."

My lips parted but no sound came. The quiet said everything. His fingers brushed my cheek, and I shivered.

"This is a mistake," I mumbled.

"Then why do you feel like home?" he said, and before I could answer, his mouth found mine.

The kiss started rough, defiance but eased until it felt like a plea. His hands slid to my hips. My fingers twisted in his shirt. All the walls we built cracked with one sound: my gasp against his lips.

"You don't get to own me," I said between kisses.

"I don't want to own you," he breathed. "I want you."

Lightning flashed outside, throwing our shadows across the walls. He lifted me, carried me to the bed we'd been dodging for weeks. My heart raced, not from fear but from the truth I couldn't deny any longer.

"Look at me," he whispered. "Say my name."

I did, and it sounded like a vow I didn't remember making.

Clothes scattered. The air grew hot. Every touch burned through the contract, through the lies, through the careful space we had kept. It wasn't business anymore; it was needed, raw and urgent. He traced my jaw with his thumb.

"I swore I wouldn't cross this line," he said.

"You already did."

His face rested against mine. "Then there's no going back."

I pulled him down, heart breaking and flying at once. "Then don't stop."

Later, the city was silent again. His arm was heavy across my waist, his breath warm on my neck. I stared at the ceiling, trembling not from what had happened, but from what it meant. One rule was broken. Nothing about our deal was safe now.

He stirred behind me. "Stop thinking," he whispered.

"I can't."

"You'll regret it in the morning."

"Will you?"

A pause. "I already do."

I rolled to face him. His eyes were softer than I'd ever seen. "Then why?"

"Because I can't stay away from you." His thumb brushed my lower lip. "And because you keep looking at me like you see the man I was before all this."

"Who is that?" I whispered.

He didn't answer. He just kissed me again, slow and aching, like goodbye and hello at once.

The morning light was cruel. I slipped from the bed quietly, skin still marked by his touch. My reflection in the mirror looked like a stranger, hair messy, eyes too bright, mouth swollen from his kisses.

I opened the dresser to grab my clothes. Something small and familiar caught my eye. My heart stopped.

The packet of birth control I'd bought weeks ago lay unopened in the drawer, exactly where I'd left it. Every pill untouched.

I stared at it, the implications slamming into me harder than any confession could.

Behind me, his voice came low and rough. "What are you looking at?"

I snapped the drawer shut, forcing a smile he couldn't see. "Nothing."

He stepped closer. "You're shaking."

"I'm fine."

His hand landed on the drawer. "Open it."

I froze.

"Open it," he repeated, softer now, but his tone was a warning, a promise, and something else fear.

I turned slowly, heart hammering. "Why would you even"

He cut me off, eyes sharp. "Because if what I think is true..." He swallowed hard. "Everything changes."