The CEO's Contractual Wife (Olivia and Alexander) novel Chapter 232

Olivia

“That’s insane,” I breathed.

“That’s the contract you signed.” Alexander’s eyes were hard. “Early termination requires full reimbursement plus penalties”

My mind raced as I tried to calculate. The initial payment, the wedding day transfer, and the monthly stipend. Ten times that amount would be astronomical.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m completely serious.” He crossed his arms. “The clause exists for a reason. To prevent exactly this kind of impulsive decision.”

“Impulsive?” I felt my temper flare again. “You just accused me of being indiscreet, of not understanding what’s at stake. How is that not grounds for ending this?”

“I didn’t accuse you of anything. I asked questions.”

“Questions that implied I was doing something wrong.”

Alexander picked up his glass again, taking a slow sip. “The photos exist, Olivia. Someone is using them to blackmail me. That’s a fact, not an accusation.”

“And instead of talking to me like a partner, you dragged me home and interrogated me like a suspect.”

“I needed to understand what was happening.”

“You needed to trust me,” I countered. “But apparently that’s too much to ask.”

Silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating.

“Ten times,” I finally said, my voice quieter. “You’d actually enforce that?”

“The contract is binding.”

I wanted to scream. To throw something. To walk out and never look back. But the reality of those numbers kept me rooted in place.

“Fine,” I heard myself say. “I’ll pay it.”

Alexander’s eyebrows rose slightly. “You’ll pay millions of dollars?”

“Yes.” The lie came easily, born of pure desperation. “I’ll have it in two months.”

He studied me, clearly skeptical. “Two months?”

“Two months,” I repeated, lifting my chin. “Then we can end this charade, and you can find someone else to play wife.”

“Where exactly are you going to get that kind of money?”

“That’s my concern, not yours.” I grabbed my purse from the chair. “You’ll have your payment. Then we’re done‘

Alexander’s expression remained unreadable. “All the best with that.”

The dismissal in his tone made my blood boil all over again.

“You know what? You deserve whatever problems Victoria and Penelope cause you. Theaded for the

busy protecting your inheritance that you can’t see who’s actually on your side.

“Olivia-”

“Save it.” I yanked the door open. “I’ll be in the guest room. Don’t bother me,

I stormed through the house, my vision blurring with angry tears I refused to let fall. The guest room was at the opposite end of the second floor, far enough that I wouldn’t have to see or hear Alexander for the rest of the night.

Inside, I locked the door and leaned against it, finally letting myself breathe.

Ten times. How the hell was I supposed to come up with that kind of money? My savings were decent but nowhere near enough.

I’d just lied my way into an impossible corner.

My phone buzzed. Alexander’s name flashed on the screen.

I declined the call.

It buzzed again immediately. Another decline.

The third time, I turned the phone face down on the nightstand and grabbed a pillow, hugging it to my chest as I sat on the edge of the bed.

This was supposed to be simple. A business transaction. I’d play the role, collect the money, and everyone would win

Instead, I’d somehow gotten tangled up in actual feelings, actual hurt, actual anger at being doubted.

When had this stopped being just an arrangement?

I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The house was silent except for the distant hum of the air conditioning. Somewhere downstairs, Alexander was probably still in his study, drinking whiskey and reviewing those damn photos.

I must have dozed off eventually because when I opened my eyes again, sunlight was streaming through the windows. The guest room looked exactly as it had last night, nothing disturbed except the blanket I’d pulled over myself at some point.

My neck ached from sleeping at an awkward angle. I sat up, running my hands through my tangled hair, and checked my phone. 7:23 AM. Four missed calls from Alexander, all declined by my silenced phone.

Great start to the morning.

I dragged myself out of bed and into the guest bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. My reflection looked as tired as !

felt.

The smell of coffee hit me as soon as I opened the bedroom door. And something else. Bacon? Toast?

I made my way downstairs, following the scent to the kitchen.

Alexander stood at the stove, spatula in hand, flipping bacon with practiced ease. He’d already plated eggs, toast, and what looked like fresh fruit. Two place settings sat on the kitchen island, complete with orange juice and coffee.

He glanced up as I entered, his expression neutral. “Morning.”

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