Contract Marriage To The Coldhearted Tycoon

Adaline Hayes tapped the screen of her tablet, her fingernail clicking sharply against the glass. The loading icon spun in an endless, mocking circle.

She stood in the center of the crowded summit ballroom, the heavy bass of the pre-show music vibrating through the soles of her sensible black pumps. The venue network was lagging. As the lead consultant running this multimillion-dollar summit, every disaster fell squarely on her shoulders. With the tech crew completely overwhelmed, her stomach tightened into a hard knot.

"Excuse me," Adaline said, her voice tight.

She side-stepped a junior staff member who was dragging a thick bundle of black cables directly across her path to the main control panel. The air in the room was thick with the heat of two thousand attendees and expensive cologne.

Adaline reached the master switchboard. She tapped the manual reset button for the main display. The system froze completely. A cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck. The keynote address was scheduled to start in exactly three minutes.

Above the stage, the giant electronic display flickered wildly. Bright bursts of static flashed across the screen. The low murmur of the audience shifted into a collective hum of confusion.

Adaline dropped to one knee, her fingers scrambling to find the thick manual override cord plugged into the wall socket.

Suddenly, the massive screen stopped flickering.

It didn't project the title slide of the presentation. Instead, a live security feed filled the fifty-foot display. The camera angle was high, looking down into a luxurious corporate office.

Adaline froze. Her hand hovered inches from the power cord.

She recognized the heavy mahogany desk on the screen. She recognized the custom leather chair. Her brain violently rejected the visual information, but her breath hitched in her throat, cutting off her oxygen.

Two figures appeared on the screen. A man and a blonde woman. They were pressed against the edge of the mahogany desk, kissing with a frantic, open-mouthed intensity.

A loud, collective gasp ripped through the ballroom.

Adaline stared at the man's back. He wore a custom-tailored charcoal suit. She knew the exact stitching on the shoulders because she had picked it up from the dry cleaners three days ago. It was Chandler. Her fiancé of eight years.

The floor beneath Adaline seemed to tilt. Her stomach dropped, a sickening plunge of pure nausea.

On the screen, the woman turned her face slightly to deepen the kiss. The harsh overhead lighting caught her sharp, signature profile. Fallon Kirk. The heiress to Kirk Capital.

Adaline's fingers went entirely numb. The tablet slipped from her grip.

It hit the hard floor with a sharp crack, the glass shattering. The noise was completely drowned out by the escalating whispers and sharp laughs of the audience around her.

"Look at that," a client standing a few feet away pointed at the screen, chuckling. "Someone's getting fired today."

The hot flush of public humiliation hit Adaline like a physical blow to the chest. It snapped her out of her paralysis.

She lunged forward, grabbed the thick black power cord, and yanked it violently from the wall socket.

The giant screen went black instantly.

The ballroom plunged into a heavy, awkward silence. Adaline could feel hundreds of eyes shifting toward the control panel. She kept her head down, her vision narrowing to a tunnel. She turned on her heel and walked toward the exit.

She pushed her weight against the heavy double doors, stumbling out into the carpeted hallway. Her vision blurred. Hot tears pricked her eyes. She wiped them away furiously with the back of her hand, the friction scratching her skin.

Adaline sprinted down the hallway. Her heels sank into the plush fabric, slowing her desperate pace. Her lungs burned with every breath.

She reached the VIP elevator bank and slammed her palm against the call button repeatedly. Her hands trembled so violently she could barely feel the plastic button.

The elevator arrived with a soft ding. Adaline stepped inside and hit the button for the top floor. She pressed her back against the cold metal wall, bracing herself.

The doors slid open to the executive suite. A large security guard in a black suit immediately stepped forward, raising his hand to block her path.

Adaline didn't stop walking. She glared at him, her eyes wide and burning with a terrifying intensity.

The guard hesitated, lowering his hand and stepping aside.

Adaline marched directly to the heavy oak door of Chandler's office. She twisted the brass doorknob. It was unlocked. She pushed the door wide open without knocking.

Chandler was standing by the desk, hastily buttoning his crisp white shirt. He looked up. Sheer panic washed over his face, completely shattering his usual composed, Old Money demeanor.

Fallon sat on the edge of the desk. She casually adjusted the hem of her designer skirt, smoothing the fabric. She looked at Adaline and smirked, her eyes gleaming with naked triumph.

"Explain," Adaline demanded. Her voice shook, but it was loud enough to echo in the large room.

Chandler stepped forward quickly, raising both hands. "Adaline, keep your voice down. Please."

"Explain this to me, Chandler," she repeated, her chest heaving.

"It's not what it looks like," Chandler said, his voice dropping into his smooth, persuasive tone. "It's a corporate merger tactic. The Cook-Vanderbilt Group needs this alliance. You don't understand the pressure I'm under."

He reached out to grab her hand.

Adaline slapped his hand away. The smack of skin against skin was sharp. "Don't touch me."

Fallon let out a soft laugh. She hopped off the desk and stepped closer, looking Adaline up and down. "Look at you. In your cheap department store suit. Did you really think he was going to marry a nobody?"

Adaline stood her ground, refusing to shrink under Fallon's gaze.

She reached for her left hand. Her fingers clamped around the diamond engagement ring. She pulled it off her finger. The metal scraped harshly against her knuckle.

She threw the ring directly at Chandler's chest.

The heavy diamond bounced off his expensive suit and rolled across the hardwood floor, disappearing under the leather sofa.

Chandler looked horrified. "Adaline, stop making a scene. You're ruining everything."

"If you make a scene here," Fallon warned, her voice turning cold, "I will personally make sure you are blacklisted from every consulting firm in this city. Kirk Capital owns half your clients."

Adaline looked at Fallon, then at Chandler. A bitter, hollow laugh scraped its way out of her throat.

"Eight years," Adaline said, her voice dropping to a dead, flat whisper. "Consider it dead."

She turned her back on them. She refused to let them see the tears threatening to spill over her eyelashes.

Adaline walked out of the office. She stepped back into the elevator, pressing the lobby button. As the doors slid closed, cutting off Chandler's face, her knees buckled. She slid down the cold metal wall, gasping for air.