The Billionaire’s Contract Wife

“…『Exclusive risqué photos ❤️ A treat for foot lovers ❤️ Ultra-HD, multi-angle ❤️ 500 a shot. Close-ups of sensitive areas are 1000. No refunds, no exchanges, and keep it to yourself. Reply ‘1’ to agree.』”

“——Is this what you sent William? Three photos, and you took two grand from him?”

The spring chill lingered under a stretch of somber clouds. Ginny had barely walked into the Spring Grove Dance Company, hanging her coat on the rack, before she was summoned to Manager Walter’s office. A chat log was thrust into her face.

Ginny wrinkled her nose, her gaze sliding over to William’s rugged face standing beside the manager. Understanding dawned on her instantly.

“William here loves sending me messages in the middle of the night, saying his hand is sore from missing me, asking to see my… whatchamacallits. Well, I just decided to take one for the team and let him see,” Ginny said, flipping her phone screen around. “Payment terms were agreed upon. He even typed out a whole string of '1’s…”

The Spring Grove Dance Company was founded by Harold, a veteran classical dancer. While the scale wasn’t massive, Harold’s reputation and connections in the industry secured plenty of performance opportunities. Ginny had joined late last year and was currently considered a temporary cast member.

Harold was known for his severity; his word was law. The company’s miscellaneous logistics, however, were handled by Manager Walter.

Perhaps they thought a “Morrow City drifter” with no background would be an easy target, William, a senior dancer, often made lewd jokes and verbally harassed her. Ginny had reported it, but the manager just smoothed things over, saying it was just a joke and she shouldn’t take it to heart.

Later, she found out William was the brother of Walter’s mistress. No wonder he could slack off during rehearsals and still keep his job.

Since she couldn’t touch him, she might as well make some money to compensate for the emotional distress.

“She scammed me! She stole my money!” William pointed at Ginny, his face twisting in humiliation. “Using her looks to seduce me all day! She’s just a cheap piece of—”

“Watch your mouth!” Ginny covered her nose with her sleeve to ward off the stench of his breath. “Which word in my description was inconsistent with the photos?”

Walter, in his early forties, had a square face that looked honest and amiable. He’d seen it all in the arts world, but today, dragged in by his brother-in-law to see the photos William received after paying, even he was momentarily stunned by the “explicit” nature.

——They were three X-rays of a foot.

One from the front, one from the side, and a close-up of the little toe. Against the dark background, the white bones were distinct.

…You certainly have a unique definition of ‘explicit.’

Walter’s lips twitched as he pointed to the close-up of the little toe, worth a thousand. “You call this a sensitive area?”

“Try kicking a table leg with it. See if it’s sensitive or not.”

“…”

“Stop making excuses! It’s fraud!” William shouted, emboldened by his backup, jumping up and down.

“Enough! Quiet!” Walter roared.

Walter knew his brother-in-law’s character—all talk, no action. Walter put on a smile, his shrewd eyes assessing the girl before him.

She was at that age, budding like a flower, with a figure and poise that were top-tier. He’d been stunned when she first joined.

A face as beautiful as a hibiscus, almond eyes, a nose like a rosebud, lips like cherry, skin like snow. Her every frown and smile held the charming innocence of a girl, yet a glance carried a seductive allure.

With her demonstrated skills and a shelf full of gold medals, it was a pity she hadn’t made it into the National Academy of Dance.

Her exceptional beauty was a rare resource. Walter had kindly introduced her to The 95 Club, a top-tier private club in Morrow City, for a part-time dancing gig.

The patrons there were the wealthy and powerful, the elite of Morrow City. He’d seen plenty of girls from humble backgrounds try to take shortcuts to change their fate. With a bit of luck, some even soared to the heights.

This current issue wasn’t a big deal. A slap on the wrist for both sides would suffice.

“You, no filter on that mouth. I’ve told you a thousand times!” After scolding William, Walter turned to Ginny. “Look, have him apologize, you refund the money, and we’ll call it even.”

Ginny wasn’t having it—she was like a pixiu, a mythical beast that only lets treasure in, never out!

She knew she should perhaps endure. She had always been good at enduring.

Two years ago, at eighteen, she had arrived alone in Morrow City with two thousand bucks to her name. With no connections, drifting in this city, she learned to swallow her pride and avoid conflict.

But the day William sent those harassing texts, she had just returned to her hometown, Sutherton, for her mother’s second death anniversary. She had squatted by the icy tombstone and wept alone.

Compared to a half-hearted apology, she preferred the two thousand dollars.

