He Begs Now, But I've Become The Prize He Couldn't Afford To Lose

By nine in the evening, sitting at the vanity, Corinne Nash was staring at a trending post on her phone, her chest tightening with every word.

"The CEO of Prime Group personally showed up at the airport to pick up his former tutor—after years of keeping every woman at arm's length, she was the only one he treated with such quiet tenderness."

In the photo, Ryland Becker, a man who was usually impossible to read, looked uncharacteristically gentle. Nestled close against his side, Jessica Walker wore an ivory dress and cradled an extravagant bouquet of roses.

Years ago, Jessica had been Ryland's high school tutor, only one year older than him.

At the time, Ryland had been infamous as a reckless troublemaker, the kind of son who gave his family one headache after another.

Yet somehow, in only a few short months, Jessica had turned that unruly boy inside out, molding him into a flawless heir everyone admired.

It was only natural for the two to develop feelings for each other. Whispers claimed the two had secretly married long ago, their silence merely a courtesy to Jessica's ongoing studies.

In reality, three years earlier, Corinne had accidentally cornered Ryland into signing a marriage contract—one that bound them together for exactly three years.

With a full month still remaining on that agreement, he had already hurried to bring Jessica back, unwilling to wait even those final days.

Fingers curled so tightly at Corinne's side that her nails carved deep crescents into her palm, the sting barely registering before she abruptly slipped off the wedding ring she had never once removed and tossed it into the trash.

Just then, the bedroom door burst open. A cool rush of night air swept inside, laced with the heady aroma of red wine. A faint haze of alcohol dimmed Ryland's pale eyes. As he crossed the room with long, unsteady strides, he loosened his tie and, without a second glance, grabbed her phone and tossed it to the bed.

"Honey, don't always keep your focus on your phone." A husky murmur brushed along her neck, his breath warm against her skin. "Look at me more, will you?"

Before she could react, he pulled her into his chest, his fingers sliding beneath the thin fabric of her nightdress with an ease that spoke of habit.

A faint trace of sandalwood lingered on him—yet beneath it, another fragrance clung stubbornly, unmistakably not her own.

Revulsion flared in her chest, and she shoved him back without hesitation. "I just got out of the shower—don't touch me."

Ignoring her resistance, he caught her wrist and forced her backward against the vanity, the hard edge pressing into her spine as he dragged her hand down toward his belt.

"Don't worry. We can have a bath together once we finish," he murmured.

Behind closed doors, the same Ryland who seemed distant and untouchable in public revealed a far more reckless, unrestrained side of himself.

Coming from a man with a face