The CEO's Contractual Wife (Olivia and Alex) novel Chapter 71

hapter 71

Olivia

Alexander took a sharp turn, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “Victoria’s feeding them information to manipulate

you.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Natasha was a woman I dated in Paris three years ago. It didn’t end well.”

“Define ‘didn’t end well.”

“She wanted more than I was willing to give.”

“Marriage?” I asked.

“Love,” he corrected, his voice flat.

The word hung between us, heavy with implication. I stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past.

“And the hidden room?”

Alexander’s mouth quirked up. “Not nearly as scandalous as they made it sound. It’s a private office where I keep sensitive business documents.”

“So not a sex dungeon filled with whips and chains?” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

“Is that what you were imagining?”

My cheeks burned. “No!”

“Liar,” he said, but his tone was playful. “You’re disappointed it’s just boring paperwork, aren’t you?”

“Shut up,” I muttered, fighting a smile.

We fell into comfortable silence as he navigated through downtown LA. The stain on my top had started to dry, turning sticky against my skin.

“What did they mean by ‘contract girlfriends‘?” I finally asked, unable to let it go.

Alexander’s expression darkened. “Victoria’s trying to plant seeds of doubt. She knows I date casually. She’s twisting that into something more sinister.”

“So you’ve never had a contractual relationship before?” I pressed.

“Not like ours.” His eyes remained fixed on the road. “I’ve had arrangements with women in the past. Mutually beneficial relationships with clear expectations and endpoints. I prefer women who understand what they’re getting into. No false expectations. No messy emotions.”

“Like me,” I said quietly.

He glanced at me. “You’re different.”

“Because I’m helping you secure your inheritance instead of just warming your bed?”

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Chapter 71

“Because I respect you,” he countered. “The others were transactions. You’re a partner.”

I wanted to believe him, but Madison and Stella’s words kept replaying in my head. Contract girlfriends. A pattern. The hidden room. Natasha in Paris. It was too much to process at once.

“Liv?” Alexander’s voice cut through my thoughts. “We’re here.”

I blinked, realizing we’d stopped outside my apartment building.

“Right,” I mumbled, gathering my purse. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Of course.”

+23

I sat there for a moment, my hand on the door handle. I’d agreed to this arrangement. His past relationships, contractual or otherwise, didn’t matter. I would be his wife on paper, get the money for my family, and after the contract ended, I’d start my new life. That was all.

Simple. Transactional. No emotions involved.

So why did those women’s words sting so much?

You’re thinking too hard,” Alexander said, studying my face in the dim light of the car.

‘Bad habit,” I replied with a forced smile. “Occupational hazard of being in marketing. Always overthinking.”

He didn’t smile back. “Don’t let Victoria’s friends get to you. That’s exactly what they want.”

I’m fine.” I pushed open the door. “Really.”

Alexander cut the engine, and I froze.

What are you doing?”

Walking you to your door.” He was already out of the car, circling around to my side.

That’s not necessary,” I protested weakly as he extended his hand to help me out.

‘Humor me.”

The night air felt cool against my skin after the warmth of his car. We walked in silence to the building entrance, our footsteps echoing on the concrete.

By the time we reached my apartment, I was acutely aware of how different our worlds were. His penthouse with its floor–to- ceiling windows and personal chef versus my small apartment with the leaky faucet and temperamental heating.

I fumbled with my keys, suddenly nervous. “Well, this is me.”

Alexander stood close enough that I could smell his cologne, something expensive and subtle that made my stomach flutter. “Get some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Part of me had expected–maybe even hoped–that he would ask to come inside. Or suggest I go back to his penthouse. The rejection stung more than it should have.

“Goodnight, Alex,” I said, pushing my door open.

“Goodnight, Liv.” He leaned forward, and for a heart–stopping moment, I thought he might kiss me. Instead, he brushed his

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Chapter 71

lips against my cheek, his breath warm against my skin. “Call me if you need anything.”

And then he was gone, his footsteps fading down the hallway.

I closed the door and leaned against it, exhaling slowly. What had I expected? That he’d sweep me into his arms and carry me to bed? That he’d insist on staying to “protect” me from Victoria’s minions?

“Get a grip, Olivia,” I muttered, kicking off my shoes. “This is business, not a romance novel.”

I padded to the bathroom, peeled off my stained top, and tossed it into the sink. Cold water first, that’s what my mom always said for removing red stains. I ran the tap and squirted some soap onto the fabric, watching as the water turned pink.

“Stupid top,” I grumbled, scrubbing at the stain. “Stupid Madison and her stupid drink.”

The silk felt delicate under my fingers, already showing signs of damage from my rough handling. After a few minutes, I gave up and hung it over the shower rod to dry. Maybe the dry cleaner could salvage it.

“Another casualty of the Carter drama,” I muttered, padding barefoot to my bedroom.

My apartment felt eerily quiet after the chaos at O’Malley’s. I peeled off my jeans and unhooked my bra, letting both fall to the floor before pulling on my favorite oversized t–shirt and cotton shorts. The AC hummed softly as I flopped onto my bed staring at the ceiling.

“What am I doing?” I asked the empty room. No answer came, just the distant sound of traffic and someone’s TV playing through the thin walls.

I grabbed my phone, tempted to text Emilia, but I knew she’d just bombard me with questions about Alexander. Instead, I opened Instagram and immediately regretted it. Sensing my weakness, the algorithm served up a photo of Alexander at some charity gala last month, looking devastatingly handsome in a tuxedo with some willowy blonde on his arm.

“Probably another contract girlfriend,” I grumbled, tossing my phone aside.

Sleep came fitfully, with dreams of faceless women in designer dresses and Alexander haunting me.

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