The Tycoon's Unwanted Contract Wife

The Maybach didn't head back to the penthouse. It drove straight to the East River helipad.

Annabel looked out the window as the car stopped. The massive blades of a black helicopter were already spinning, whipping the cold wind into a frenzy.

"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"The Hamptons," Gregorio replied coldly. He opened the door.

The roar of the engine drowned out her protests. Gregorio grabbed her hand, his grip unyielding, and pulled her toward the chopper. He practically lifted her into the cabin and strapped her into the leather seat.

The helicopter lifted off immediately.

Annabel's stomach dropped. The sudden loss of gravity made her severely nauseous. All the blood drained from her face. She gripped the armrests, her knuckles turning white.

Gregorio sat across from her, his face an unreadable mask. He reached into a compartment, pulled out a thermos, and poured a cup of hot ginger tea. He held it out to her.

Annabel stared at the cup. She turned her head away, fixing her eyes on the distant coastline of Long Island. She refused to take it.

Thirty minutes later, the helicopter touched down on the sprawling green lawn of the Astor-Harrison oceanfront estate.

A line of staff stood at attention. Gregorio took her arm again, marching her up the stone steps and into the grand foyer.

Eleonora Harrison sat on a velvet antique sofa in the main parlor. A porcelain teacup rested in her hand.

She didn't stand. Her sharp, calculating eyes swept over Annabel, dissecting her like a piece of meat.

Eleonora picked up a thick legal document from the table and tossed it onto the glass surface.

"Six months, Gregorio," Eleonora said. Her voice was sharp and aristocratic. "The board is drafting the impeachment papers. If there is no heir by the end of the fiscal year, you lose the CEO title."

She took a sip of tea. "That artist you keep parading around is a barren waste of time. I won't have the Harrison legacy end because of your foolish attachments."

Gregorio's jaw tightened. "Watch your mouth, Mother."

Eleonora ignored him. She looked directly at Annabel. Her lips curled into a thin, cruel smile. "At least this one looks like she has wide hips. Good for breeding."

Annabel's stomach churned. The humiliation burned the back of her throat. She was nothing but a vessel to them.

Dinner was served at the long, imposing mahogany table. The silence in the room was suffocating.

The staff brought out course after course. Raw oysters. Venison. Thick, rich broths. Every single dish was a known aphrodisiac.

Annabel stared at her plate, her appetite completely gone.

Gregorio pushed his plate away violently. He grabbed his wine glass and drained it in one swallow, his face dark with suppressed anger.

"Go to your room," Eleonora commanded from the head of the table. "Both of you."

Gregorio stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. He walked out without looking back. Annabel followed him up the grand staircase.

The butler led them to the master suite at the end of the second-floor hallway. As soon as they stepped inside, the heavy oak door slammed shut behind them.

The distinct sound of a deadbolt sliding into place echoed in the quiet room.

Annabel panicked. She ran to the door and twisted the brass handle. It wouldn't budge. She rattled it, her breathing picking up speed.

She turned around and scanned the room.

The suite was massive, but it was empty. The chaise lounges, the armchairs, the velvet sofa-everything had been removed.

In the dead center of the room sat one massive king-sized bed.

Gregorio ripped off his tie and threw it on the floor. He walked straight to the balcony doors, threw them open, and stepped out into the cold night air. He pulled a silver lighter from his pocket and lit a cigarette.

Annabel stood frozen in the middle of the room. She wrapped her arms around her stomach.

The ocean breeze blew the sheer curtains inward. The air in the room felt thick and suffocating.

Gregorio finished his cigarette. He stepped back inside, bringing the smell of tobacco and salty sea air with him.

He looked at her standing there, stiff and terrified.

He let out a cold, mocking laugh. "Relax. I have absolutely no interest in touching you."

He walked to the closet, pulled out a folded silk nightgown, and threw it at her chest.

"Go take a shower," he ordered. "And make it quick. Don't give the old woman a reason to get suspicious."