His By Contract

Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

G eorgia stood at the windows of her office in the penthouse, watching morning light slice through the hazy cityscape. The glass felt cool against her fingertips as she traced invisible patterns, seeking calm in the quiet sanctuary she’d carved out for herself. Behind her, her phone buzzed on the polished mahogany desk, the vibrations echoing through the serene space like warning shots.

She pulled away from the window, each step toward her desk feeling heavier than the last. The phone screen lit up with a flood of notifications, her PR team’s calls stacking up like dominoes, social media mentions multiplying by the second, news alerts flashing urgent red.

The first headline stopped her breath: Adrian Adler’s Wife Exposed: Secret Past and Scandalous Affair .

Her hand froze above the phone screen, muscles tensing as she forced herself to open the article. Words jumped out at her like accusations: former lover, ongoing affair, contract marriage. A man she’d never met claimed intimate knowledge of her life, painting her as a calculating gold-digger who’d played Adrian while maintaining a hidden relationship.

The article dropped like poison into her veins. “Sources close to Georgia Adler confirm she maintained contact with her lover throughout her marriage to billionaire Adrian Adler, using her position to secure financial stability while continuing the affair.”

Screenshots followed, each one a perfectly crafted lie. Text messages she’d never written materialized in those telltale blue bubbles, their timestamps and details stitched together like a surgeon’s careful handiwork. Her own patterns of speech stared back at her, twisted into intimate exchanges with a stranger.

Georgia’s vision swam, the words bleeding together as her heart hammered against her ribs. She gripped the edge of her desk, the polished wood solid beneath her frozen fingers. The screenshots taunted her as she clicked through them, searching desperately for signs of manipulation. But every detail was perfect: the message formatting, the casual intimacy of the exchanges, even references to real events twisted into damning evidence.

Nausea rolled through her stomach as the full weight of the exposure crashed over her. She felt stripped bare, her carefully built world cracking beneath her feet. The morning sun continued to pour through the windows, but she felt none of its warmth, only the cold grip of violation as her private life became public spectacle.

Georgia’s phone pinged softly, cutting through her frozen state. A new email from the PR manager glowed on her screen, the subject line stark and urgent: Emergency Meeting—Immediate Response Required .

Her throat tightened as she stared at those words. The thought of facing a room full of people, dissecting these lies about her life, made her skin crawl. She pressed her palm flat against the cool surface of her desk, trying to ground herself in something solid and real.

The fabricated messages still burned in her vision. She needed to move, to act, to fight back, but her legs refused to cooperate. The weight of what awaited her beyond these walls pressed down on her chest, making each breath a conscious effort.

Twenty minutes later, Georgia sat in the PR firm’s conference room, the glass table before her reflecting fluorescent lights that seemed to pierce straight through her skull. Around her, the PR team’s whispers filled the air with a constant hum of tension. Their faces were drawn tight, eyes darting between their tablets and the wall where a projector displayed the damning evidence.

Red circles highlighted inconsistencies in the fake messages, timestamps that didn’t align, phrases that didn’t match her writing style. But the distinctions felt paper-thin against the overwhelming weight of the accusations.

Sarah Bridges, the PR manager, stood at the head of the table, her navy blazer pulled tight across her shoulders as she crossed her arms. “We have three potential approaches,” she said, her voice clipped and professional. “First, we release an immediate statement denying the affair. Direct, but it could read as defensive—and the public tends to view quick denials with skepticism.”

Georgia’s fingers curled against her thighs as Sarah continued. “Second option: we have information on this supposed lover’s past. Criminal record, fraud charges. We could release it, but—” Sarah’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It might backfire. Make you look like you’re attacking him to cover your tracks.”

The room felt smaller with each word. Georgia watched as projections of lost contracts and sponsorships flashed across the screen. Brands she’d worked hard to partner with, relationships built on trust and mutual respect, all threatening to crumble.

