The Contract Bride of Westwood

The ballroom shimmered with gold and silver, every inch of it speaking luxury, elegance, and centuries of old money. Crystal chandeliers hung like stars above polished floors, and music—soft, graceful—echoed off the high ceilings.

Melanie had never seen anything like it.

She clutched the clutch in her hand tightly, the beading on her champagne gown glinting under the light as she stepped out of the car beside Leonard. His hand found the small of her back, guiding her like they'd done this a hundred times.

They hadn't.

Her nerves were a quiet storm in her chest, but Leo? He looked calm. Controlled. Dangerous in a tailored black tux that matched his quiet power.

"Smile a little," he said in a low voice as they approached the red carpet. "But not too much. You don't want them thinking you're desperate to be here."

She gave a dry laugh. "Is that what you're doing? Playing hard to get with the media?"

"I'm always hard to get," he muttered without missing a beat.

The cameras flashed wildly. Some reporters tried to call out questions—"Mr. Westwood! Who's the lucky lady?"—but none of them got close. Security was tight, and Leo barely paused. Just one glance toward the cameras and a sharp nod.

He was used to this. Melanie was not.

She kept her chin up and followed his lead as they stepped into the ballroom.

The music was louder inside, the lights softer. People milled about in gowns and tuxedos that screamed old money. Servers in white gloves passed around trays of champagne. But Melanie felt Leo's energy change the moment they entered. His hand didn't leave her back.

And he didn't smile.

"You okay?" she asked in a whisper.

"Fine," he said. But his eyes were moving. Watching. Searching.

Melanie noticed his jaw tightening as they passed a small group of older businessmen. She could feel the tension in his body as clearly as if it were her own.

"Is there someone here you didn't expect?" she asked again.

Leo paused. "Just… stay close to me tonight. Don't talk to anyone alone."

That caught her attention.

He was serious.

"Leo—"

"Just do it," he said, voice low.

She didn't argue.

Not even when he led her through the crowd like a soldier maneuvering a battlefield.

She turned to say something—thank you, maybe—but was interrupted by a shadow looming in front of them.

Aaron.

"Leonard," he said smoothly. "You brought her. How... domestic of you."

Leo didn't blink. "Leave."

Aaron smiled, unbothered. "Just wanted to meet your beautiful bride again."

He reached for Melanie's hand, but Leo shifted slightly. Just enough.

Aaron's fingers froze in the air.

The warning was clear.

Melanie's breath caught.

Aaron lowered his hand and gave a lazy smile. "You're awfully possessive. Afraid she'll run off if someone blinks at her too long?"

Leo's expression didn't change. "Touch her, and I'll bury you under this building."

Aaron gave a low chuckle. "Noted."

He turned to Melanie, eyes sharp. "Enjoy the evening, Mrs. Westwood. You'll find out soon enough what being tied to a man like him really means."

And then he melted back into the crowd like smoke.

Melanie turned to Leo, heart pounding. "Is he always like that?"

Leo didn't answer immediately. His jaw was tight.

"Stay by my side tonight," he said finally, voice low. "Don't wander off. Not even for a minute."

***

Across the ballroom, in the shadows near one of the ornate archways, a figure stood watching.

She was dressed in a crimson gown that dipped dangerously low at the back. Her lips were painted scarlet, and a velvet mask covered the upper half of her face. She didn't mingle. Didn't drink. She simply watched.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" a man beside her asked. He wore a dark suit, no tie, face partially hidden in shadow.

The woman didn't respond. Her eyes were fixed on Leonard.

He had just looked up.

And for one agonizing second—he froze.

Like he'd seen a ghost.

The man beside her chuckled darkly. "Still got that effect on him, huh?"

She didn't answer.

Instead, she took a slow sip from her glass and turned away, her heels echoing faintly against the marble as she disappeared deeper into the gala.

"Let the game begin," the man muttered to himself.

Melanie hadn't noticed at first. But when Leo's grip on her arm suddenly tightened, she turned to him.

He was staring. His eyes sharp. Cold.

"What is it?" she asked.

He didn't answer.

Melanie followed his gaze, but saw nothing. Just glittering gowns, laughing elites, a sea of strangers.

"Leo?"

His jaw moved slightly. "Nothing. I just thought—"

He shook his head, cutting himself off.

"Come," he said.

They moved toward one of the reserved tables, and Melanie felt his hand return to the small of her back like it was instinct. Protective. Possessive. But there was a flicker in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

Fear?

No—Leo Westwood didn't do fear.

But he did silence. And right now, he was wearing it like armor.

He offered her a glass of champagne, which she accepted quietly.

"You're not drinking?" she asked, noticing his untouched glass.

"I don't drink at these things."

Melanie's eyes scanned the ballroom. "So… when do we get to dance?"

Leo turned to her, eyes narrowing slightly. "Is that something you want to do?"

She blinked. "I… I just thought that's what couples do at galas."

"We're not most couples."

"No," she said, offering him a small, genuine smile. "We're not."

Something flickered in his expression. But before he could say anything more, a server leaned down and whispered something in his ear.

Leo stood immediately.

"Stay here," he said to her. "I'll be back in a minute."

"Leo—"

"Please."

She sat down, unsure, watching him weave through the crowd. He disappeared into the hallway beyond the ballroom.

Melanie exhaled and turned to sip her drink. It felt like something was building—something just beneath the surface. She didn't know what it was, but it made the hairs on her neck stand up.

---

Leo stood alone in the hallway, near the back exit.

He was breathing hard.

It couldn't be her.

It wasn't her.

The woman he'd seen across the ballroom—the red dress, the hair, the presence—it had felt like deja vu in the cruelest form.

But no. She was gone.

Buried.

His past.

And Melanie… she was not her.

She was real. Present. Alive.

But damn it, the moment he saw that silhouette—he'd felt like he was seventeen again, heart broken and rage rotting his insides.

And then—

"She shouldn't be here," a deep voice said behind him.

Leo spun around—

But the hallway was empty.

Few minutes later, he was about to turn back into the ballroom—

When he saw her.