Rejecting The Billionaire's Contract Marriage

Carra Roach smoothed the lapels of Vance Sterling's custom Armani suit. Her fingers brushed over the expensive fabric, making sure not a single speck of dust ruined his perfect image.

The backstage hallway of the TCL Chinese Theatre smelled of hairspray and nervous sweat.

Vance looked down at her. He flashed that signature, million-dollar smile that had plastered him across every billboard in Los Angeles.

"I'll make this quick," Vance murmured, leaning in to kiss her forehead. "Steak and wine at the apartment after this. Just you and me."

"Go knock them dead," Carra said, stepping back.

Two massive security guards pushed open the double doors. The deafening roar of fans and the blinding flash of cameras instantly flooded the dim hallway. Vance turned and walked into the light, leaving Carra in the shadows.

She exhaled a long breath. Her shoulders dropped. She pulled out her tablet, her eyes scanning the list of media outlets waiting on the red carpet. She was in full publicist mode.

Then, the temperature in the hallway seemed to drop.

A sharp, icy scent of cedarwood cologne hit her senses. It was expensive. Dominating.

Carra turned around, the heavy air pressing against her lungs. She bumped into a solid, impeccably tailored chest. Jory Elliott had silently closed the distance while she was distracted by her tablet, his towering frame casting a long, broad shadow that swallowed her own.

She snapped her head up. Her breath hitched. She met a pair of eyes so dark and dead they made her chest tight.

He didn't say hello. He didn't introduce himself.

Jory raised his hand and shoved an unlocked black smartphone directly into her line of sight. The screen was glaringly bright.

Carra blinked against the glare.

It was a high-definition photo. Vance Sterling. He was standing on the balcony of the Beverly Hills Hotel, his hands tangled in the hair of a blonde woman. Their mouths were crushed together.

Carra's brain flatlined.

Her fingers went numb. The tablet slipped from her grasp, plummeting toward the marble floor.

Jory's hand shot out. He caught the heavy tablet inches from the ground, silencing the crash that would have alerted the front desk.

Carra stumbled backward. Her back hit the cold wall.

"This is AI," Carra whispered, her voice shaking violently. "You're from a rival agency. You faked this to ruin his premiere."

Jory let out a low, cruel sound that barely qualified as a laugh. He swiped his thumb across the screen.

The next photo showed Vance and the blonde walking away, entering a private venue.

Carra stopped breathing. There, on the back of Vance's neck, was the tiny, jagged crown tattoo. He had gotten it three years ago. She had held his hand while the needle inked his skin.

The fake AI excuse crumbled into dust.

"The Viper Room. West Hollywood," Jory said. His voice was a deep, gravelly baritone that vibrated in the narrow space. "That is where they are meeting tonight."

Carra turned her head