“The third option,” Sarah said, “is silence. Let it die down naturally. But that strategy…” She gestured to a graph showing social media engagement. “That leaves room for speculation. And right now, speculation is not our friend.”

The youngest PR assistant, fresh-faced and eager, cleared his throat. “What if we leverage Mr. Adler’s influence? We could discredit this supposed lover completely, make sure no one takes him seriously.”

“Absolutely not.” Sarah’s voice cracked like a whip. “Using Adrian’s power against someone claiming to be a victim? The media would have a field day. We’d look like wealthy elitists crushing the little guy. It would only make things worse.”

Georgia sank deeper into the leather chair, feeling the cool material against her back through her blouse. Each option before her felt like stepping onto cracking ice. One wrong move and everything would shatter beneath her feet. Her eyes fixed on the projected messages, the red circles and annotations swimming together as her vision blurred.

The walls seemed to press inward, the conference room shrinking with each passing second. Her chest tightened, breath catching as the familiar sensation of being cornered crept over her. She hated this: the helplessness, the lack of control, the feeling of being backed into a corner with no escape route in sight.

Later that night, Georgia sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor, the soft carpet doing little to cushion her rigid posture. Her laptop perched precariously on her knees, its screen casting harsh shadows across her face. Hours of scrolling had left her eyes raw and burning, but she couldn’t look away from the torrent of comments flooding her feed.

“Gold-digger exposed!” The words jumped out at her, followed by an endless stream of similar sentiments.

“Adrian could do so much better.”

“She used him for a lifestyle upgrade. Typical.”

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, drowning out the quiet stillness of the penthouse. Her finger moved mechanically on the trackpad, scrolling faster and faster, searching desperately for a friendly voice in the sea of hatred. A handful of loyal followers defended her, but their comments vanished beneath waves of vitriol.

At the top of every platform, the hashtags multiplied like a virus:

#GeorgiaExposed

#AdlerScandal

#FakeWife

Each one felt like another nail in the coffin of her reputation, her carefully built world crumbling with every refresh of the page.

Georgia’s finger hovered over the trackpad, frozen in place as another notification lit up her screen. The soft ping felt like a gunshot in the silent room. Her chest constricted as she clicked, watching the page load with agonizing slowness, until finally, the headline blazed across her screen: New Revelations: Georgia Adler’s Criminal Past Uncovered .

The words blurred as she forced herself to read the first paragraph. Her lungs burned, desperate for air she couldn’t seem to draw. Fraud allegations. Sealed arrest records. The article painted a picture of Adrian using his influence to hide her supposed criminal history, protecting her from public scrutiny. The implications twisted through her mind like poison.

Her hands shook violently as she gripped the laptop, reading the lines over and over. The arrest record stared back at her with cold authority, exact dates, detailed charges, and a grainy mugshot that could have been her in another life. The resemblance was uncanny enough to make her stomach lurch.

The thought of Vincent’s reach made her skin crawl, and she wondered how deep he had gone to construct this lie.

Notification after notification appeared on her phone, each one a fresh wound. Brand partnerships she’d cultivated dissolved before her eyes. Their carefully worded statements felt like paper cuts: professional, precise, and deeply painful. “After careful consideration…” “In light of recent developments…” “We regret to inform…”

The laptop clicked shut with finality, the sound echoing through the room as she dropped it to the floor. Bitterness settled into her bones like frost, weighing her down until she could barely move. Everything she’d built, every achievement she’d earned, now lay tainted by these accusations. Her identity felt rewritten, twisted into something unrecognizable.

Georgia pulled her knees tight against her chest, staring at the laptop’s dark surface. The ache in her chest spread like ice, making each breath harder than the last. Adrian would return soon. The thought of facing him made her stomach clench, not just dreading his words, but the look in his eyes when he saw her. Would he believe these lies? Would doubt creep into his mind, tainting the fragile connection they’d just begun to discover?

