Contract Marriage With My Billionaire Boss (Venus and Aaron) novel Chapter 225

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VENUS

The second I stepped out of that restroom, I knew I’d failed.

Not because Andrea had beaten me-no, that part hadn’t happened yet.

I failed because the moment Aaron’s eyes landed on me, that man saw straight through skin, bone, and every wall I tried to throw up between us.

He froze mid-stride.

His shoulders straightened.

And his gaze-God-his gaze sharpened like a blade sliding from its sheath.

“Venus.”

One word. Low, controlled and dangerous in that quiet way he had when he smelled something wrong.

I forced my legs to keep moving.

Forced my breath to come steady.

Forced my face to stay neutral.

But my hands-my stupid, betraying hands—were shaking.

He stepped into my space before I could even blink, his palm coming around my elbow, steadying me but also pinning me with that piercing stare.

“What happened?” he asked.

Not a guess.

Not an assumption.

Not even a question, really.

A demand.

I swallowed. “Nothing. I just-there were people in there, and-”

“Don’t lie to me.’

A simple sentence. A knife between ribs.

My heart lurched so violently I thought it would tear out of my body.

I had two choices:

Lie and protect Iris.

Tell him the truth and doom her.

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I lifted my chin, fighting the tremor in my voice. “It was crowded. I just needed air.”

He stared at me for a long, too-long moment.

Studying.

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Searching.

Reading every tiny flicker of my face.

My skin crawled under the weight of it, because if there was one person on this earth who could rip the truth out of me without saying a word, it was him.

But after a moment-slow, reluctant-he let it go.

For now.

“Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s get you home.”

He guided me down the hallway, but even as his hand anchored me, even as he walked close enough that his shoulder brushed mine with every step… I felt like I was walking beside fire with gasoline soaked cloth tied around my ribs.

Andrea wanted something.

I didn’t know what.

I didn’t know why now.

But I knew this:

She didn’t show me Iris to threaten me.

She showed me Iris to control me.

To reel me in.

To make me dance to whatever game she was orchestrating in the dark.

And I hated that it was working.

The drive home blurred.

I remembered cold air against my cheek as Aaron helped me into the car.

I remembered his hand tightening around mine every time my breathing hitched.

I remembered him watching me-not casually, not kindly, but obsessively—as if he could sense danger radiating off my skin.

And he was right.

Just not in the way he thought.

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He thought I was shaken from the van discovery.

From collapsing earlier.

From everything that had already happened.

But this…

This was different.

This was rot spreading under the floorboards and no one else could hear the creaking.

By the time we reached Rosemary’s driveway, my pulse had become a permanent throb in my throat.

He helped me out slowly, guiding me with one hand on my waist.

I tried to step ahead of him-pretend I was fine.

He pulled me back instantly.

“I said slow.”

There was no room for arguing.

No room for anything except breathing and obeying.

Once inside, Rosemary rushed toward us, her expression tight with worry. “How did it go? Did they say anything else?”

Aaron answered for me. “She’s discharged. She needs rest.”

Rosemary’s eyes flicked to my face and softened. “Sweetheart, come sit.”

I did.

I had to.

My legs felt hollow.

Aaron stood behind the sofa instead of beside it-watching, listening, and thinking.

He’d gone very still.

And when Aaron went still, it meant he was putting something together.

I kept my eyes down, pretending to fuss with the throw blanket on my lap.

Pretending everything was fine.

Pretending my world hadn’t just been set on fire by a ghost with red hair and a dead heart.

But I felt his stare burning into the top of my head the entire time.

**

**

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Night came.

Then morning.

Then another night.

Three days blurred into each other in a purgatory of waiting.

I slept in fits.

Ate almost nothing.

Drank only because Rosemary threatened to call an ambulance.

I let Aaron hover because fighting him would’ve drawn suspicion.

He was constantly moving-calling Connor, visiting precincts, checking surveillance updates. 1

He came home every night exhausted and wired, anger simmering under his skin like fever.

And every night… he studied me.

He didn’t ask again what happened in that restroom.

But the silence was worse.

He knew something was missing from the story.

He just didn’t know what.

Or who.

Sabine clung to me every chance she got, curling into my lap like she was afraid to blink in case I disappeared too.

George hovered by doorways, pale, sleepless, refusing food unless I insisted.

My children were falling apart.

And I had to lie to all of them.

I checked my phone every fifteen minutes-pretending I was scrolling or reading or responding to something.

But really, I was waiting.

Waiting for the woman who held my daughter’s life in her hands.

Every buzz made my stomach clench painfully.

Every silence made me nauseous.

The anxiety wasn’t subtle.

Aaron noticed.

Rosemary noticed.

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Even George noticed.

But no one asked.

Maybe they thought it was grief.

Or shock.

Or fear.

And it was.

Just not in the way they imagined.

On the third night, I sat on the living room sofa, legs tucked under a blanket, Sabine asleep on my lap, my phone clutched so tightly my knuckles ached.

Aaron paced the length of the room-restless, pensive, and tense.

The kind of tense that meant he was planning something.

“Venus,” he murmured suddenly.

I looked up.

He stopped pacing.

“You’re hiding something.”

The words shot through me like ice water.

I swallowed. “I’m not.”

He tilted his head slightly, watching every micro-expression on my face.

His eyes darkened.

Not with anger.

With realization.

“You’re lying,” he said quietly.

My breath stuttered.

But before I could respond-

My phone buzzed,

A single notification.

A message.

From an unknown number.

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I froze.

Aaron’s gaze dropped instantly to the phone in my hand.

He saw my face drain.

He stepped toward me—

“What is that?”

I scrambled internally, already preparing the lie.

I lifted the phone halfway—

Then stopped.

Because the preview line on the notification glowed bright and unmistakable:

A location.

An address.

Coordinates.

My heart slammed so violently I almost choked on air.

Andrea.

It had to be Andrea.

Aaron took another step toward me, gaze sharp, reading every shift of my breath.

“Venus,” he said again, low and firm. “What is wrong?”

I didn’t answer.

Because I couldn’t.

Because if I told him-

Iris died.

If I didn’t-

I might,

My hand tightened around the phone, nails digging into my palm.

Aaron stared at me like he could pry the truth out of my soul without touching me.

But all I heard was Andrea’s voice:

If you tell anyone, she bleeds.

My pulse hammered.

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ese

My lungs burned.

My throat locked.

Aaron’s jaw clenched.

“Venus…” he whispered, voice dropping dangerously soft. “Don’t lie to me again.”

I met his eyes-my husband, my anchor, my protection.

And I lied anyway.

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