The Ceo's Contract Wife

Chapter six: Alex's Resolution

"Drive," I ordered Charles, my voice barely steady. "We're not going to the mansion tonight."

"Sir?" Charles's eyes met mine in the rearview mirror, widening slightly at whatever he saw in my face. "What about dinner with your grandfather? He's expecting you."

"Just drive!" I snapped, louder than intended.

My heart hammered against my ribs as the car pulled away from the gates. I couldn't help but look back one more time. Eveline stood there, clutching that folder to her chest, confusion written across her face—a face that shouldn't exist anymore.

The car picked up speed, and I loosened my tie with trembling fingers. It felt like a snake around my neck, choking me slowly.

"Mr. Blackwell, are you feeling unwell?" Charles asked, his voice careful and measured. He'd been with me long enough to know when something was wrong.

I stared out the window, watching the trees blur into streaks of green and brown. "I'm fine," I lied.

How had I never noticed? She'd worked in my building for more than two years. I'd interviewed her myself, for God's sake. How could I have missed something so obvious?

Eveline Lawson looked exactly like Erica.

My stomach twisted into knots. How did I not notice!?

"Where would you like to go, sir?" Charles asked, pulling me back to reality.

I rubbed my temples, trying to ease the pounding headache that had started the moment I saw her face. "The penthouse," I decided. I needed to be alone.

"The penthouse?" Charles couldn't hide his surprise. "You haven't been there in—"

"I know how long it's been," I cut him off. "Just take me there."

Charles fell silent, but I could feel his concern radiating from the front seat. He'd been there through it all. He'd driven us to countless doctor appointments, waited outside hospital rooms, and ultimately, driven me home alone.

My mind drifted back, fragments of memory surfacing whether I wanted them to or not.

I called out her name as I entered our penthouse, arms full of takeout from her favorite Thai place.

"Erica? I'm home early. They didn't need me at the meeting after all."

The silence felt wrong. I put the food down on the kitchen counter.

"Erica?"

Something cold settled in my chest as I walked through our home, checking each room.

Then I saw the bathroom door, slightly ajar. Light spilling out.

"Erica, are you—"

She was on the floor. So still. So pale. A small trickle of blood from her nose.

"Erica! ERICA!"

My knees hit the hard tile as I gathered her in my arms. Her skin was clammy, her breathing shallow.

"Stay with me. Please, stay with me."

I blinked hard, forcing myself back to the present. My hands had curled into fists so tight that my nails dug into my palms.

"Sir?" Charles's voice came again, gentler this time. "We've arrived."

I looked up, surprised to find we were already at my building. The tall glass tower gleamed in the evening light, my penthouse at the very top barely visible from street level.

"Thank you, Charles." I reached for the door handle, then paused. "I need you to pick up Miss Lawson tomorrow morning. Nine AM sharp."

"Of course, sir." He hesitated. "If I may ask... is everything all right? You seem..."

"Everything's fine," I said firmly, more to convince myself than him. "And Charles? Not a word about tonight. To anyone."

"Understood, sir."

The night doorman nodded respectfully as I strode through the lobby to the private elevator. I swiped my card and leaned against the wall as the doors closed, finally allowing myself a moment of weakness. My reflection in the mirrored wall looked haunted—pale skin, dark circles under my eyes, jaw clenched tight enough to c***k teeth.

"Pull yourself together," I muttered.

The elevator opened directly into my penthouse foyer. Darkness greeted me, broken only by the city lights streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I hadn't been here in months. Hadn't been able to face it.

I didn't bother turning on the lights. I knew every inch of this place, could navigate it blindfolded. My feet carried me down the hallway, past the living room where Erica and I had spent countless evenings, past the kitchen where she'd tried and failed to teach me to cook.

At the end of the hall was a door. A simple door with a keypad lock. I reached out, my fingers hovering over the buttons. Part of me wanted to turn around, to go back to my safe, sterile office apartment where nothing reminded me of her.

But I needed to know. Needed to see.

I punched in the code—Erica's birthday. The lock clicked open.