Georgia leaned against the penthouse balcony railing, the metal biting cold into her arms. Below, the city pulsed with its usual frenetic energy, cars threading through streets like blood through veins. Wind caught her hair, sending strands dancing across her vision, obscuring the glittering expanse that stretched toward the horizon.

From this height, everything looked impossibly small. People reduced to dots, buildings to mere shapes, problems to specks of dust. But the distance didn’t diminish the weight crushing her chest. If anything, it amplified the sensation of floating untethered, watching her life spiral beyond her reach.

Her fingers curled around the railing until her knuckles blanched white. Each breath felt shallow, inadequate against the pressure building inside her ribcage. The brands she’d courted were falling away like autumn leaves, their carefully worded rejections piling up in her inbox. Every notification brought fresh accusations, each one cutting deeper than the last.

It was like that day she’d stood in her tiny studio apartment, surrounded by unpaid bills and unfinished designs, watching her initial business venture crumble. The same helplessness flooded back, that terrible certainty that no amount of work or talent could save what she’d built, like it was inevitable, no matter how hard she tried. Her throat constricted around the familiar ache, an old wound torn fresh.

Another gust of wind whipped around her, colder now, but Georgia barely registered the chill. The emptiness inside eclipsed everything physical, a void where her certainty used to live. She felt transparent, insubstantial, as if the person she’d worked so hard to become had been replaced by this twisted reflection everyone now believed in.

Footsteps echoed across the floors from inside. Georgia’s shoulders tensed at the familiar cadence, Adrian’s measured stride, the quiet confidence that filled any space he occupied. Her fingers curled around the railing until her knuckles went white, as if the metal could shield her from the weight of him drawing near.

A chill crept up her spine, settling between her shoulder blades. The question she’d been avoiding surfaced, impossible to ignore. What if she’d finally become more liability than asset? The careful calculation that had drawn Adrian to her in the first place now worked against her. Her stomach twisted as she imagined him weighing the cost of keeping her against the damage to his empire.

Her lungs refused to expand fully, each breath catching painfully in her chest. The thought of being cut loose, left to weather this storm alone, made her dizzy. She’d survived before, fought her way up from nothing, but this was different. The magnitude of what she faced now dwarfed anything in her past. Her carefully constructed strength felt paper-thin, ready to tear at the slightest pressure.

She turned from the balcony, drawn inside despite her fear. The penthouse stretched before her, all sharp angles and shadows. She needed to see him, to read in his expression what these accusations meant for their future.

The hallway to his office seemed longer than usual, every step dragging behind it a freight of dread. Adrian’s voice drifted through the gap in the door, that controlled tone he used for business, for problems that needed solving. Georgia’s hand lifted to push the door open, then froze as words filtered through.

“The divorce papers need to be ironclad.” Adrian’s voice was cold. “When the contract ends, I want this wrapped up cleanly. No loose ends.”

Georgia’s blood turned to ice in her veins. The voice on the phone was muffled, but Adrian’s words had struck true and deep. Her lungs seized, the air turning thick and unbreathable. Adrian’s words echoed in her skull, each syllable a fresh wound. Divorce papers. Contract ends. The clinical detachment in his voice carved through her chest, hollowing her out from the inside.

Her fingers pressed against the wall, seeking stability as the floor seemed to tilt beneath her feet. The wood grain blurred, her vision swimming. She’d known from the start this was a business arrangement, but somewhere along the way, she’d let herself forget. Let herself believe the moments of tenderness meant something more.

Blood rushed in her ears, nearly drowning out the continued murmur of his voice from his office. She caught fragments: ‘settlement terms’ and ‘media strategy,’ each phrase another nail in the coffin of her delusions. Her throat closed around a sound she refused to let escape.

One step backward. Then another. Her body moved on autopilot, retreating from the truth she couldn’t un-hear. The hallway stretched endless before her, each footfall carefully placed to maintain silence. Her hands trembled, and she pressed them flat against her thighs, forcing control into muscles that wanted to shake apart.

