Married On Paper (Billionaire Contract Wife)

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Chapter One

Elena’s POV

The mall doors hissed open and a rush of cool air greeted me. I could hardly hide my excitement. Tonight was Michael’s birthday—and the night I planned to give him my first time. After a year of dating, I wanted everything perfect.

I wove through shoppers, cheeks warming as I asked a salesgirl, “I’m looking for something… sexy. Maybe a dress and some lingerie.”

She gave a knowing smirk. “Someone’s going to have a blast tonight.”

Time slipped away while I searched, but at last I found it: a red-velvet gown that hugged like a second skin. She helped me choose two lingerie sets—black lace and crimson. Perfect.

I added Michael’s gifts to the haul—a wristwatch, a silk tie, a crisp shirt—before hurrying home.

After a shower I curled my hair, slipped into the lingerie, the velvet dress, and a pair of heels. One last glance in the mirror made me smile. *Michael is going to love this.

By the time I locked the door and flagged a cab it was nearly 7:50 p.m.—late, but he didn’t even know I was coming. “Tonight is going to be special,” I whispered as I reached his porch.

I knocked. No answer. A light burned upstairs. Then I remembered the spare key tucked in the flowerpot.

The familiar mint scent of his house wrapped around me as I stepped inside. A week apart felt like a year. But in the living room my eyes stopped cold. Clothes littered the floor. A woman’s handbag. Michael’s shirt.

“What’s happening?”

I forced a laugh. *Maybe his friends came over—it is his birthday.* I gathered the clothes, folded them neatly, and climbed the stairs.

From the guest room came low, strange sounds. I hesitated. *Porn?* Maybe. But curiosity clawed at me. I set the folded clothes by the door and leaned toward the sliver of light.

One peek—and my world shattered.

Michael was having sex with another woman.

I froze, breath trapped. Naked bodies moved together: the girl on all fours, Michael behind her, thrusting hard.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned.

Sweetheart?

“You really know how to make a man feel good,” he whispered, kissing her neck.

The girl moaned. “You mean like this?”

He thrust deeper. She gasped. “Oh, yes, baby, right there!”

That voice… familiar.

I pulled out my phone and called him, watching. His ringtone cut through the room.

“Who is that?” the girl asked, irritated.

“Oh, is that that goody-two-shoes bitch sister of yours?” Michael said.

I clapped a hand over my mouth. *Bitch?*

“Oh—Elena. So are you going to pick it up or not?”

My stepsister. Lila. No wonder the voice—

I swayed as tears threatened. Lila had never liked me, but this?

“How much I hate her,” she muttered.

“No, you can’t say that. She’s your stepsister,” Michael teased.

“Says the guy who’s been sleeping with her stepsister for almost five months,” Lila shot back.

Five months.

Michael smiled, kissed her lips. “Of course. I’ve lost track of how many times you’ve made me come so hard.”

She straddled him, grinning. “Unlike that trash who calls herself your girlfriend.”

Trash. My fault?

“Let’s forget about that bitch and have fun. It’s your birthday,” Lila said.

“Best present I’ve ever had,” he murmured.

"Present." The word sliced through me.

Their cries rose—raw, breathless.

“Oh my God, keep going, I’m about to—don’t stop!”

Michael clutched her. “I love you so much, Lila.”

“I love you too,” she answered as he pulled out.

I couldn’t hold it. I hurled the gifts aside, tossed the folded clothes back into the living room, and slipped the key into the flowerpot exactly where I’d found it. Coat on, I walked away, tears burning but unshed.

A cab pulled over. “Where to?” the driver asked.

“Anywhere,” I whispered.

But their voices still echoed in my head.

My heart ached with every memory: their embrace, their laughter, the words he once said to me. I wanted to wipe it all away. Hours ago Michael had seemed like the best thing in my life. Now he was the worst.

Loud music spilled from a nearby street, breaking my thoughts. I wasn’t a drinker, but I needed to drown this pain.

“Please stop,” I told the driver, handing him cash. A neon billboard blazed above a doorway: "The Enchanted Getaway Bar." The name almost made me laugh.

It was either this or cry all night.

Inside, the place throbbed with bass. Dancers crowded the floor. I slipped to the counter.

“What’ll it be, miss?” the bartender asked.

“Just a drink.”

“Any preference?”

“Anything strong enough to make me drunk.”

He hesitated, then poured a dark amber shot. I didn’t care what it was. I tossed it back.

“Another,” I said, setting the glass down.

He gave me a wary look but obeyed. I lost count of the shots—blissful blur—yet the memories still clung, so I kept drinking.

“Miss, maybe you should—” he began.

“Is it your money? No? Then pour,” I snapped.

A male voice cut in. “Who made this beautiful damsel angry?”

I turned. A haggard stranger watched me, inching closer. I ignored him and drained another glass.

“Hey, can I get your number? Got a boyfriend?” he asked.

My head swam. I slid off the stool toward the restroom—and collided with someone. I would have fallen, but strong hands caught my waist. Heat radiated from him.

I looked up. He was devastatingly handsome. Michael couldn’t compare.

“Sir, are you okay—” I began, but he bent and pressed his lips to mine.

A jolt shot through me. His mouth was warm, confident. I moaned softly as his tongue teased mine. When we finally parted, his dark eyes burned with desire.

I wanted more.

“Do you… want to go somewhere else?” I whispered.

“I thought you’d never ask.” He took my hand.

I let him lead me out into the night, the bar lights blurring behind us.

“Where are we going?” I asked, stumbling to keep up.

“Somewhere better,” he said, voice low and sure.

“I don’t even know you.”

“You don’t need to.”

I didn’t realize then that a single step with this stranger would change my life far more than Michael’s betrayal ever could.