The Contract and the MistakeThe only thing louder than the rain lashing against the penthouse windows was the silence between us. Alexander Blackwood, CEO of a global empire and the man I had legally called my husband for exactly six hours, poured a glass of amber whiskey, his back to me. He hadn’t spoken since we left the city clerk’s office.“The terms are simple,” his voice cut through the quiet, cold and precise as a surgeon’s scalpel. He turned, placing a single sheet of paper on the glass coffee table between us. “One year of marriage. You will act as my devoted wife in public. You will attend all social functions I designate. In private, we are strangers. This,” he gestured to the obscenely luxurious room, “is your gilded cage. At the end of the term, you walk away with five million dollars. I get control of my grandfather’s legacy shares, which require a married man to inherit.”My heart hammered against my ribs. Five million. It was a number that could erase my student debts, my mother’s medical bills, and the constant, gnawing fear of financial ruin. All I had to do was sell a year of my life to this iceberg of a man.“I understand,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.His piercing blue eyes, the color of a frozen lake, scanned me from head to toe, making me feel exposed in my simple, off-the-rack dress. “Do not develop feelings for me, Lily. Do not expect a real marriage. This is a business transaction. Nothing more.”I nodded, clutching my hands together to stop them from trembling. “I won’t.”He pushed the contract towards me. “Sign it.”As I reached for the pen, my sleeve caught the edge of his whiskey glass. The crystal tumbler tipped, splashing its contents across the pristine contract and, more catastrophically, across the front of Alexander’s immaculate, thousand-dollar dress shirt.Time froze.A dark, wet stain spread rapidly across the fine white cotton, clinging to the hard planes of his chest. His eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated shock, then narrowed into dangerous slits. The air crackled with a tension I had never known.“I’m—I’m so sorry!” I stammered, grabbing a napkin and lunging forward to blot the mess without thinking.My hand pressed against his chest.It was like touching lightning.He flinched as if burned, his hand snapping up to grip my wrist. His touch was searing hot. We stood there, locked in the stormy silence, connected by his firm grip. His gaze dropped to my lips for a fleeting, electrifying moment. I could feel the furious, rapid beat of his heart beneath my palm, a stark contrast to his controlled exterior.The air shifted. The professional distance he’d so carefully constructed shattered.A low, guttural sound escaped his throat. “This,” he growled, his voice thick with something raw and unrecognizable, “was not part of the deal.”And then he kissed me.It wasn’t gentle or exploratory. It was a conquest, a punishment, a release of primal energy. It was the single most terrifying and thrilling moment of my life.One night. One mistake. A blur of tangled limbs, whispered curses, and forbidden pleasure in his king-sized bed.When I woke at dawn, alone in the rumpled sheets, I found a note on the pillow next to me, written in his sharp, slashing handwriting.You breached the contract. We will discuss the consequences when I return from London.- A.The consequences arrived four weeks later, in the form of two pink lines on a pregnancy test.The cold, billionaire CEO had gotten me pregnant. And our business transaction had just become dangerously, irrevocably personal.