The door to her bedroom appeared like a mirage. She slipped inside, closing it with excruciating slowness until the latch caught. Only then did her composure crack. The truth crashed over her in waves. She was disposable, replaceable, temporary. Just another asset in Adrian’s portfolio, to be managed and eventually liquidated when the timing was right.

Georgia sank onto the edge of her bed, the mattress dipping beneath her weight. Her gaze fixed on the empty space beside her, the pristine sheets stretched tight and unwrinkled. The silence pressed against her eardrums, broken only by the faint hum of the air conditioning.

Of course it wasn’t real. The thought crystallized, sharp and clean as broken glass. She’d been convenient, a solution to his family’s pressure, a shield against Celeste Montgomery, a calculated move in his endless game of strategy. Her fingers traced patterns on the duvet, following the subtle geometric design woven into the fabric.

Every memory shifted, realigning itself with this new truth. The way his hand had lingered at the small of her back during galas. How his eyes had softened when she’d fallen asleep in his study, head pillowed on her sketches. The quiet mornings when she’d caught him watching her over the rim of his coffee cup. Each moment she’d treasured now felt hollow, stripped of meaning.

She was his weakness; that much was clear. Every attack against him came through her. First Vaughn, now this scandal. She had become the fault line in his carefully built fortress. Her shoulders curved inward as the weight of it settled over her.

Georgia rose, unable to stay still. Her feet carried her back and forth across the polished floor. The room suddenly felt foreign, like a hotel suite she’d mistaken for home. She’d never truly belonged here, in this world of marble and glass, of power plays and calculated moves. She’d been playing dress-up, pretending she could adapt to his realm of sharp edges and colder truths.

If leaving would protect him, if stepping away meant preserving everything he’d built… Her throat tightened around the thought. She couldn’t let herself hope he might feel something real, something beyond the terms of their contract. Hope was a luxury she couldn’t afford, not when his empire hung in the balance.

The truth of her own feelings pressed against her ribcage, threatening to spill over. She loved him. The realization wasn’t new, but acknowledging it now felt like swallowing broken glass. Georgia pressed her palm flat against her sternum, willing the pressure to ease. She wouldn’t cry. She couldn’t afford that weakness, not when she needed every ounce of strength to walk away.

Georgia’s fingers tightened on the doorknob to Adrian’s bedroom, her heart thundering against her ribs. The metal felt ice-cold against her palm, or maybe that was just the chill spreading through her body. Memories flooded her mind. His hands on her skin, his breath against her neck, the way he’d made her feel owned, cherished, real.

She pushed the door open. Shadows stretched across the floor, broken only by the city lights filtering through the windows. The bed loomed to her right, sheets pulled tight with military precision.

Adrian stood at the window, a dark silhouette against the glittering skyline. His shoulders held that familiar tension, the kind that spoke of deals and threats and power plays she’d never fully understand. He didn’t turn at her entrance.

Georgia’s feet carried her forward before she could stop herself. The carpet muffled her steps, but she knew he heard her approach. He always did. Her pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out the whisper of her clothes, the soft sound of her breathing.

The space between them shrank with each step. The familiar scent of his cologne wrapped around her, making her heart clench. She stopped just behind him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, but not quite touching.

Georgia’s breath caught as Adrian turned. Something flickered across his face—a shadow of confusion, perhaps regret, but she couldn’t let herself analyze it. Her fingers found his arms, sliding up to his shoulders, memorizing the solid warmth of him. The fabric of his shirt felt crisp beneath her touch, familiar in a way that made her chest ache.

“Adrian.” His name fell from her lips, barely a whisper.

She stepped closer, hands trailing over his chest. The steady thud of his heart beneath her palm threatened to shatter her careful composure. Her fingers curled into his shirt, drawing him toward her, needing him closer.

Her lips found his neck, tasting his skin, following the sharp line of his jaw. The rough scratch of stubble against her mouth grounded her in the moment, in the reality of him. She breathed him in, cologne and power and everything she’d grown to crave.