Before Ginny could speak, William protested, “Why should I apologize? I’m the victim! I—”

“Oh my!” Ginny exclaimed, her expression suddenly shifting as she looked at her phone. “William, I know you’re anxious, but hold on. I think when I posted yesterday, my hand slipped, and I accidentally selected the screenshots of your messages too.”

…What?!

Walter was shocked; William froze. Walter reacted first. “What is wrong with you? You can’t just post private jokes online! Company matters stay in the company. You’re breaking the rules!”

He panicked, reaching for his phone.

Ginny watched them scurry, waiting a moment before speaking again. “Manager, don’t panic either. Let me finish.”

“The internet was bad yesterday. It didn’t send. It auto-saved to my drafts,” she blinked innocently. “I only just saw it.”

“…”

Walter was speechless.

Harold’s newly choreographed dance drama was in full swing, with hopes of landing a spot at the National Theater. Ginny was part of the cast and had even contributed to the choreography.

Such an opportunity was hard-won. She didn’t want to burn bridges, but she wouldn’t be a doormat either.

“Rest assured, Manager,” Ginny smiled sincerely, offering a self-critique. “Next time, before I hit send, I’ll double-check. Wouldn’t want another slip-up.”

Walter’s cheek twitched. They were all foxes here; did she really think he couldn’t tell a bluff?

…

Having resolved a nausea matter and made two thousand dollars, Ginny walked lightly. Passing the rehearsal hall, she saw people already training.

Dance was a career of talent and grit. She hurried to change. Entering the studio, the familiar scent of sweat, perfume, and antiseptic hit her—oddly comforting and exciting.

The gray floor was solid and slightly springy. She greeted fellow dancers and warmed up by the mirror.

The room filled up. Suddenly, someone called out, “Mr. Harold!”

The chatter died instantly. Everyone stopped and formed a semicircle, greeting the man who just entered. “Good morning, Mr. Harold!”

Harold, nearing forty, possessed a lean, upright figure indistinguishable from his twenties, thanks to harsh discipline. Beside him stood a tall young woman in a Dior skirt, a Lady Dior bag in hand, her face exquisitely made up.

Harold nodded, introducing the girl. “This is Heather.”

He glanced at Ginny, his tone authoritative. “For our production of *The Lotus Princess*, the lead role will be danced by Heather.”

A murmur ran through the dancers. Eyes darted toward Ginny.

*The Lotus Princess* was based on an old fable—a scholar dreams of a princess, falls in love, and the king betroths her to him, only to use his kindness to protect the clan from disaster.

Ginny had been handpicked by Harold for the lead. Many in the troupe had been unhappy, but months of rehearsal proved her technique top-tier. She had even choreographed a significant portion of the dance…

“Hello everyone, I’m Heather. Pleased to meet you!” Heather bowed, then beamed at Ginny. “Long time no see, Princess!”

Like a stone thrown into a still lake, ripples of memory spread.

The dim, cold hospital corridor… the smell of antiseptic…

The sticky, lustful gaze of a middle-aged man… a hotel key card forced into her hand…

A woman’s slap across her face… the insults pointing at her nose…

Ginny clutched the small peach pendant on her necklace. Her blood felt like it was burning, yet freezing. The world around her seemed to fade.

Her lips moved, but no sound came out.

Heather scrutinized Ginny. Off-the-rack black dance wear, pilling on the side. She really hadn’t made much of herself.

Both from Sutherton, both standouts in classical dance, their names even shared a floral similarity. Heather had been compared to Ginny all her life, though they were never friends.

Her parents wouldn’t let her befriend a girl from a single-parent home—they said her mother was loose, played by men and abandoned.

Yet this fatherless Ginny always beat her in competitions. Even Mr. Pan from the Provincial Dance Association favored her, teaching her personally and recommending her for the National Academy of Dance.

Everyone knew it was just because Ginny had Henry, Mr. Pan’s son, wrapped around her finger for years!

But fate was fate. Calculations only got you so far.

Ginny missed the entrance exam, claiming her mother was critically ill. Heather, meeting her parents’ expectations, secured the spot.

Once past the watershed, their lives were mud and clouds.

But what Heather despised most was Ginny trying to seduce her father!

Heather’s family was well-off; her mother worked in government, her father in business. Ginny targeted him for money—to pay medical bills and maybe push out the wife.

Her plan failed. Her father rejected her. Ginny then had the audacity to run to her mother, lying that her father had harassed her, demanding s*x for medical fees…

Her father was a respectable man in Sutherton. Why would he touch a student?

Thankfully, the truth came out. Her mother kicked the liar out.

Girls without fathers apparently get twisted. Trying to steal someone else’s? Disgusting.

