Contract Marriage With The Devil Billionaire -

Lena Frost had learned long ago that miracles didn’t exist. What did exist were overdue rent notices, a mountain of her late mother’s medical debt, and a younger brother with a heart condition that required a surgery she could never afford. So when the silver-eyed man in the thousand-dollar suit appeared at her greasy spoon diner counter at 2:00 AM, she didn’t flinch.

Lena had gotten the call an hour ago. Her brother, Leo, had gone into surgery three days early—complications. She wasn’t there. She was in a penthouse wearing designer pajamas she hadn’t chosen, married to a man who paid her like an invoice. The tears came hot and silent, her face buried in a towel that cost more than her first car.

Lena stared at him. “Why?”

The woman apologized.

The final month, the contract lay on the table between them. One year was almost up. The money was in her account. Leo was healthy. The debt was gone.

“Go away,” she said.

“You wrote clause seven,” she whispered back. contract marriage with the devil billionaire

“I’m not staying because I want to,” she said, stepping into his space. His arms came around her like he’d been waiting his whole life to hold her. “I’m staying because I love you, you impossible devil.”

“Don’t,” he said. Just that.

Their honeymoon was a press conference.

It was not romantic. It was raining. They were arguing about something stupid—his refusal to eat breakfast, her habit of leaving wet towels on the floor—and suddenly neither of them was arguing anymore. His hands were in her hair, her back was against the cold glass of the window, and the city sparkled below them like a fallen galaxy.

Dorian Black—billionaire, monster, contract killer of hearts—smiled. Not the sharp smile of a predator. Something softer. Something human.