The Contract Wife: Thorne's Redemption

by I never got to hold. Everyone called it a tragic accident.

t. He didn't bring flower

papers and a non-d

nd-was pregnant. They were his "real family" no

psychiatric reports to paint me

of emotion. "Or you'll be moved from this comfortabl

orate takeover of my life. He had been meeting with lawyers while I was losing our chil

y and comple

lawyer appeared like a ghost from the past.

te," she whispered, her eyes filled

contract, a pact made by ou

one man my husband feared more than death itself:

pte

to hold haunted me in the ster

o the thin, starchy sheets, a chemical sharpness that scraped my throat with every breath. Outside the sealed

rhythmic, condescending beep of the heart monitor,

*her*, his arm protectively around the woman who had been my friend. His eyes, when they finally flickered to my crumpled form on

linked, it twisted deeper. The doctors called it a tragic acci

my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I prayed it was S

t was

perfectly tailored suit, the fabric a deep charcoal that seemed to absorb all the light in the room

Look at him. He's not even looking at you,

le tone he used to close business deals. It was a voi

a leaden weight. I just watched him, my fingers cu

papers, placing them on the rolling table beside my bed with a sterile thud

ting mine. It was flat, devoid of emotion. His jaw was tight, a tiny mu

stranger's voice clawing its way out of

ssed his face. Not guilt. Not remorse. A

aid, his voice dropping, becoming dangerously soft. "And yo

e agreement. My blood ran cold as I scanned the legalese. I

poison darts. "Amelia is pregnant. We can't have any unple

l crashing down on me. This wasn't a tragedy. This was a cor

he was meeting with lawyers. He was protecting her. His 'real' family.

fight draining out of me, leaving only a

les white where he gripped the edge of

s. They all say you're suffering from delusions, paranoia. That you're a danger to yourself and others. It

ve me committed. He would erase me, paint me as a madwoman, an

hot and silent, down my temples and into my hai

composure perfectly restored. "My lawyer will be

osing with a soft, final click that e

. The beeping of the monitor was the only proof I was still alive. I had nothing.

y, there was a soft knock. The door opened again.

s Cl

hair pulled into a neat bun stood there. Mrs. Gable. She had been my parents' lawyer, a woman I hadn't se

and resolve. Her hand, cool and dry, rested on my arm fo

othing of my broken state. "And I heard that... man was just

ornate, old-fashioned key. It was heavy, made

e steady and sure. "They were also brilliant judges of characte

er fingers closing mine around it.

through my despair. "This key opens a safe deposit box at Veridia National Bank. Inside, you will find a c

our parents made sure you would never

he weight of the key in my hand and a single, terrifying