Heather had only needed to whisper a few words to Henry, and Ginny disappeared.

She never expected to hear that name again while dining with her boyfriend’s friends…

“Princess?” someone asked, glancing at Ginny. “Inside joke?”

Heather giggled. “In anime, ‘Hime’ means Princess! Back in school, boys swarmed around Ginny. They all called her ‘Princess’!”

She heard this woman still danced at a club. Ha, a “Princess” of the night. How fitting!

“Right…” Someone smirked. William sneered. A sl*t indeed.

Role changes happened. Dancers looked at Ginny with sympathy, but Harold was king here. No one dared object.

Ginny stared at Harold, gripping her hands tight. “Mr. Harold, we’ve rehearsed for months. We’re a team…”

“That’s not an issue,” Harold cut her off. “I made this decision based on comprehensive ability.”

Harold was an artist, but also a businessman. Heather’s boyfriend was the CEO of Radiant Star Entertainment. He promised funding for three productions and media resources. The only condition: swap the lead.

Comprehensive ability. Financial ability weighed the most.

He patted Ginny’s shoulder patronizingly. “Time is short. You’ll train Heather, help her learn the moves. You stay in the troupe to study. There will be other opportunities.”

It was a platitude. The smart ones heard the subtext: she was off the project. No understudy, no ensemble role.

Harold didn’t want a side character outshining the lead.

He clapped his hands. “Alright, places! Time is money. Act One!”

The crowd dispersed. Ginny stood frozen, clutching her pendant. Seniors pulled her aside, whispering comfort.

Heather shot Ginny a triumphant look.

*The real Princess is here. The cheap club Princess should crawl back to where she belongs.*

…

The sky couldn’t hold the weight of the clouds. A spring thunderclap shattered the silence. Rain poured down, forming a curtain in seconds.

Ginny didn’t know how the gray day ended. She tried to appeal to Harold but got a closed door. Leaving, she realized she forgot her umbrella.

Standing at the entrance, checking the two grand in her account from the “explicit photos,” she decided to splurge. No bus today.

She’d take a cab. A private ride!

Ordering, she even checked the cheaper “Pool” option out of habit. The storm was fierce. After a long wait, a premium driver accepted. Another wait, then the call came.

Twilight deepened. Through the rain, she saw a black sedan. She put her canvas bag over her head and sprinted.

Rain splashed violently under her feet. She yanked open the rear door, slid in, and slammed it shut. Smooth motion.

The interior was spacious. Light brown leather exuded understated luxury. A faint, cold scent touched her nose—like winter wind over snow-dusted cedar, laced with the bitterness of ambergris.

*This is what double the price smells like? Money…*

Ginny smoothed her wet hair, looked up, and froze.

There was someone else in the back seat.

She stared.

*Wow. A masterpiece…*

The man was tall, dressed in an elegant three-piece suit. A light shirt under a dark gray tweed vest, outlining broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Tailored trousers wrapped long legs. He sat casually, yet exuded an undeniable nobility.

The warm interior light carved his profile—sharp brows, high nose, thin lips. He looked up from a stack of documents. Dark, deep eyes swept over her like a starless abyss, pulling her in…

Sebastian Sterling hadn’t expected a stranger to burst into his car.

Her black coat was soaked, wet hair dripping. A face white as snow, willow brows, peach lips—stunning, like a drowned Persian cat.

She stared at him, round eyes wide, righteous, as if *he* were the intruder.

Sebastian raised a brow. Suddenly, her face scrunched up. She covered her nose with her sleeve and sneezed violently. *Achoo! Achoo!*

Finally stopping, she rubbed her red nose, reached forward, and slapped the back of the driver’s seat, complaining:

“Hey, driver! I ordered a private ride! Why is this a Pool? That’s not the price for a shared ride!”

Felix, a veteran driver who had served the Sterling family his entire life, had never heard such an absurd question. Besides, he was born mute and could not speak.

If she could tolerate being shortchanged, she couldn’t tolerate being ignored. Ginny, relentless, continued her barrage. “Driver, are you multi-apping? Taking a private order and combining it with a shared ride? That price difference isn’t small. It’s not just rude; it’s against the regulations, you know?”

Feeling outmatched on her own, she turned to recruit an ally. “Sir, did you also order a private ride? Now that it’s turned into a pool, they can’t expect us to pay the full fare, right?”

Sebastian Sterling spoke slowly, unhurried. “I have an annual subscription.”

Rain pattered against the window. The man’s voice was low and pleasant, carrying an indescribable magnetism. Ginny felt a tingle in her ears and instinctively pinched her earlobe.

She rarely took taxis, only knowing that shared bi