Contract Marriage With My Billionaire Boss (Venus and Aaron) novel Chapter 241

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VENUS

The place she chose was deliberate.

Of course it was.

A quiet restaurant on the city’s edge-the kind people visited when they didn’t want to be remembered. No signage worth photographing. No valet. No cameras in sight. Neutral lighting. Neutral music. Neutral everything.

She always preferred environments that erased witnesses.

I arrived five minutes late on purpose. Not because it mattered to her, but because it mattered to me. Walking in exactly on time felt like obedience, and I needed to remind myself I still had a spine, even if she kept her heel pressed to it.

She was already seated. Corner booth. Back to the wall. A glass of water untouched, condensation sliding down its side. Her phone lay face down, perfectly aligned with the table’s edge. Control, in physical form.

She looked up as I approached, lips curving faintly-not a smile, more an acknowledgment. As if she’d expected nothing less.

I slid into the seat across from her without greeting.

“You texted me,” I said flatly. “Why?”

Andrea tilted her head, studying me like an equation. “Hello to you too, Venus.”

I didn’t return it. “You didn’t need to call me here Andrea. I’m already doing what you asked.”

Her eyes flicked over my face-red-rimmed, tired, deliberately undone and something like approval glimmered.

“Are you?” she asked mildly.

I leaned forward, lowering my voice. “Where is

my

child?”

The amusement vanished.

Andrea’s gaze hardened. “Careful.”

“I’m serious,” I said, sharper now. “You wanted me to spiral. I did. You wanted my marriage destabilized. You got that too. So where is Iris? And don’t tell me she’s ‘fine’ unless you can prove it.”

“If a single hair on her head is hurt-”

She raised one finger. Just one.

I stopped mid-sentence.

Silence stretched. Not awkward. Not tense. Controlled. She let it sit until I felt the weight of my own breathing.

“You are not,” Andrea said calmly, “in a position to make threats.”

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Her voice wasn’t raised. It didn’t need to be.

“And you shouldn’t get ballsy,” she added, almost conversational. “It doesn’t suit you.”

My jaw tightened. My fists curled beneath the table, nails biting into my palms.

“Time’s ticking,” she went on. “For you.”

“You gave me three months,” I exhaled.

She smiled-small, satisfied. “That still stands. I keep my word, Venus. You have weeks left.”

Relief flickered-brief, and dangerous.

“But,” Andrea continued smoothly, reaching into her bag, “I need you to do something for me.”

My stomach dropped.

“No,” I said immediately. “That wasn’t the deal.”

She withdrew her hand, unfazed. “Deals evolve.”

“No,” I repeated, firmer. “You told me what you wanted. I agreed. I’ve followed every instruction. You don’t get to move the goalposts.”

Andrea’s eyes sharpened. “Remember,” she said softly, “I still have your child.”

The words landed exactly where she intended.

Rage flared-hot, blinding, and useless. Andrea watched it all with quiet satisfaction.

“That’s what I thought,” she said.

She slid a slim folder across the table. It made a soft sound against the wood. Too loud in my ears.

“I want you to give an interview,” Andrea said. “About your husband.”

My head snapped up.

“What?”

“A carefully placed interview. A sympathetic outlet. One that frames you exactly how you’ve been behaving.”

“Isn’t the fact that I’m already hurting him enough?” I demanded, voice shaking.

Andrea didn’t blink. “No.”

“And before you ask,” she added, “this isn’t about destroying Aaron Sinclair. Well, not entirely.”

“Then what is it about?”

She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Power. And leverage.”

She tapped the folder once. “Open it.”

I hesitated. Then I did.

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Inside: notes. Talking points. Quotes engineered to wound without drawing blood.

Aaron has always prioritized work-it’s who he is.

I don’t blame him, but sometimes it feels like the company comes before the family.

The strain has been… difficult.

I’m not sure we’re on the same page anymore.

Each line was a scalpel disguised as sympathy.

“Why?” I whispered.

Andrea smiled, eyes cold. “Because right now, people think you’re unstable. Emotional. Reactive. That makes

dismissible. But if you speak calmly-sadly—like a wife at the end of her rope? Then you become believable.”

you

“You want me to assassinate his character.”

“I want you,” she corrected, “to introduce doubt.”

She leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “Aaron Sinclair is powerful. Respected. Untouchable. Until the public starts wondering whether he can even hold his own family together.”

“You’re sick.”

“Probably,” she replied. “But effective.”

I shoved the folder back. “I won’t do this.

Andrea’s expression didn’t change. She placed her phone on the table, turned it toward me.

A video.

Iris, sitting on the floor, surrounded by toys I didn’t recognize. Humming softly, braiding a doll’s hair. Normal. Alive. Unharmed.

Something inside me cracked open.

“Do exactly what I say, Venus,” Andrea said gently, “and we’ll all get what we want.”

She paused. Lips curved. “Well-at least I will.”

I stared at the screen until my vision blurred.

Then I closed the folder slowly. Carefully.

“What outlet?” I asked quietly.

Andrea’s smile widened. “That’s my girl.”

I hated her.

I hated myself.

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And as I walked out of that restaurant with the folder tucked under my arm, one truth followed me like a shadow

I couldn’t shake:

This time, the damage wouldn’t just be visible.

It would be permanent.

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