Chapter 2
The rules of my contract marriage were simple: Stay invisible. Stay grateful. Stay quiet.
No public appearances. No social media. No contact with Victor's business circle. Not even my own family knew I was legally his wife—except Natasha, who had brokered the deal in the first place.
She had introduced us at a charity gala six years ago. I was twenty-three, working two jobs, drowning in our dead parents' medical debt. Victor needed a legal wife for inheritance purposes—some clause in his grandfather's will required him to be married by thirty to claim full control of Hale Industries.
Natasha pitched it like she was saving me. "He'll pay off all the debt. You'll live in luxury. All you have to do is sign and stay out of the way."
What she didn't mention was that she'd already been sleeping with him for months.
I was the contract. She was the prize.
In my first life, I had accepted that. I was so grateful for the financial rescue that I convinced myself the arrangement was fair.
But then I got pregnant.
Victor was furious. The contract explicitly stated no children. But I was already sixteen weeks along when I found out—too late for the kind of quiet fix he wanted.
"Keep it," he finally said, jaw tight. "But it stays off the books. No birth announcement. No family photos. No DNA test. That child doesn't exist publicly."
Lily. My beautiful girl. She came into the world unwanted by her father and unnamed in his records.
She had his gray eyes, his dark hair, his sharp little chin. And he couldn't stand looking at her because she was proof—proof that his neat, controlled double life wasn't as airtight as he believed.
Now, sitting in the penthouse at seven in the morning with a second chance I never asked for, I made a list.
First: Get Lily tested. The autoimmune disorder was genetic. In my last life, it didn't show symptoms until it was nearly too late. But if I could get her screened now, early intervention would save her.
Second: Secure evidence. My contract, the NDA, the financial records—everything that proved I was Victor's wife. In my last life, he destroyed it all after I died. I was sure of that. Otherwise someone would have found the truth.
Third: Find an ally. Someone powerful enough to stand against Victor.
I knew exactly who.
His name was Julian Cross. Thirty-two. Founder of Cross Capital. The only man in this city whose wealth rivaled Victor's—and the only one who had never been afraid of him.
In my previous life, I'd seen him once. It was at the hospital, during Lily's final days. He had been visiting another floor, but he'd paused when he saw me—collapsed in a hallway chair, hollow-eyed and destroyed.
He didn't say anything. He just set a cup of coffee beside me and walked away.
I never forgot that.
But before any of that, I needed to handle the most immediate threat.
I pulled out my phone and called my sister.
It rang three times.
"Sienna?" Natasha's voice was syrupy, surprised. "Since when do you call me? Everything okay?"
"I want to have lunch," I said. "Today. Just us."
A pause. Then a laugh—light, musical, patronizing. "Oh! Sure. I'll text you a place. It's been ages since we caught up."
She thought she had me figured out. The quiet, obedient older sister who never caused trouble.
She was about to meet someone new.
When I hung up, I walked to Lily's room. She was still asleep, small body curled under her blanket, breathing soft and even.
I sat on the edge of her bed and pressed my lips to her forehead. "Mommy's going to fix everything," I whispered. "I promise."
This time, no one would take her from me.
No public appearances. No social media. No contact with Victor's business circle. Not even my own family knew I was legally his wife—except Natasha, who had brokered the deal in the first place.
She had introduced us at a charity gala six years ago. I was twenty-three, working two jobs, drowning in our dead parents' medical debt. Victor needed a legal wife for inheritance purposes—some clause in his grandfather's will required him to be married by thirty to claim full control of Hale Industries.
Natasha pitched it like she was saving me. "He'll pay off all the debt. You'll live in luxury. All you have to do is sign and stay out of the way."
What she didn't mention was that she'd already been sleeping with him for months.
I was the contract. She was the prize.
In my first life, I had accepted that. I was so grateful for the financial rescue that I convinced myself the arrangement was fair.
But then I got pregnant.
Victor was furious. The contract explicitly stated no children. But I was already sixteen weeks along when I found out—too late for the kind of quiet fix he wanted.
"Keep it," he finally said, jaw tight. "But it stays off the books. No birth announcement. No family photos. No DNA test. That child doesn't exist publicly."
Lily. My beautiful girl. She came into the world unwanted by her father and unnamed in his records.
She had his gray eyes, his dark hair, his sharp little chin. And he couldn't stand looking at her because she was proof—proof that his neat, controlled double life wasn't as airtight as he believed.
Now, sitting in the penthouse at seven in the morning with a second chance I never asked for, I made a list.
First: Get Lily tested. The autoimmune disorder was genetic. In my last life, it didn't show symptoms until it was nearly too late. But if I could get her screened now, early intervention would save her.
Second: Secure evidence. My contract, the NDA, the financial records—everything that proved I was Victor's wife. In my last life, he destroyed it all after I died. I was sure of that. Otherwise someone would have found the truth.
Third: Find an ally. Someone powerful enough to stand against Victor.
I knew exactly who.
His name was Julian Cross. Thirty-two. Founder of Cross Capital. The only man in this city whose wealth rivaled Victor's—and the only one who had never been afraid of him.
In my previous life, I'd seen him once. It was at the hospital, during Lily's final days. He had been visiting another floor, but he'd paused when he saw me—collapsed in a hallway chair, hollow-eyed and destroyed.
He didn't say anything. He just set a cup of coffee beside me and walked away.
I never forgot that.
But before any of that, I needed to handle the most immediate threat.
I pulled out my phone and called my sister.
It rang three times.
"Sienna?" Natasha's voice was syrupy, surprised. "Since when do you call me? Everything okay?"
"I want to have lunch," I said. "Today. Just us."
A pause. Then a laugh—light, musical, patronizing. "Oh! Sure. I'll text you a place. It's been ages since we caught up."
She thought she had me figured out. The quiet, obedient older sister who never caused trouble.
She was about to meet someone new.
When I hung up, I walked to Lily's room. She was still asleep, small body curled under her blanket, breathing soft and even.
I sat on the edge of her bed and pressed my lips to her forehead. "Mommy's going to fix everything," I whispered. "I promise."
This time, no one would take her from me.