Thorns in Bloom A Contract of Secrets and Revenge

After my divorce left me with nothing, I applied to become Benedict Fox's tenth contract girlfriend.

Survive three months, and the payout was ten million dollars.

People online were already placing bets that I'd flame out like the last nine and walk away empty-handed.

One month later, Benedict held a press conference and set that ten million right in front of me.

I tore up the contract on live camera.

What they didn't know was that I wasn't just after the money. I was after justice.

A "contract girlfriend" wasn't really a girlfriend. She was a workhorse for Fox Group.

Regular livestreams with the CEO, hit the performance targets, last three months, and the ten million was yours.

"I... my family was awful to begin with. Then after I got married, my ex beat me, cheated on me, and took my child away..."

The young woman ahead of me in line had dewy, pitiful eyes, reciting her script with practiced sincerity.

"I just... want a better life."

Tears spilled down her cheeks like rain.

I glanced down at my own suit and let out a dry laugh.

I didn't have the luxury of feeling sorry for anyone else. Everything I owned was stuffed inside a beat-up suitcase in a stairwell.

This outfit was the only thing I had that was even presentable. Ironed? Not a chance.

The creases pressed into the fabric by that suitcase, deep in some places, faint in others, matched my life perfectly. A wrinkled mess.

"Thelma Summers." The secretary called my name.

I stood and reached instinctively to straighten my collar, but my fingers met nothing but crumpled fabric and, in my pocket, the cold bite of a necklace against my knuckles.

A voice surfaced from memory: You're good, Thel. So you deserve the best.

The face behind those words gave me all the courage I needed. I squared my shoulders and walked in.

Benedict Fox stood in front of a floor-to-ceiling window, his back to me.

Tall, lean frame. A charcoal designer suit that fit like it cost more than most people's rent. Even his hair looked expensive.

"Give me the basics." His voice carried across the room, cold and clipped.

"Former project director at a Fortune 500 tech company."

"Your previous marriage."

"That's irrelevant," I said, straightening my spine. "Just another sob story from another bad marriage."

He turned slowly to face me, one brow lifting.

His gaze swept over me. My face first, then the wrinkled collar, and finally my hands hanging at my sides.

His eyes lingered for less than a second.

But I knew he'd seen the scars.

A crease flickered across his brow, so faint it was barely there.

"What, you're not going to sell me a sob story?" His tone carried a blade of sarcasm.

"After all, you'd need to prove you're worth ten million of my money."

He looked at me the way you'd appraise merchandise.

The difference was, this particular piece of merchandise wasn't as polished or pretty as the ones waiting outside.

I smiled, closed the distance by one step, and went straight for the jugular.

"Mr. Fox, just being a contract girlfriend doesn't interest me. How about we talk business instead?"

He tilted his head slightly, signaling me to continue.

I handed over the folder I'd prepared. "Pick me, and I can double the profit on your contract girlfriend program."

He took it and started flipping through.

"Mr. Fox, as far as I can tell, this contract girlfriend gimmick has generated considerable revenue for your company."

"The data from the first nine livestreams shows some fluctuation but overall stability." His expression gave away nothing. "Go on."

"But the program has hit a ceiling. The numbers are already showing fatigue."

I held his gaze without blinking.

"You need me, Mr. Fox."

He folded his arms. "What makes you better than the rest of them?"

I didn't answer right away. Refusing to step into his little comparison trap, keeping my own footing steady. That was rule number one when negotiating with someone who held all the power.

Benedict frowned. "Most of them poured their hearts into fabricating the perfect tragic backstory for me."

"The ones who couldn't spin a good story started peeling off their clothes instead, inching closer one step at a time."

His narrow eyes held nothing but contempt.

"If I'm not interested in your business proposal, how many layers are you willing to take off?"

I swallowed the fury rising in my chest. Not because I felt personally insulted, but because he was sitting up there on his throne, reducing every woman in the room to the same demeaning punchline.

"Mr. Fox." I looked him dead in the eye. "I'm here for the money. Not for you."

And for one other person.