Contract Marriage With My Billionaire Boss (Venus and Aaron) novel Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

**AARON**

The day had unfolded in a manner that was far more pleasant than I had anticipated. Venus was… well, she was intriguing. There was an intelligence in her eyes, a spark that suggested she was far more than just a pretty face. She deftly avoided delving into overly personal topics, a fact I found quite refreshing. It allowed for a lightness in our conversation that made the evening enjoyable.

As we shared our meal, I couldn’t help but notice her attempts to keep eating, even as it became evident that her appetite had waned. She nibbled on her food, trying to savor each bite, but I could see that she was struggling to manage more than a few morsels. And the wine? Oh, it was clear she was not accustomed to it. The rosy hue creeping across her cheeks and the tip of her nose gave her an almost ethereal glow. With each sip, her words flowed more freely, and I found it… oddly charming.

When I arrived at her neighborhood, a sense of unease washed over me. The streets were dimly lit, and the buildings appeared worn and weary, as if they had stories etched into their very walls—stories I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. She had likely spent her entire life here, but there was something about the atmosphere that set off alarm bells in my gut. Instincts can be powerful, and mine were screaming at me to reconsider.

So, instead of dropping her off in that unsettling part of town, I made a snap decision to head to my penthouse on the Upper East Side.

By the time I carried her inside, she was blissfully asleep, a serene expression gracing her features that I had never witnessed before. A wave of tenderness washed over me as I contemplated waking her from such peaceful slumber. Instead, I gently lifted her from the car, cradling her carefully as I ascended the stairs to the guest room. I laid her down on the bed, which was always prepared for visitors, and placed a glass of water on the nightstand, ensuring she would have what she needed upon waking. With a soft click, I closed the door, allowing her to rest undisturbed.

I retreated to my library, intent on finishing some work that had been lingering on my desk. Hours slipped by, and as the clock ticked closer to midnight, I finally decided to call it a night.

The morning light crept through the windows, and before I knew it, the clock struck six. I was up and ready to tackle the day, starting with my usual gym session. As I glanced toward the guest room door, still firmly shut, I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of her still lost in dreamland. Two hours of training later, I took a brisk cold shower and downed a protein shake, but there was still no sign of her stirring.

Just as I was about to dive into the day’s tasks, my phone buzzed insistently on the table.

Connor’s name flashed on the screen.

“Yoo,” I answered, my voice still thick with sleep.

“Good morning to you too,” he replied, a hint of mischief in his tone.

“Oh, it is indeed a good morning. You might want to check your phone,” he added, his voice laced with amusement.

Intrigued, I opened the link he had sent, and my eyes widened as I read the headline: **AARON SINCLAIR AND A MYSTERY WOMAN?**

The photograph captured a moment from the previous night outside Élan Noir—Venus leaning against me, me assisting her into the car. Her face was partially obscured, but mine? Crystal clear, as if the universe had conspired to make this moment public.

The article was a whirlwind of speculation:

My heart raced, and I felt a stirring within me. Perfect.

I had left her in that dress intentionally, wanting to respect her dignity and avoid any sense of violation. Even in her slumber, she deserved to feel comfortable and respected.

“Good morning,” she rasped, her voice thick with sleep.

Jesus.

That voice, that sultry, sleep-laden rasp? It was, without a doubt, the sexiest sound I had ever encountered.

Down, boy.

I couldn’t shake the thought that this whole contract marriage idea? It might just turn out to be the worst decision of my life.

Or perhaps, the most exquisite form of torture.