“You can leave,” he said. “The jet is fueled. The funds have cleared. I’ve taken the liberty of purchasing a small house near your brother’s hospital—it’s yours, no strings.”
“I know.” He kissed her again. “I’m a terrible contract lawyer.”
“And if I say no?”
“Go away,” he croaked.
He didn’t move. Instead, he did something that broke every rule in his own contract. He sat down on the floor beside her—a man who had never sat on a floor in his adult life, probably—and pulled out his phone.
“I know,” he said. “I’ve loved you since the laundry room. I just didn’t know how to say it without a signature.”
Lena had gotten the call an hour ago. Her brother, Leo, had gone into surgery three days early—complications. She wasn’t there. She was in a penthouse wearing designer pajamas she hadn’t chosen, married to a man who paid her like an invoice. The tears came hot and silent, her face buried in a towel that cost more than her first car. contract marriage with the devil billionaire
The third month, he took her to a charity gala. A woman in diamonds sneered at Lena’s dress (vintage, borrowed, beautiful). Before Lena could respond, Dorian’s voice cut through the music like a blade.
It was the night he found her crying in the laundry room.
On the drive home, Lena said, “You didn’t have to do that.” “You can leave,” he said
Dorian Black—billionaire, monster, contract killer of hearts—smiled. Not the sharp smile of a predator. Something softer. Something human.
“Yes,” Dorian replied, not looking at her. “I did.”
“And if I don’t want to leave?”
“What are you doing?” she whispered.