Bound By Contract To The Secret Tycoon

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Chloe Price squeezed the frayed canvas strap of her tote bag. The early spring wind in Pittsburgh carried a biting chill that cut straight through her cheap trench coat. Her stomach churned, a heavy block of nausea settling just below her ribs. She stared at the concrete steps of City Hall. This contract marriage—an agreement her late grandfather had sealed with the Montgomery over fifty years ago, when both men were still alive and she was not yet born—felt like standing on the edge of a cliff.

Her grandfather had believed in old-world promises. The two families had been business partners once, and the betrothal was meant to bind their bloodlines. But that was another era. Chloe had never even met Harrison Montgomery until two weeks ago, when a lawyer showed up at her door with a copy of the agreement and a single option: marry the Montgomery heir, or lose the inheritance her grandfather had left to her mother.

She had chosen the marriage. Not because she wanted to, but because she couldn't bear to lose what should have been hers.

A black sedan pulled up to the curb. It had no special markings, just a clean, unassuming Audi. The rear door opened.

Harrison Montgomery stepped out. He wore a dark suit with no visible logo, but the fabric draped over his broad shoulders with a precision that made Chloe take a half-step back. He stood nearly six foot three. The sheer physical space he occupied made her chest feel tight.

He walked up to her. His gaze dropped to her nose, which was flushed red from the cold. A muscle in his jaw twitched, but his expression remained entirely flat.

He held out a paper cup. The heat radiating from the cardboard sleeve seeped into the freezing air.

"Take it," he said.

Chloe reached for the coffee. Her frozen fingertips brushed against his knuckles. A sharp jolt shot up her arm. She yanked her hand back instantly.

The sudden movement caused the coffee to slosh over the plastic lid. A single, scalding drop landed on the back of her hand.

"Ah," she gasped, her shoulders jerking up.

Harrison frowned. He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a pristine white handkerchief. Without asking for permission, he pressed the cotton square directly onto her skin.

Chloe's heart skipped a beat. She tried to pull her wrist away, but his large hand clamped down on her forearm. His grip was immovable, heavy and warm.

He wiped the coffee stain away. He folded the handkerchief, shoved it back into his pocket, and dropped his hand.

Chloe looked up at him, her throat tight. "Harrison," she said quietly, "you don't have to do this."

He tilted his head slightly.

She pressed on, forcing the words out. "It's not the last century anymore. People don't marry because their grandfathers shook hands fifty years ago. You're a free man. You can walk away right now.