Taking his hands, she guided them to her waist. His grip tightened instinctively, fingers pressing into her through the thin fabric of her skirt. The possessive weight of his touch made her skin burn, reminded her of all the times he’d claimed her, marked her as his.

She lifted her face to his, capturing his mouth with fierce desperation. Every unspoken word, every buried truth poured into that kiss. Her lips moved against his, demanding, taking, giving everything she couldn’t say.

Her body pressed flush against his chest, deliberate in every point of contact. The solid wall of him surrounded her, encompassed her world until nothing existed beyond the heat of his skin and the taste of his mouth.

Adrian’s hands slid beneath her blouse, his touch searing as his palms molded to her breasts, fingers tracing her curves like he was reminding her who she belonged to. In one fluid motion, he pushed the fabric up and over her head, dropping it to the floor. Georgia shivered, skin prickling at the familiar path of his fingers. Each caress burned itself into her memory, the deliberate pressure of his fingertips, the way his hands spanned her waist. Her skirt slid down her hips, whispering to the floor in a soft, fluid motion, pooling at her feet.

Her fingers found the buttons of his shirt, working them free. The cotton parted beneath her touch, revealing warm skin and solid muscle. She traced the planes of his chest, following the map she’d learned. His shirt joined her clothes on the floor as her hands slid over his shoulders, down the strong line of his back.

Georgia pressed closer, drinking in the heat of skin against skin. Her nails scraped lightly along his spine, drawing him to her. She needed more—more contact, more pressure, more of him surrounding her. His muscles flexed beneath her palms as she explored, recommitting every dip and curve to memory.

Adrian’s grip tightened on her thighs. In one fluid motion, he lifted her, carrying her to the bed. The sheets felt cool against her back as he laid her down, his body covering hers. The familiar weight of him pressed her into the mattress, grounding her in the moment.

She arched into his touch, letting instinct guide her movements. Her hands mapped his shoulders, his back, anywhere she could reach. A sharp inhale escaped him when she nipped at his throat. His fingers dug into her hips, and she chased that reaction, wanting to believe that she affected him just as deeply as he affected her. She wished she wasn’t alone in this overwhelming surge of desire and desperation.

His touch branded her, stoking the flames of longing that had simmered for too long. She craved this—craved him—more than she’d thought possible. The coiled tension in her belly tightened with each flick of his tongue, each dip and curve of his mouth against hers.

A low sound rumbled in his chest, vibrating against her. She shivered in response, her fingers tightening in his hair. His lips trailed down her neck, igniting a trail of fire along her skin. She arched her throat, surrendering herself to the sensations he stirred. His hands skimmed her sides, familiar yet still capable of making her tremble.

His mouth found the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder, and she gasped. Her fingers clenched in his hair, guiding him, urging him on. His tongue swirled, the damp heat of his breath sending shivers down her spine. Her head fell back, baring her throat as pleasure coiled tight. Every rational thought scattered at his touch, leaving her breathless and boneless.

The mattress shifted as he rose above her, his gaze burning into her. His eyes glittered with dark intent, radiating possession, hunger, and something softer that made her chest ache. A muscle flexed in his jaw, the only sign of his restraint.

The force of his gaze sent a tremor through her, raw and consuming. She returned his gaze, unafraid. If this was their last night, she’d brand herself into his memory. Let him carry the marks of her hands, the taste of her mouth, the knowledge that he’d been hers as much as she’d been his.

She hooked one leg around his hip, drawing him closer. He responded with a sharp intake of breath, his eyes darkening. The metallic scrape of his belt buckle cut through the quiet, followed by the soft rustle of fabric as his pants slipped down.

Georgia’s fingers wove through Adrian’s hair, tugging gently, silently urging him closer. His hair was thick and soft between her fingers. A rush of power twisted through her at the way he yielded to her pull, his breath hitching as her other hand guided his mouth to the peak of her breast.

