The Billionaire’s Contract: Revenge On My Ex

The rain was coming down in sheets, gray and relentless. Hester Irwin stood outside the Marriage Bureau, shivering in her trench coat. She had been waiting for two hours, based on a tip from a paparazzi forum she monitored. Isham Rhodes was scheduled for a meeting with the City Clerk at 9:00 AM. Twenty-four hours earlier, she hadn't even known his schedule. Twenty-four hours earlier, her life had still been a beautiful, fragile lie.

That lie had shattered the moment the key turned in the lock with a silence that felt heavier than a scream. Hester had pushed the door to the penthouse open, her movements automatic, her mind still lingering on the photoshoot that had been cancelled only twenty minutes ago. The studio lights had blown a fuse, sending everyone home early. It was a mundane reason for a life-altering afternoon.

She stepped into the foyer. The air inside the apartment was stagnant, smelling faintly of lemon polish and something else-something sweeter, cloying. Her eyes dropped to the floor. A trail of fabric disrupted the pristine marble hallway.

First, a tie. Navy blue silk. Haywood's favorite.

Three steps later, a shoe. A red-soled stiletto that didn't belong to her.

Hester stopped. Her breath hitched in her throat, a sharp, physical pain striking the center of her chest. She recognized that shoe. She had bought the pair last week as a birthday gift for Brandy Craig, the agency's rising star, the girl Hester had mentored, the girl who called her "big sister."

Hester's stomach turned over, a cold wave of nausea rolling through her gut. She forced her legs to move, stepping over the discarded red Valentino dress that lay in a heap near the entrance to the living room. The silence of the apartment was no longer empty; it was vibrating with low, muffled sounds coming from the master bedroom.

The door was ajar. Just an inch.

Hester approached it, her bare feet making no sound on the rug. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, irregular rhythm that made her fingertips numb. She didn't want to look. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to run, to leave, to pretend she had never come home early. But she couldn't.

She pushed her phone through the crack in the door.

The camera lens adjusted to the dim light. On the screen, the betrayal was absolute. Haywood Mckee was there, tangled in the sheets of the bed Hester had picked out six months ago. Brandy was beneath him, her head thrown back, her laughter mixing with a moan that sounded like a knife scraping against bone.

"Haywood," Brandy sighed, her voice thick. "What about Hester?"

"Forget her," Haywood groaned, his face buried in Brandy's neck. "She's yesterday's news. We're the future, baby."

Hester's thumb trembled as she held the record button. Ten seconds. That was all she took. She pulled the phone back, her hand shaking so violently she almost dropped it. The nausea was overwhelming now, acid