My Life in a Contract Marriage: Rescued by a Hot Billionaire
Beauty was the Ashford family law, and Freya Sinclair was beauty come to life—until an accident stole that title from her. Sold to the Ashfords for a bag of chips, Freya was forced into a marriage with their heir, Alexander Ashford, on her 18th birthday. Unloved and unwanted because of a scar, she endured years of rejection. Determined to reclaim her life, Freya takes a stand, only to be cast out by the family that never wanted her. Homeless and disowned, she crosses paths with Sylus Thorn, a world-renowned fashion designer and enigmatic billionaire. Just when Freya believes she can start over, Alexander comes back to claim the wife he once discarded. “Do you have anything to say regarding your stepsisters’ affair with your husband?” Just when I thought I had no choice but to respond, a strong hand gripped my arm, pulling me out of the crowd. Startled, I looked up to see a tall, muscular man guiding me away with ease, his presence shielding me from the cameras and the reporters’ relentless questions. We reached a black car parked at the edge of the lot, and relief flooded through me. “Mr. Thorn,” I whispered, recognizing his familiar face. “Get in,” Sylus commanded, his voice calm but firm. Without hesitation, I climbed into the car, my heart racing from more than just the escape. Will Freya save her marriage to Alexander, or will she be swept off her feet by the mysterious Sylus Thorn? Join the MLCM Readers https://discord.gg/gEq2mCr574
No one of Importance…John Doe?
Jordan smiled at the assembled teams. "You have three days. Make them count."
As the crowd began to disperse, I glanced at my so-called team, steeling myself for the challenge ahead. Maeve was already shooting daggers at me with her eyes, and Tatiana looked as though she'd rather be anywhere else but here. My hand throbbed relentlessly, a painful reminder of how unprepared I was for what lay ahead.
"This is going to be hell," I muttered under my breath.
I decided to head back to my accommodation. The competition grounds were suffocating, and I needed to be alone, away from the judgmental glares and whispered words that followed me like a shadow.
The evening air was crisp, and the path to the small guesthouse I was staying in was lined with towering oak trees, their leaves swaying gently in the breeze. It was quiet here, the faint hum of the city a distant echo.