The Contract Bride of Westwood

Melanie's POV 

The ringtone sliced through the quiet of the room.

Melanie frowned as she picked up her phone from the nightstand. The name on the screen froze her heart.

Adrian.

She didn't get the chance to answer.

Leo was already beside her, his hand swiftly taking the phone from hers. Without a word, he looked at the screen, jaw tightening.

"Why is he calling you?" he asked, voice calm but laced with something dangerous underneath.

"I—I don't know," she said, confused. "I haven't spoken to him since—"

Leo's fingers worked quickly. A tap. Then another. And finally, he locked the screen and dropped the phone gently on the table.

"You don't need trash in your life anymore," he said flatly.

Melanie blinked. "You deleted it?"

"Yes."

"Isn't that..."

"No," he cut her off, firm. "You don't owe him a single second of your time, Melanie. Not after what he did to you."

She didn't argue. Deep down, she knew Leo was right.

But what startled her more was the way he said it — not as someone enforcing a contract, but as someone who genuinely... cared.

---

The next morning, Leo insisted on dropping her off again.

"Your driver could do this, you know," Melanie teased, hugging her sketchpad to her chest as they slid into the sleek black car.

He gave her a sideways glance. "And miss the chance to see your nervous face before class? Not a chance."

Melanie laughed lightly. "I'm not nervous."

"You're bouncing your leg."

She looked down. "It's called excitement."

The car pulled away from the manor gates, humming down the long, tree-lined drive. The morning sun poured in, casting soft golden light over her face. Leo kept glancing sideways, catching the way her fingers fidgeted in her lap, the way her lips moved slightly as she rehearsed what she'd say in class.

Then, as they neared the city center, he cleared his throat.

"There's an event this Friday," he said casually. "A charity gala. Westwood Foundation's annual ballroom."

Melanie turned to him, surprised. "You're going?"

"I have to. And you're coming with me."

She blinked. "Me?"

"You're my wife," he said simply, eyes still on the road. "People will expect you to be there."

Her voice was quiet. "It's… really formal, right?"

"Yes. Gowns. Tuxedos. Boring speeches. Ridiculously overpriced wine."

She smiled despite herself. "Sounds fun."

He glanced at her again, something softer in his tone. "A stylist will come tomorrow. Choose whatever you want."

"You can," he said. "And you will. You deserve to walk into that room like you own it."

Melanie stared at him. He wasn't smiling, but his voice was steady. Fierce. Like he believed in her more than she did herself.

She looked away, trying to hide the flush rising in her cheeks.

"I'll think about it," she murmured.

"Good. And while you're at it," he added with a slight smirk, "maybe practice your ballroom smile. I hear people like their billionaires to look in love."

Melanie rolled her eyes, but the warmth lingered.

As the car slowed in front of Harrington's Institute, he added, "Do well in class."

"Goodbye, Leonard." 

She stepped out of the car a moment later, feeling strangely breathless.

---

Later that morning... Westwood Corp

Leo stepped into his office at Westwood Enterprises. His mind was still stuck on the way she'd smiled before leaving. Genuine. Soft.

He was dangerously close to forgetting this marriage was temporary.

He shut the door behind him—and immediately froze.

Aaron was there.

Sitting in his chair. Drinking his scotch. Legs crossed like he belonged there.

Leo's expression turned to steel. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Aaron sipped, unbothered. "Visiting my dear little brother."

"We are not brothers," Leo snapped, striding forward and yanking the glass from his hand. "Get out."

Aaron stood slowly, brushing imaginary lint off his sleeve. "Relax. I just came to talk."

Leo's jaw clenched. "About what?"

Aaron smirked. "Your wife. She's… intriguing."

Leo's expression darkened. "Stay away from her."

"Why?" Aaron asked, mock-innocent. "Afraid she'll see through you?"

"She knows who I am," Leo said coldly.

Aaron laughed. "Does she? Or does she think you're the hero who saved her life? Tell me, does she know about her?"

Leo's voice was ice. "Don't."

"She looks just like her, Leo. Same eyes. Same laugh. It's pathetic how obvious it is."

Leo's fists clenched. He took a slow, measured breath.

Aaron leaned in, whispering, "She's not real to you. She's a replacement."

And that was it.

Leo's punch landed hard, sending Aaron stumbling into the bookshelf. Papers scattered.

Aaron wiped the blood from his lip and laughed again, even more unhinged. "Hit a nerve?"

"You don't know anything," Leo seethed. "I didn't marry her because she looks like anyone. I married her because I wanted to. Because she makes me feel something."

Aaron's smile faltered. "So you admit it."

Leo stepped closer, eyes sharp. "She's not a ghost, Aaron. She's not a shadow. She's Melanie. And if you come near her again, you'll wish you stayed buried in whatever hole you crawled out of."

Aaron's eyes narrowed, and he backed toward the door.

"Careful, Leo," he said. "Feelings make you weak."

Leo didn't respond.

He didn't have to.

---

Later That Night... Westwood Manor 

Melanie sat cross-legged on the bed, absentmindedly flipping through a design magazine. She wasn't reading. Her mind kept drifting — back to Adrian's call, Aaron's strange warning, and Leo's guarded reaction.

The bathroom door opened, and Leo stepped out, dressed casually, hair damp from a recent shower. He didn't look tired — he looked tense.

He grabbed a file from the nightstand, flipping it open without glancing at her.

She hesitated, watching him. "Is everything okay?"

Leo didn't look up. "We'll be attending that gala tomorrow."

"I remember," she said softly.

A pause. Then his voice dropped — steady and cold.

"You'll stay close to me the entire time."

Melanie blinked. "Is there something I should know?"

His eyes finally lifted to meet hers.

"Aaron will be there."

The air seemed to shift.

Melanie's grip on the magazine tightened slightly.

Leo walked to the dresser, adjusted his watch, then turned toward her, gaze sharp.

"There are people in that room who'll smile while plotting to ruin reputations. Aaron is one of them."

Melanie swallowed. "You think he'll try something?"

"I know he will." He took a few steps toward her. "You're not just attending as a guest, Melanie. You're a target. And I don't want him anywhere near you."

She didn't know what to say. The way he said it — calm, controlled — made her pulse race more than if he'd shouted.

Leo reached the door but paused with his hand on the frame.

"At the gala, don't speak to him. Don't wander."

Then, quieter — colder:

"Stay by my side. That's not a request."

And with that, he left the room, shutting the door with a quiet finality.

Melanie stared after him, heart thudding.

Not because of the warning.

But because she couldn't tell if it was fear he was feeling—

—or possession.