The Contracted Heart of the CEO

Rain pounded against the glass of the tall Cross Enterprises building, turning the view of New York City into a grey blur. Up on the top floor, Sophie Blake sat facing a man who had the power to change everything for her—Daniel Cross. He was the big boss, a billionaire, and a guy who looked like he stepped out of the pages of every business magazine she’d ever seen. Today, he sat behind a sleek black desk as he laid out an unexpected proposal: a marriage contract.

This wasn’t some romantic gesture. There were no sappy dreams of love or a bright future. It was just paperwork.

He slid a folder across the desk toward her with a sharp, deliberate motion, almost like he had rehearsed the whole thing.

“You’ll get a penthouse, a driver, and a corporate card with no limits,” he said in a flat tone, as if discussing quarterly finances. “Your public image will heat up while mine cools down before the board meets next quarter. And in return,” he fixed his gaze on her, “you’ll be my wife. For one year.”

Sophie's heart raced. She managed to keep her face neutral. This was an odd scenario, one that felt uncomfortably personal, unlike the professional situations she had navigated before. Straight out of Columbia, she climbed the ranks in public relations, known for her ability to stay calm under pressure. But this? This was a whole new level, with stakes that could escalate quickly.

“What’s in it for you?” she asked, sounding casual even though she felt anything but. “There are plenty of debutantes you could pick from.”

He clenched his jaw for just a second, annoyance flashing in his eyes. “I picked you because you’re smart. You can handle attention without losing your cool. I need a wife who earns respect. Someone who can help clean up my image before an important board meeting. Plus,” he added, his expression challenging, “you won’t develop feelings for me.”

With one eyebrow raised, she replied, “You’re quite confident.”

“Practical,” he retorted. “Last week, you mentioned your sister’s medical bills. You could use a break. I need a wife, and this would help both of us out.”

“Beneficial.” That word hit her like a slap—cold and impersonal, echoing in her mind.

She opened the folder and quickly skimmed through legal wording—a prenup here, a non-disclosure agreement there, along with all the clauses about public appearances and how to deal with the media. It was clear he had put a lot of thought into this.

She paused over the line to sign. Could she actually go through with this? Pretending to be married to Daniel—a man who seemed emotionally locked away, shrewd, and distant? 

“I need time to think this over.”

“You have twenty-four hours,” he said, rising from his chair. “My lawyer expects your answer by tomorrow morning.”

Sophie stood as well, clutching the folder that now felt like a burden.

“Why the rush?” she asked.

Daniel walked over to the glass wall, looking out at the rain-soaked city, his hands buried in his pockets. “Because I don’t wait. Neither does opportunity.”

As she left the office, she didn’t notice the security camera capturing her every move.

Once she got back to her small Brooklyn apartment, her fingers were cold and ached from the chill. She tossed her wet umbrella aside and took off her dripping coat, the quiet of her home a stark contrast to the intensity of their discussion.

The contract lay ominously on her kitchen table, a heavy reminder of her dilemma.

She made herself a cup of tea but never touched it. Instead, she kept flipping through the papers, jotting down important phrases and even doing some quick legal research. She attempted to text her best friend twice but just couldn’t hit send.

By midnight, Sophie lay in her dark bedroom, staring at the ceiling, her heart racing faster than the tick of the clock.

It wasn't just the contract that made her uneasy. It was Daniel’s penetrating gaze, as if he already knew what she would decide. Maybe, in some way, she was already ensnared in his plan.

Come morning, she found herself back at Cross Tower with a manila envelope in her grip.

The assistant ushered her in wordlessly. Sophie stepped into Daniel’s office expecting to find him at his desk, but instead, he was leaning against the wall, his suit jacket off, sleeves rolled up, chatting rapidly in Italian on a Bluetooth headset.

He ended the call as soon as he saw her and approached. “Well?”

Without a word, she handed him the signed document.

“I hope you know what you’re getting into,” she said softly.

No smile appeared on his face, nor did he thank her. He just nodded and then hit the intercom. “Carla, get the marriage timeline going. Plan the media leak for Friday.”

Sophie’s eyes widened. “A leak?”

He turned to her, expression serious. “It has to appear natural. An impulsive wedding, like something out of a film. Vegas is the plan. Let the tabloids run wild with speculation.”

“You want me to trick the entire nation?”

His expression became unreadable. “Isn’t that what you folks in PR do?”

She had nothing to say; it struck her how fast she had gotten lost in this setup.

In just two days, they were married, a quick ceremony in a small Vegas chapel with only two paid witnesses. They exchanged vows that sounded more legal than heartfelt, her dress snatched off the rack and his a tailored Armani masterpiece.

“Smile,” he said at the end of the aisle, brushing his fingers against her cheek for the cameras. “Make it look real.”

Looking up at him, she answered, “I’ve managed to smile through worse things.”

For just a flicker, surprise crossed his face, but he kept his mouth shut.

That night, they flew back to New York. Daniel dropped her off at the penthouse, handed her a key card, and left with one last piece of advice in the air.

“We’ll need to show up together at events—charity galas and the like. Don’t talk to the press without me. And Sophie?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t fall for me.”

The way he said it should’ve made her roll her eyes but instead sparked her curiosity about what he really meant.

Weeks slid by, two turning into four, and amidst it all, they settled into a routine that felt both clinical and rehearsed.

