The Runaway Heiress's Accidental Contract Marriage

The digital stylus slipped, dragging a harsh red line across the tablet screen.

Annabelle stared at the ruined color palette, her chest tightening as the phone on her desk vibrated violently. The device rattled against the cheap wood, inching closer to the edge. The name flashing on the screen felt like a physical blow to her stomach: Archer Goodman.

She sucked in a sharp breath. Her fingers trembled as she reached out, hovering over the red decline button. She just needed peace. She just needed to finish this freelance comic illustration so she could pay her rent.

Before she could press it, the screen went dark. Three seconds later, the relentless buzzing started again. Archer never stopped. He never took no for an answer. The oppressive weight of his persistence crawled up her spine like ice water.

Annabelle bit her lower lip so hard she tasted copper. She snatched the phone and jabbed the green button.

"What do you want, Archer?" she demanded, her voice tight.

"Is that how you greet the man who loves you, Anna?" Archer's low, mock-gentle voice oozed through the speaker. It made her stomach churn.

"We broke up three months ago," Annabelle said, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the phone. "Stop calling me."

A cold, arrogant scoff echoed on the other end. "You think you can just walk away from me? In this city? You belong to me."

"I don't belong to anyone," she snapped, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Leave me alone."

"Really?" Archer's tone shifted, dropping the fake affection. It became sharp and venomous. Through the speaker, Annabelle heard the distinct, high-pitched ping of an elevator arriving, followed by the heavy clank of a metal gate. It sounded exactly like the faulty elevator in her own building's lobby. Her blood ran cold. "How is that new job at Pixelated Studios going? Oh, wait. You don't have it anymore."

Annabelle's pupils dilated. Her lungs suddenly forgot how to take in air. "What did you do?"

"I told you, no one in this town crosses me," Archer gloated. His family owned half the real estate in the city, and his network was a suffocating web. "You'll come crawling back when you can't afford a slice of bread."

She didn't wait for him to finish. She ripped the phone away from her ear and hit end call. Her chest heaved with rapid, shallow breaths.

Her phone buzzed in her hand. She unlocked it, desperately hoping for a miracle. It was an automated alert from her bank. Account balance: $142.50. The meager number mocked her. There was no magical rescue coming. She was entirely on her own.

The phone slipped from her hand, clattering onto the desk. Annabelle collapsed back into her chair, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. A heavy block of ice settled in her gut. He had actually done it. He had cut off her only lifeline.

She lowered her hands and opened her eyes. Her gaze landed