The room beyond was exactly as I'd left it two years ago. Erica's painting supplies still arranged on her desk. Her books still lined the shelves. Her clothes still hung in the closet, preserved like artifacts in a museum.

I moved to her desk and sank into her chair, my legs suddenly unable to support me. With shaking hands, I pulled out my tablet and opened Eveline's employment file.

Her professional headshot stared back at me. I swiped right to display another photo—Erica, smiling at the camera during our trip to Greece. Our last vacation before the diagnosis.

Side by side, the resemblance was undeniable.

"It's not possible," I whispered, my voice too loud in the silent room.

But it was. The same heart-shaped face. The same wide, expressive eyes. The gentle curve of their smiles.

There were differences, of course. Erica's hair had been lighter, with natural highlights from the sun. Her eyes held a carefree spark that Eveline's didn't. Eveline's features were sharper somehow, more guarded.

I zoomed in on Eveline's photo, studying every detail. How had I not seen it before? I'd interviewed her myself, for God's sake.

Then I remembered that day. I'd been running late after a heated meeting with the board. The office had been dark, just my desk lamp illuminating the space. Eveline had been sitting with her back to the window, her face in shadow.

And after that... I never really looked at her. The front desk was in the lobby; I always entered through the executive elevator. When I did pass through reception, I was always buried in my phone, or deep in conversation with my assistant.

And yet... I'd noticed her worn-out shoes once. Had made a mental note about how she always brought lunch from home, never going out with the other staff. I'd even commented to HR about her punctuality.

I'd noticed everything except her face.

Or maybe I just hadn't wanted to see.

I closed my eyes, leaning back in the chair. The memory of that ambulance ride surfaced again, vivid and painful.

Her hand in mine, so small, so cold. The paramedic asking questions I could barely focus on.

"Has she been sick recently?"

"No. Yes. Headaches. She said they were just migraines."

The hospital lights, too bright and harsh. Doctors rushing, machines beeping.

"Sir, you need to wait here."

"I'm not leaving her!"

"Sir, please—"

Hours of waiting. Pacing the hallway until my legs ached. The doctor finally appearing, face grave.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Blackwell. The tumor is aggressive. Inoperable. We can try to make her comfortable, but..."

"How long?"

"Weeks. Maybe months."

The world spinning, the floor tilting under my feet. This couldn't be happening. Not to Erica. Not to us.

"There must be something you can do. Money is no object. Any specialist, any treatment—"

"I'm truly sorry."

My phone buzzed, jolting me back to reality. A text from my grandfather.

Alexander, are you coming to dinner? Your father is getting impatient.

I ignored it, turning back to the photos on my tablet. Eveline and Erica. My contracted bride and my dead fiancée.

Was I disrespecting Erica's memory by marrying someone who looked so much like her? Was I using Eveline as some twisted replacement?

"This is insane," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. "It's just business. A contract. Nothing more."

I looked around the room, at all the pieces of Erica I'd preserved. What would she say if she could see me now?

She'd probably laugh, tell me I was being dramatic. Erica had never been one for brooding. Even in her final days, she'd made jokes, trying to make me smile through my tears.

"Promise me you won't become some tragic hero in a bad romance novel," she'd said, her voice weak but her eyes still bright. "Promise me you'll be happy again."

I hadn't promised. I couldn't. But I had held her hand until the very end, watching as the light faded from her eyes.

My phone buzzed again. Another text from grandfather.

Your absence is noted. We'll discuss this tomorrow.

Tomorrow. When Eveline would move into the mansion. When our contract would officially begin.

I closed the tablet with a snap, making a decision. This changed nothing. I needed a wife to satisfy my grandfather's conditions. Eveline needed money to save her family. We had a deal.

Her resemblance to Erica was... unfortunate. But it was just physical. Eveline Lawson was not Erica. She was an employee. A business arrangement. A signature on a contract.

And that's all she would ever be.

I would keep my distance. Emotional distance. I would be polite, professional, and completely detached. I would not let her resemblance affect me again.

I stood up, taking one last look around the room. "I'm sorry," I whispered, not sure if I was apologizing to Erica or to myself.

Then I closed the door, locking away the past once more.

This was just business.

It had to be.