The Mafia and His Angel

THREE-YEARS CONTRACT MARRIAGE WITH THE HOT BILLIONAIRE

Romance

4.5

"Sign the contract, or lose everything." I stared at the papers that would seal my fate-a three-year marriage to Julian Blackwood, the ruthless billionaire they call the Ice King. My family didn't ask. They demanded. My father's company was drowning, my stepsister's engagement had exploded, and I was the replacement bride they could sacrifice. Just another transaction. Julian made it clear on our wedding day: "Don't expect affection. Don't expect companionship. Certainly don't expect love." He refused to kiss me at the altar. He gave me a bedroom down the hall and told me to stay out of his way. I was Mrs. Blackwood in name only-a contract, a convenience, a means to an end. I accepted it. I had survived twelve years of abuse in my own home. I could survive three years of indifference in his. But then Nate, Julian's best friend, showed me kindness, and suddenly my cold husband became possessive. When my sister attacked me, he became protective. Now the man who promised me nothing is fighting his own father to keep me. The marriage that was supposed to be fake is becoming terrifyingly real and the secrets about my mother's death are threatening to destroy everything. They said Julian Blackwood destroys everything he touches. What they didn't tell me... is that sometimes destruction is exactly what you need to be reborn. With a pregnancy involved, how was I going to end this three-year marriage peacefully?

Chapter 1 The Invisible Daughter

Lena.

I refilled the champagne glasses carefully, weaving through clusters of glittering guests who looked through me rather than at me. The black dress I wore, the same one I'd worn to every family event for the past three years had a small tear at the hem that no one had noticed. No one ever noticed.

"More champagne here," a woman in diamonds called out, snapping her fingers without bothering to look at my face.

I moved to her, my footsteps silent on the marble floor of the Carter mansion's ballroom. Cassie's engagement party was in full swing, two hundred guests celebrating my stepsister's upcoming marriage to Liam Whitley, heir to a pharmaceutical fortune. A string quartet played in the corner. The air smelled of expensive perfume and imported flowers.

I belonged to none of it.

But in exactly seven days, none of this would matter anymore.

Seven days until I had enough money saved. Seven days until my interview at the marketing firm in Boston. Seven days until I could disappear from this house and never look back.

I touched the envelope hidden in my bra-my mother's death certificate, the one document I would need to access the small trust fund she had left me. The lawyer's appointment was scheduled for Monday morning. After three years of hiding money in my mattress, working secret jobs Bridget didn't know about, I finally had enough for a security deposit and first month's rent on a tiny studio apartment five hours away.

Freedom was seven days away.

"The hors d'oeuvres are running low on the west table." Bridget's sharp voice cut through my thoughts. My stepmother appeared at my elbow, her perfectly painted lips pressed into a thin line. "Were you planning to let our guests starve?"

"I'll refill them now," I said quietly.

"You should have done it ten minutes ago." Her manicured nails dug into my arm. "Must I do everything myself? Go. And try not to look so pathetic. You're embarrassing us."

Just seven more days, I reminded myself. Seven more days of this, then I'd never have to hear her voice again.

I hurried toward the kitchen, my cheeks burning. Behind me, I heard Bridget's laugh as she greeted another guest. The transformation was instant, like flipping a switch.

In the kitchen, I loaded canapés onto a silver tray, my hands moving automatically. The catering staff gave me sympathetic looks but said nothing. They knew better than to interfere in family matters.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I checked it quickly, it as a text from Landon, my manager at the coffee shop where I worked early mornings before anyone in this house woke up.

"Your last paycheck is ready. $340. That puts you at your goal, right?"

My heart soared. I didn't need to wait seven more days. I had enough now. I could leave tomorrow if I wanted to.

I typed back quickly: "Yes. Thank you for everything."

"Good luck in Boston. You deserve better than this."

I deleted the conversation and pocketed my phone, my hands shaking with suppressed excitement. Tomorrow. I could leave tomorrow, right after the lawyer's appointment. I had already packed a small bag and hidden it in the garden shed. I had bus tickets purchased under a fake name. I had...

"Lena!" Cassie's voice shattered my planning. "Come here for a second."