Daniel hardly returned home before midnight. Sophie played her role as the dutiful wife at social events, showing off a polished front in public while their conversations at home were almost non-existent.

But there was a slow shift happening.

One evening, during a gala for children's health, she caught him watching her while she chatted and laughed with a fellow guest. When she glanced up, his gaze held an intensity she hadn’t seen before—no disdain, no indifference, but something deeper.

Later in the car, he broke the silence. “You’ve got a knack for this.”

“Are you pretending?”

“At being admired.”

She faced the window. “It’s a facade.”

“Maybe. But you wear it better than most.”

Sophie stayed quiet, not because she didn’t know what to say but because she was scared to say something real.

An underlying tension was brewing between them, not necessarily romantic but charged enough to feel electric.

Then came the charity auction.

She had signed up for a “date with the CEO’s wife” for fun, and Daniel didn’t protest at first. But when one high-rolling bidder made a ridiculous offer, Daniel’s expression changed drastically.

“Sold,” the emcee announced.

The crowd erupted in applause.

Daniel leaned in close, his voice sharply demanding. “That’s not happening.”

“It’s for charity,” Sophie said lightly, trying to ignore how his hands pressed protectively against her waist.

“I don’t care. You’re not for sale.”

Taken aback, she shot back, “You signed the contract.”

He stepped closer, his tone serious. “I didn’t sign away my sanity.”

In that moment, she saw anger and protectiveness crack through his composed exterior.

Surprisingly, it made her heart race.

As time went on, their arrangement grew more complicated. The lines between business and personal began to blur without either of them realizing it.

They shared dinners, exchanged inside jokes, and sat in comfortable silence late into the night, never addressing what might be simmering beneath the surface.

One evening, a thunderstorm knocked out the power in the penthouse. They lit candles, and he poured her a drink while she laughed at his failed attempts at jokes.

He paused, looking at her intently. “You’re not who I thought you were.”

“Neither are you,” she responded.

For a split second, it felt like everything shifted. But come morning, life went back to normal as if they had never shared that moment.

That was until Sophie stumbled across a hidden clause.

She wasn’t snooping. Honestly, she was just trying to tidy up. A sticky drawer in the penthouse study popped open, revealing another copy of their marriage contract.

But this one had an extra page.

A clause that stripped her of any ownership in the Cross media division—effective immediately, at Daniel’s discretion alone.

Her hands shook as she read it. Her name was clear, but there was no signature—definitely not hers.

“What are you doing?” His voice was low and unsettling.

She turned to face him. “What is this?”

Daniel’s silence was louder than any words he could offer.

“Did you put this here? Did you forge my signature?”

He didn’t say a word.

She stepped back, her heart racing. “Why?”

“Because this was never meant to be real,” he said, sounding almost troubled. “You were getting too involved. I wanted to keep this safe for you.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “Safe from you?”

“Yes.”

The reality hit hard.

That night, she stormed out of the penthouse, slamming the door behind her, feeling a wave of anger and betrayal wash over her.

But she didn’t cry—not yet. A nagging feeling told her this was more than just a betrayal. It felt like something much bigger, like a trap.

Someone wanted her out. And maybe Daniel wasn’t the actual enemy—he might be the lure.

Sophie slipped into stealth mode, gearing up for war.

She started following the paper trail of contracts, digging up inconsistencies, altered emails, and legal moves made without her knowledge.

There was one name that kept coming up—Chase Henley, Daniel’s right-hand man. He had tried to kiss her once at a gala, and his smile always struck her as a little too perfect.

Confronting him was easy; he denied everything and smiled a little too wide, claiming all changes had been approved by Daniel.

Recording their chat wasn’t an issue.

Then came the moment she had been prepping for—the Cross board meeting.

Dressed in a sharp white suit, looking composed, she dropped her bombshell.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she began, her voice cutting through the glass walls, “I was never Daniel Cross’s wife. I was a pawn in a much larger game that aimed to manipulate this board, inflate stock prices, and hide serious corruption.”

Gasps and murmurs echoed through the room, cameras flashing all around.

Then Daniel burst into the room, coming in too late.

“Sophie—” he called out, eyes wide with confusion.

She turned to face him. “You should have protected me.” 

And just like that, she walked away.

That night, Daniel sat in his empty penthouse, clutching a photo from their fake wedding in one hand and crumpling Chase’s resignation letter in the other.

Because maybe it wasn’t as fake as it had seemed.

And maybe he wasn’t ready to let her slip away.

Not when Sophie had become the one real thing in his life after so very long.

It was pouring rain outside, and the sound of water hitting the skylight in Daniel Cross’s penthouse office was almost deafening. Sophie Laurent found herself staring down at a thick pile of legal papers sitting on the polished desk in front of her. She had just scribbled her name on the last page, a swirly signature next to Daniel’s. It felt like a big step—maybe even a jump off a cliff. The quietness in the room made her a little uneasy, especially given the weight of what they had just committed to.

Her hands trembled a bit as she finally placed the pen down. A silence settled that felt almost too long, making her want to look at him—at Daniel, the billionaire whose presence scared and fascinated her, like a blazing fire wrapped in ice. She had agreed to this marriage of convenience, with no love involved—just a deal that felt more like business.

And there was no way out now.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Cross,” Daniel said, his voice smooth but with a hint of danger,