Contract Marriage With My Billionaire Boss (Venus and Aaron) novel Chapter 220

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AARON

I didn’t bother knocking.

The moment I reached the hospital room and saw the empty bed-the pulled-out IV, the missing bag, the cold dent on the pillow where her head should’ve been-

Something inside me snapped so fast it felt like bone giving way.

Sabine shot up from the chair with a startled gasp. “Aaron-wait-”

“Where is she?” My voice was too calm. Too steady. The kind of calm that made grown men shake.

Sabine paled. “I-I fell asleep-”

I didn’t need the rest.

The bandage on the floor.

The discarded hospital gown.

The faint scent of her perfume still lingering by the door.

I didn’t need to ask what direction she went.

I already knew.

Venus always ran toward danger, never from it.

And there was only one place she’d go in this condition-half-broken, half-bleeding from the inside out:

The last ghost she needed to bury.

Gerald Marlowe.

My jaw locked so hard pain crackled up the muscle. I pulled out my phone before Sabine could speak again.

“Sir?” my head of security answered instantly.

“Where is she?”

There was a pause-a hesitation that confirmed every terrible suspicion.

“We tracked her leaving the hospital a few minutes ago. She entered a taxi-”

“Where.”

Not a question. A demand.

Another pause.

“The federal detention center.”

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The world tunneled.

My pulse raged.

Sabine whispered something-maybe my name, maybe a prayer-but I didn’t hear it.

I was already moving.

I didn’t remember the elevator.

I didn’t remember the lobby.

I didn’t remember shoving past people who didn’t move fast enough.

All I remembered was the way the cold morning air slammed into me when I stepped outside—just like it must’ve hit her.

The difference was, she’d been alone.

And she shouldn’t have been.

Not now.

Not ever.

Not when our daughter was still out there in hands that weren’t ours.

The car screeched up to the curb. My driver jumped out and yanked open the door.

“Federal detention center,” I said. “Drive. Faster than you’ve ever done it.”

He didn’t question it.

Smart man.

I shoved a hand through my hair-too hard, too frantic-but it did nothing to ground me. My chest burned. My ribs felt too tight. Every inhale was a fight.

The engine growled as we shot down the freeway, but none of it was fast enough. Not the traffic twisting out of our lane. Not the driver gripping the wheel like his life depended on it. Not the sky bleeding from grey into bruised blue as morning dragged itself awake.

It felt like the entire city was crawling toward dawn while I was hurtling toward hell.

And I hated-hated-the fact that Venus was somewhere in that hell without me.

My phone vibrated persistently.

Dorian.

I answered on the third ring. “If this isn’t about Venus–”

“It is,” he cut in, voice low and tight. “You need to get to Rosemary’s. Now.”

My entire body went still.

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“Dorian,” I said, too softly, “unless she’s there, tied to a fucking chair waiting for me, I am not-”

“She will be here any minute.”

Silence cracked inside the car.

My grip on the phone tightened. “What did you just say?”

“Venus is on her way. Dad texted me.”

My vision pulsed black at the edges.

“Da-Richard?”

The word felt foreign in my mouth.

“Yes. Richard. He texted saying she was leaving the federal confinement center and heading here.”

I stared straight ahead for a beat that split the world in half.

Venus.

Alone.

At that place.

With Gerald.

And then with him.

I ended the call, leaned forward, and tapped the driver’s shoulder once.

“Reroute,” I said. “Rosemary’s. Now.”

We veered into the next lane, tires screaming across the asphalt. Horns blasted behind us as we cut through traffic like a bullet through flesh. My pulse hammered a brutal rhythm, steady and savage.

Every possible scenario stampeded through my mind.

What if she collapsed between the detention center and the street?

What if the sedative hadn’t fully worn off?

What if seeing Gerald triggered something the doctors warned me about?

What if someone followed her out?

What if my father-

My jaw clenched hard enough to splinter.

I hadn’t seen Richard Sinclair in years. Not because life drifted us apart.

It was by choice.

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My choice.

Everything about him-the cold executive mask, the curated guilt, the calculated way he tried to claw back into my life after destroying everything that mattered-had left a scar deeper than he’d ever deserve to know.

And now he was near her?

He had the nerve to approach her?

My wife-bandaged, bruised, barely standing, breaking under the weight of a missing child-and he was there?

I checked my watch.

Two minutes out.

Two minutes too long.

I pressed a hand against the window, impatience vibrating through my bones. Suburban streets replaced the city noise, trees bending with the wind as the car shot down the long road toward Rosemary’s estate. The house stood back from the street, hidden behind tall hedges and iron gates-a sanctuary in any other universe.

Today it felt like a trap waiting to spring.

The gate was already open.

Not a good sign.

The car hadn’t fully stopped when I shoved the door open and stepped out. Cold wind slapped my face but I barely registered it.

I only saw him.

Richard Sinclair stood beside his car, the door open, one hand on the frame as though frozen mid-motion. His silver hair was longer than last time. His suit pristine. His expression unreadable.

As always.

He turned at the sound of my footsteps.

That was his mistake.

I crossed the space between us in five strides-fast, merciless, fueled by the kind of rage only a father feels when the two people he loves most are in danger.

Before he could speak-

I grabbed him by the collar.

His back slammed into the car so hard the metal shuddered.

His breath punched out of him.

A bird burst from a nearby tree, wings flapping wildly.

“Where the hell is Iris?” I snarled.

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His eyes widened-but not in fear.

In recognition.

Good.

He should have expected this.

My grip tightened as I pinned him like a specimen under glass.

“What did you do with her?” My voice was pure venom. “Where is my daughter?”

“Aaron-” he choked, lifting his hands as though touching me would get him killed, “listen to me-

“No.”

My voice was a blade.

“You speak only if you’re telling me where she is.”

“I don’t have her.”

“Bullshit.”

“I don’t-”

I slammed him harder.

The car let out a metallic groan.

Richard winced.

I didn’t care.

Not even a little.

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