The Tycoon's Unwanted Contract Wife

At ten minutes to three, Annabel stepped out of a yellow cab onto the busy Manhattan sidewalk. The imposing facade of Le Bernardin loomed in front of her.

She walked through the revolving doors. The maitre d' approached immediately.

Annabel pulled the black and gold invitation from her pocket.

The man's demeanor shifted to absolute deference. "Right this way, ma'am."

He led her past the crowded main dining room, down a dimly lit corridor lined with rare wine bottles, and stopped at a heavy, soundproof door. He opened it and stepped back.

Annabel walked in. The door clicked shut behind her, cutting off the ambient noise of the restaurant instantly.

Kiersten sat at the head of a polished mahogany table. She held a crystal flute of vintage champagne.

"Sit," Kiersten said, gesturing to the chair opposite her.

Annabel didn't move. "What do you want?"

Kiersten set the glass down. Her eyes filled with tears. The transition was so fast, so flawless, it made Annabel's skin crawl.

Kiersten reached into her Birkin bag. She pulled out a thick medical file stamped with the logo of Johns Hopkins Hospital. She slid it across the smooth table.

"Read it," Kiersten whispered, her voice trembling.

Annabel looked down. The top page was a diagnostic report. Severe Congenital Endometriosis. Complete Infertility.

"I can never have children," Kiersten sobbed, covering her face with her hands. "The Harrison family trust dictates that Gregorio must produce a biological heir within a year of marriage, or he loses his seat on the board. His mother hates me. She would never let him marry a barren woman."

Annabel stared at the medical terms. A tiny, involuntary pang of sympathy tightened her chest.

Kiersten wiped her eyes and pulled out a second document. It was a stack of legal paper, fifty pages thick.

She placed it next to the medical file. On top of the contract, she laid a cashier's check from Chase Bank. It was already signed.

The amount was fifty million dollars.

"You slept with him last night," Kiersten said, her voice suddenly steady. "If you are pregnant, you will carry the child to term. You will sign away all parental rights. I will raise the baby as my own. And you will take this money and disappear."

Annabel's jaw dropped. Her lungs stopped working. "You're insane."

She turned to leave.

"Your father's loan sharks are visiting your mother's hospital room tonight," Kiersten said to her back.

Annabel froze. Her blood ran cold. The marriage contract had already wiped out her father's debt, she knew that. But this was different. This was the underbelly her father had kept hidden from everyone—the private gambling markers, the unregistered lenders who operated outside the banks, the kind who did not care about legal judgments or marriage settlements. The kind who would hurt her mother just to send a message.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out. It was a text from an unknown number. Attached was a close-up photo of her mother's hospital room door, the room number clearly visible. Below it was a simple, chilling text: We know exactly where she is. We're visiting tonight.

The phone slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the table.

Her knees gave out. She collapsed into the chair. Her stomach violently cramped.

She looked at the check. Fifty million. It would pay off the underground debts. It would move her mother to a secure, undisclosed facility. It would save her mother's life.

Annabel picked up the heavy Montblanc pen resting beside the contract. Her hand shook so violently she could barely grip the metal. She flipped through the pages, signing her name on every single line.

Kiersten smiled. She pulled the contract back and pushed the check forward.

Annabel shoved the check into her coat pocket. She stood up, her legs feeling like lead, and practically ran out of the room.

She hurried down the wine corridor. She kept her head down, desperate to reach the fresh air outside.

She pushed through the archway into the main lobby.

She slammed hard into a solid wall of muscle.

A sharp, familiar scent of cedar and expensive wool hit her face.

Annabel gasped and stumbled back. She looked up.

Gregorio stood there. His dark eyes were wide with surprise, then instantly narrowed into a lethal glare.

Standing next to him was Dorian Martin, his closest friend and a top-tier medical researcher.

Gregorio didn't look at Annabel. His gaze shot over her head, staring straight down the corridor she had just exited.

Kiersten was walking out of the shadows, her heels clicking on the marble floor.

Gregorio's jaw clenched. His eyes darted between Annabel's pale face and Kiersten's approaching figure.

Annabel's hand flew to her coat pocket, pressing hard against the fifty million dollar check hidden inside. Cold sweat drenched her spine.