I returned to the ballroom, a tray balanced in my hands. Cassie stood at the center of a group of her friends, her engagement ring catching the light with every dramatic gesture. She looked beautiful in her rose-gold gown, her blonde hair swept into an elegant updo, her laugh was musical and confident.

Everything I wasn't. Everything I had stopped trying to be.

"I just wanted to introduce you to everyone," Cassie said sweetly as I approached. "This is my stepsister, Lena. She's been so helpful tonight, playing servant." She leaned closer, as if sharing a secret. "She really commits to the role, doesn't she?"

Her friends tittered. I stood frozen, the familiar burn of humiliation spreading through my chest.

Tomorrow, I reminded myself. Just get through tonight.

"Actually, I think she enjoys it," one of them said. "Some people just know their place."

Cassie reached for a glass of wine from a passing waiter. She turned back to me, smiling. "Oh, how clumsy of me!"

The red wine hit my dress in a splash of burgundy, soaking through the fabric. The wine was cold against my skin, and for a moment, I felt the envelope in my bra getting damp. Panic shot through me, if the death certificate was ruined, I would have to order another one, which would take weeks.

I set down the tray with shaking hands and hurried toward the bathroom, Cassie's laughter following me down the hall. In the bathroom, I carefully extracted the envelope. The certificate was fine, protected by the envelope's thick paper. Relief flooded through me.

I looked at my reflection: wine-stained, exhausted, invisible. Tomorrow, this version of Lena Carter would cease to exist.

I slipped out the side door into the garden, needing air, needing to see the one place in this house that still felt like home. My mother had planted these roses herself, back when she was alive, back when this house held warmth and laughter. I had hidden my escape bag behind the largest rose bush, wrapped in plastic.

I knelt beside it now, checking to make sure it was still there. Everything was intact-clothes, documents, the small amount of jewelry my mother had left me that Bridget didn't know about.

"I'm leaving tomorrow, Mom," I whispered to the roses. "I'm finally getting out."

A crash from inside the house shattered the moment. Then shouting, loud enough to carry through the walls.

My escape would have to wait a few more hours. I stood, brushing dirt from my ruined dress, and returned to find chaos.

A crash from inside the house shattered the quiet. Then shouting, loud enough to carry through the walls. I stood, brushing dirt from my ruined dress.

When I returned to the ballroom, it was chaotic. Cassie stood in the center of the room, her face blotchy with tears, while Liam Whitley faced her with crossed arms.

"I'm done," he said loud enough for everyone to hear. "I can't marry someone so spoiled, so entitled. My family won't allow it anyway, your father's company is hemorrhaging money. This engagement is over."

He pulled the ring from his pocket...Cassie must have thrown it at him and set it on a nearby table. Then he walked out.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Cassie's scream pierced the air. She grabbed the nearest vase and hurled it at the wall, where it shattered into a thousand pieces. "How dare he! How dare he embarrass me like this!"

Guests began making hurried exits, murmuring apologies and excuses. Within minutes, the ballroom had emptied except for family and staff.

Bridget's hand connected with my cheek before I saw it coming. The slap echoed through the nearly empty room.

"This is your fault," she hissed. "Looking like trash in front of our guests, bringing bad luck to this family. You've embarrassed us for the last time."

I pressed my hand to my stinging cheek but said nothing. My father stood in the corner, avoiding my eyes.

"Get out of my sight," Bridget said. "And clean up this mess before you go to bed."

I spent the next two hours picking up broken glass and discarded napkins while the caterers packed up around me. My father and Bridget had disappeared into his study. I could hear their voices, through the heavy door.

By the time I finished cleaning, it was past midnight. I was heading toward the stairs when my father's voice stopped me cold.

"The company is failing. We'll be bankrupt within six months."

I froze outside his study door, my heart pounding.

"Then we need the Blackwood deal," Bridget said. "It's our only option."

"Julian Blackwood wants a marriage alliance. His father insisted on it."

"Then we give them a bride."

No. No, no, no.

"Cassie's engagement just ended publicly," my father said. "The Blackwoods won't want damaged goods."

"They've never met Cassie in person. They've only seen photos. We'll give them Lena instead."

The trash bag slipped from my hands.

"Lena?" My father sounded uncertain.

THREE-YEARS CONTRACT MARRIAGE WITH THE HOT BILLIONAIRE

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