The Contract Wife's Silent Revenge

The car ride away from the courthouse was silent.

Not the peaceful kind. The suffocating kind that pressed against my chest and made every breath feel borrowed.

I sat on one side of the black Rolls-Royce, my hands folded neatly in my lap, while Jeffrey sat across from me like I was a stranger who’d wandered into his life by mistake.

No. Not a mistake.

A transaction.

The city blurred past the tinted windows, people crossing streets, laughing, arguing, living. For a moment, I imagined opening the door and running until my lungs burned, until my name meant nothing to anyone.

But I stayed seated.

Because running wouldn’t save my father.

And it wouldn’t bring my mother back.

“You’re very quiet,” Jeffrey said at last, his voice lazy, almost amused. “I expected tears. Or demands. Or at least something dramatic.”

I turned to him slowly. “Why would I talk to a man who didn’t even look at me while marrying me?”

He snorted. “So you do have a mouth.”

I held his gaze. “I just know when to use it.”

That earned me a look, brief, assessing. Like he was trying to decide if I was broken or simply dull.

“This marriage is a contract,” he said. “Don’t expect affection. Don’t expect respect. And definitely don’t expect a place in my bed.”

“I’m not here for any of that,” I replied calmly.

“Good,” he said. “Then we won’t disappoint each other.”

The car slowed.

Through the windshield, the Frank estate came into view, glass, steel, and arrogance perched above the city like it owned the air itself. A red carpet stretched toward the entrance. Cameras lined both sides. Crystal lights glowed against the darkening sky.

A party.

Of course there was.

Jeffrey leaned toward me and wrapped an arm around my waist. The touch was firm but empty.

“Smile, Mrs. Frank,” he murmured. “Tonight, you exist for publicity.”

The doors opened.

Flashes erupted.

I lifted my chin and stepped out beside him, my borrowed heels clicking against marble that probably cost more than my father’s entire shop. Applause followed us like a performance cue.

Inside, the ballroom glittered with wealth and ego. Men in tailored suits laughed too loudly. Women in designer gowns clung to arms like trophies. I felt eyes sliding over me, judging, measuring, dismissing.

A waiter passed with a tray of wine.

I reached for a glass.

Jeffrey’s fingers closed around my wrist. “No drinking.”

I looked at him. “I can handle wine.”

“That’s not the point,” he said quietly. “You’re here to behave.”

I released the glass.

Before I could respond, a familiar voice cut through the air like poison wrapped in perfume.

“Jeffrey, darling.”

I didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

Sandra Leigh.

She appeared at his side in a red dress that clung to her like it had been painted on. She looped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek, completely ignoring my presence.

Jeffrey didn’t stop her.

He didn’t even flinch.

“So this is her?” Sandra asked, finally glancing at me like I was something stuck to his shoe. “She’s… underwhelming.”

Laughter rippled nearby.

I smiled.

“Neither are you,” I said softly, “when you open your mouth.”

The air shifted.

Sandra’s smile faltered. “Excuse me?”

“You ruin your own beauty when you speak,” I continued calmly. “But don’t worry. Not everyone gets both intelligence and looks.”

A hush fell over the group.

Jeffrey blinked.

Sandra’s face hardened. “Jeffrey, I don’t like her.”

“You’re not supposed to,” I replied before he could speak. “You’re not his wife.”

That did it.

Sandra stepped closer. “You think a piece of paper makes you important?”

“No,” I said. “But standing here while you humiliate yourself does make you memorable.”

Jeffrey’s hand settled on my lower back.

“Letty,” he said, voice low. “Dance.”

“I don’t want to.”

“It wasn’t a request.”

He pulled me onto the dance floor as music swelled and cameras followed. His grip tightened, possessive for show, detached in reality.

“You surprised me,” he murmured. “I didn’t expect you to bite.”

“I didn’t expect to be insulted in public on my wedding night,” I replied. “But here we are.”

He studied me more closely now. “You’re smarter than you look.”

“And you’re worse than I imagined.”

His lips curved. “This might get interesting.”

I met his gaze, unblinking. “I didn’t come here to entertain you. I came to survive.”

The applause around us sounded hollow.

Later that night, alone in the guest suite assigned to me, I removed the diamond necklace Clara had placed around my neck for the cameras.

It sparkled beautifully.

I dropped it on the floor.

From my purse, I pulled out a small silver flash drive and slid it beneath a loose tile under the bed.

This house was built on secrets.

And I had come to collect every single one.