His lips brushed her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. She leaned back, baring herself to him, wanting to give him everything, every touch, every response. His mouth moved over her in slow, decadent sweeps, tracing her nipple with the tip of his tongue. Heat pooled low in her belly, gathering and coiling tighter with each swipe of his tongue, each flicker of his breath.

The bed shifted as Adrian lifted himself above her, his hands settling on her hips. His thumbs brushed the sensitive skin at the curve of her waist, and her breath hitched. She arched into his touch, the emptiness inside her demanding, needing the certainty of his dominance, the temporary illusion of being treasured.

His grip tightened almost imperceptibly, and he lowered his mouth to hers. Georgia kissed him back fiercely, wanting to convey everything she couldn’t bring herself to say. Words felt clumsy, inadequate for what surged between them. But her mouth on his, the taste of him, spoke a language all its own.

A sharp ache settled between her thighs, and she shifted, needing more pressure, more friction. The slide of his lips against hers, the abrasive drag of his jaw only intensified the craving that clawed at her from the inside.

Georgia’s fingers tightened in his hair, her body urging him to consume her, possess her, if only for one more night. She twined her legs with his, locking him against her, sealing his weight around her.

His hands molded to the curve of her, strong and relentless. Her own hands slid down his back, a silent invitation to take, to claim, to fill the endless void within her.

She tilted her hips, silently pleading for him, the frantic beat of her heart echoing through her veins. Breath shuddered through her, carrying the weight of all the confessions she held back, the admission that she’d fallen for him—body and soul.

And then he was entering her, joining their bodies with a slow, deliberate thrust. Georgia’s eyes widened as sensation flooded her. Her fingers bit into his shoulders, every muscle tensing as she adjusted to the intimate invasion.

His gaze locked with hers, searching for a moment, before he began to move. Each thrust built the tension coiled inside her, tighter and tighter, until she felt like she was burning from the inside out. His rhythm was relentless, the drag of his skin against hers almost painful in its pleasure. She met his movements, her breath coming in short gasps as she rose to meet each thrust, urging him on.

The pressure built, tightening like a coil deep in her core. She dug her heels into the mattress, clawing at his back, gasping, feeling the slick slide of sweat between them. The world narrowed to the heat of his body, the sound of their harsh breathing, the rough slide of skin.

Pleasure cracked like a lightning strike, shattering her with its intensity. Georgia cried out, fingers digging into his shoulders as she arched off the bed. His name tore from her lips as she shattered, her body convulsing around him.

He followed, his own release washing over him with a hoarse, broken sound. His body tensed above hers, every muscle corded with effort as he buried himself deep, claiming her.

They lay together until gray light crept through the windows, painting Adrian’s bedroom in muted shades of dawn. Georgia’s fingers traced idle patterns across his chest, following the steady rise and fall of his breathing. His skin felt warm beneath her touch, alive with a vitality that made her chest tight.

She mapped the planes of his body, committing every detail to memory: the slight dip between his ribs, the firm curve of muscle, the scattered marks her mouth had left hours before. Her fingertips ghosted over a small scar near his collarbone, wondering at its origin, at all the stories of him she’d never know.

Adrian’s face looked different in sleep, the sharp edges of control softened. His dark lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, his mouth relaxed from its usual stern line. Georgia pressed her lips to his shoulder, gentle enough not to wake him. The salt-warm taste of his skin made her throat close up.

She kept her breathing slow, fighting against the tremor that threatened to overtake her body. Each inhale felt like swallowing glass, but she didn’t dare let the sob building in her chest escape. If he woke now, he’d see right through her careful mask. He’d read the truth in her eyes, in the way her hands shook as they traced his skin.

The morning light grew stronger, casting golden highlights across his face. Georgia watched him sleep, memorizing the peaceful expression she’d never see again. Her heart cracked with each breath, but she forced herself to remain still, to savor these last precious moments where she could pretend he was truly hers.