The Ceo's Contract Wife

Chapter Three: The Decision

Eveline

"Wait!"

The word escaped my lips before I could stop it. My boss's tall figure paused, then turned slowly to face me, one eyebrow raised in question.

"Yes, Miss Lawson?" His voice was cool, controlled, like he hadn't just proposed something completely insane.

My phone buzzed again in my hand. I glanced down at the message and felt my heart sink.

Mom: "The men came not quite long. They're giving us until Monday to make the payment or they'll take the house. Please tell me Thompson will help us."

My fingers tightened around the phone. The loan sharks were circling closer. Dad's medical bills had piled up faster than we could handle after his heart attack, and the experimental treatment he needed wasn't covered by insurance. $150,000 we didn't have.

"Fine," I said, the word feeling like surrender. "But I want everything in writing."

A flicker of satisfaction crossed Mr. Blackwell's face. Not surprise, he'd expected me to cave. That knowledge burned, but I swallowed my pride. For Dad, I reminded myself. For Mom. For keeping a roof over my little brother's head.

"Of course," he replied smoothly. "I wouldn't have it any other way." He pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, then looked back at me. "Tomorrow. My place. Ten AM. We'll discuss the details."

He handed me another small card with an address scribbled on the back, under his phone number. The handwriting was precise and angular. Just like him.

"You expected me to say yes all along, didn't you?" I couldn't help asking.

His lips curved into something not quite a smile. "Everyone has a price, Miss Lawson."

I wanted to throw the card back in his face, to tell him where he could shove his condescension. But the thought of Dad, pale and weak in his hospital bed, stopped me.

"See you tomorrow, Mr. Blackwell," I said instead, pocketing the card.

He nodded once, then walked to the black Mercedes idling at the curb. The driver jumped out to open the door for him, and within seconds he was gone, leaving me standing alone on the sidewalk wondering what I'd just agreed to.

---

Our house was small but clean, tucked in a small town on the outskirt of the city.

The smell of Mom's meatloaf greeted me when I opened the door. My stomach growled, reminding me I'd barely touched my dinner before storming out of the restaurant.

"Eve? Is that you, honey?" Mom's voice called from the kitchen. She appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a dish towel, hope written all over her face. "How did it go with Mr. Thompson?"

I dropped my purse on the couch, avoiding her eyes. "Not great."

Her face fell. "Oh. What happened?"

What happened? Oh, just your arranged blind putting his hand on my thigh and suggesting I should be "accommodating" to get his help. No big deal.

"We didn't click," I said instead, unable to tell her the truth. She'd blame herself, and that was the last thing I wanted.

"Oh." The disappointment in her voice made my chest ache. "I was so sure he'd help us. He seemed so interested when I showed him your picture."

I bet he was.

"I'm sorry, Mom," I said, sinking onto the couch. "But I don't think Mr. Thompson is the answer to our problems."

She sat beside me, suddenly looking every one of her fifty-two years. "The men came by again today," she whispered. "They were... not nice."

I took her hand, noticing the slight tremor in her fingers. "It's going to be okay."

"How, Eve? The bank won't extend our loan. Your father's treatment starts next week, and we haven't made a dent in what we already owe. And now with these loan sharks..." Her voice broke.

A door slammed, and my sixteen-year-old brother Joseph appeared, headphones around his neck. "Hey, Eve. How was your date with Grandpa?"

Despite everything, I snorted. "He wasn't that old."

"He's fifty-seven," Mom said defensively.

Joseph made a gagging sound. "Gross. That's like... ancient."

"It doesn't matter anyway," I sighed. "It didn't work out."

Mom's shoulders slumped further.

"But..." I took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. "I'm getting married."

The silence was so complete you could have heard a pin drop. Then:

"WHAT?" Mom's shriek could probably be heard three buildings over.

Joseph burst out laughing. "Yeah, right. Good one, Eve."

"I'm serious," I said, fidgeting with the hem of my dress.

Mom grabbed my hands. "To who? When? How?"

Joseph stopped laughing, his eyes narrowing. "Wait, you're for real? Who's the poor sucker?"

"It's... someone I met today."

Mom's eyes widened. "Today? But... how is that possible? You were with Mr. Thompson..."

"It's not Mr. Thompson," I said quickly. Too quickly.

Joseph flopped down on the armchair across from us. "So let me get this straight. You meet some random dude TODAY, and now you're getting married? Did you hit your head or something? Or—" he gasped dramatically, "—are you PREGNANT?"

"Joseph!" Mom scolded.

"I'm not pregnant," I rolled my eyes. "It's... complicated."

"Complicated like you're being blackmailed? Complicated like he's a secret agent? Complicated like—"

"Complicated like it's none of your business," I cut him off.

Mom squeezed my hand. "Honey, this doesn't sound like you. Who is he? Do we know him?"

I hesitated. "It's... I can't say yet. But he's successful. Stable. And he can help with Dad's medical bills."

Mom's expression changed, hope battling with concern. "Eve, you're not doing this just for the money, are you?"

Yup. That's exactly what I was doing. Selling myself to the highest bidder. Just like she'd wanted me to do with Thompson, only I'd found a younger, richer, slightly less disgusting option.

"I like him," I lied. "And it makes sense for both of us right now."

Joseph made another gagging sound. "This is like a bad rom-com. Please tell me you're not marrying your boss."

I choked on air. How did he—?

"Oh my god, are you really marrying your boss?" Joseph cackled. "The ice king himself! What's his name... Blackstone? Blackwater?"

"Blackwell," I muttered already regretting telling him stories about my boss. "And I didn't say that."

"I know right? it isn't possible." Joseph replied, glee in his face as he continued. "Stuffs like that only happens in the movies right?"

"JOSEPH!" Mom snapped. "That's enough."

I stood up abruptly. "I'm going to my room. I have a... meeting tomorrow to prepare for."

"With your anonymous fiancé?" Joseph called after me, still grinning like he'd won the lottery.

I resisted the urge to flip him off, barely. "Goodnight, Mom. Goodnight, pest."

In my tiny bedroom, I locked the door and sank onto my bed, finally letting the full weight of what I'd agreed to crash down on me. Married. To Alexander Blackwell. My boss who barely knew I existed until tonight.

I pulled out the card with his address. It was in the fancy part of the city, of course. The part where doormen judged you if your shoes weren't expensive enough.

What was I doing? This was insane. A contract marriage to a man who looked at me like I was a convenient solution to his problem.

But then I thought of Mom, Dad, Of the men who'd threatened our family.

I set my alarm for 7 AM. I had a feeling I'd need extra time to prepare for tomorrow's "meeting" with my future husband.

God, what had I gotten myself into?