The Contract Bride of Westwood

Adrian's POV 

Adrian's eyes were glued to the screen, unable to look away.

LEONARD WESTWOOD SECRETLY MARRIED — MYSTERY WOMAN REVEALED

A photo was embedded below — Leonard stepping out of a luxury car, his hand resting lightly on her waist. Her. Melanie. Her hair curled softly around her face, her dress hugging her curves, elegant in its simplicity. She looked like a woman who had the world at her feet.

And not just any world — his world.

Adrian's world tilted, rage bubbling up beneath the surface. Melanie? With Leonard Westwood?

He read the article again, slower this time, forcing himself to absorb every brutal word. No public ceremony. No guest list. No engagement. Just a private, quietly registered marriage that sent the city's media into a frenzy the moment it leaked.

He barely registered Rose's voice calling from the other room. The clink of glasses from the hallway. His phone buzzed with texts from his best buddy Jackson.

 "Isn't this the same girl you were engaged to?"

"She upgraded fast. Good for her."

Good for her?

He threw the phone across the table, jaw clenched so tightly it ached. This couldn't be happening. Melanie was supposed to be devastated. Hiding. Forgotten. The plan was simple — walk away, let her crumble. Marry Rose, secure the family ties, the money, the name.

He had done everything right.

But now, she wasn't ruined. She wasn't broken. She was… thriving.

Leonard wasn't just powerful — he was untouchable. A name that could make or break anyone in this city. And now he had Melanie by his side, wearing his name like she was born for it.

And Adrian… was seething.

"I gave up everything for this," he muttered under his breath. "And she walks into a better life without even trying?"

Rose's voice called again, chipper, oblivious. "Adrian? You coming? They're waiting!"

He didn't respond. His hands curled into fists. Melanie had moved on — and worse, she had moved up.

That wasn't part of the plan.

***

Melanie's POV... Westwood Manor 

Melanie held the thick envelope in her hand, her heart hammering as she tore it open. She hadn't expected a response so quickly — not after mailing in her old portfolio with trembling fingers and a sliver of fading hope.

 Dear Miss Melanie Stone,

We are pleased to offer you admission into the Harrington Institute of Fashion & Design...

Her eyes widened. The world spun for a moment before she let out a sharp gasp and pressed the letter to her chest. Harrington. The institute she had once dreamed of, long before she learned to hide her ambitions behind polite smiles and silence. Before Rose started applying. Before her parents told her to "grow up" and stop chasing fantasies.

And now it was real.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she stood frozen, soaking in every syllable on the page. The same dream she buried years ago was back — and it had a heartbeat again.

She turned and rushed out of the room, her slippers skimming over polished floors. "Leonard?" she called, still clutching the letter like it might vanish if she let go.

"In the study," came his distant voice.

She followed the sound and pushed the door open. He sat behind his desk, flipping through files with his usual cool indifference, sleeves rolled, posture crisp — an image of control.

She held out the letter like a child with a prize. "I got in. Harrington. They accepted me."

His eyes lifted slowly. For a moment, something flickered behind them — something unspoken. He stood and walked around the desk, measured and calm.

"I know," he said simply.

Melanie blinked. "You… know?"

"I arranged it," he replied, walking to the side table to pour himself a glass of water. "Pulled a few strings."

Her breath caught. "You got me in?"

He didn't meet her eyes. "You wanted it."

Silence stretched between them. Gratitude rose in her throat, but so did something else — something uncertain.

"But… why?" she asked softly. "Why would you do this for me?"

He looked at her then, gaze unreadable. "Because you gave up enough already. It's time you took something back."

That answer didn't settle her. It unraveled her more.

"I don't know if I belong there," she whispered.

"You do," he said — low, certain, final.

And just like that, he turned away again, disappearing into the quiet shadows of his office, leaving her in the doorway — clutching a dream she hadn't dared believe could be hers again.

***

Later That Night 

The bedroom was still, the lights dimmed, and outside the large window, moonlight spilled over the garden like silver paint. Melanie stood in silence, staring out, arms wrapped around herself.

The letter sat on the nightstand, untouched since she placed it there.

She should've been elated. Ecstatic. Accepted into one of the most prestigious design schools in the country, her dream finally coming true. But instead, a quiet ache stirred inside her.

Leonard had done something no one had ever done before — he believed in her. Without conditions. Without expecting anything in return. At least… she thought so.

Was this really just part of the contract? Or was it something more?

She didn't know anymore. And that scared her more than anything.

Her phone buzzed. She glanced at it, assuming it was the institute following up.

But the number was hidden.

No name. No ID.

Just a message:

> You were never meant to be his. Keep pretending, and the contract won't be your only secret exposed.

She froze.

Her fingers trembled as she lowered the phone, a chill crawling down her spine. Her breath hitched. Every instinct screamed that something was wrong.

Who sent this?

Was it Adrian?

Rose?

Someone else?

She reread the message. The contract. Whoever it was, they knew. Someone out there knew the truth — and they wanted her scared.

Her heartbeat thudded in her ears as she backed away from the window.

And far beyond the garden, in the thick trees bordering the estate, a faint glint of metal caught the moonlight.

A lens. Watching. Waiting.

Unbeknownst to Leonard and Melanie… something dark had already found its way into their perfect little lie.