Contract Marriage With My Billionaire Boss (Venus and Aaron) novel Chapter 244

CMWMBB 45

VENUS

The object landed in my palm with a familiar, devastating weight.

My phone.

The same one I’d dropped into the gutter the night before. The same one I’d abandoned with shaking hands because I’d needed to feel untraceable. Dry now. Clean. Unscarred. As if it had never been discarded at all.

My breath caught.

The woman didn’t explain. She didn’t need to. She simply stepped back, professional smile fixed, eyes carefully unfocused-like this wasn’t happening, like she was only a courier passing along an envelope instead of a

threat.

The screen lit up before I could think.

Incoming call.

No name.

Just a number I knew too well.

It rang once.

Twice.

I lifted it to my ear with fingers that barely felt like mine.

“Don’t,” Andrea said immediately.

Her voice slid into my head like a blade between ribs. Calm. Certain. Amused in the way only people who believed they were untouchable ever sounded.

“Don’t fuck with me, Venus.”

The studio seemed to recede. The lights dimmed at the edges of my vision. Somewhere far away, I could hear the hum of equipment, the whisper of air conditioning but all of it was secondary to her breathing on the line.

“I know what you’re planning,” she continued. “And whatever clever little deviation you think you’ve found? It won’t work.”

My throat tightened.

“I’m doing exactly what you asked,” I said, keeping my voice low, even. Measured. “I haven’t said a word to anyone. I showed up. I’m here.”

A soft laugh. “You think obedience is just physical presence?”

I closed my eyes for half a second.

“I swear,” Andrea went on pleasantly, “if you mess this up-if you get creative, if you decide to grow a

1/6

conscience at the wrong moment-I will have one of Iris’s fingers delivered to you before nightfall.”

The world tilted.

My knees locked on instinct, keeping me upright through sheer refusal to fall.

“You don’t dare,” I whispered. “Andrea, don’t you dare touch her.”

“Oh, I dare,” she replied. “And you know it.”

My chest burned. My eyes stung violently, tears pressing hard against restraint. I bit the inside of my cheek, tasting blood, grounding myself in pain because panic would ruin everything.

“I’m doing it,” I said again, my voice breaking just enough to sound convincing-but not enough to give her satisfaction. “I’m doing exactly what you asked. So don’t you touch my baby. Don’t you-

“Then prove it,” Andrea cut in.

The line went dead.

The phone slipped from my hand.

Not dramatically. Just… suddenly too heavy.

It hit the carpeted studio floor with a muted thud.

“}

I stared at it, chest heaving, vision blurring despite everything I did to stop it. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, nails biting into skin.

One finger.

She’d said it so easily.

As if Iris were a concept instead of a child. As if pain were a currency she could spend casually, without

consequence.

I pressed my lips together hard, forcing the tears back. This wasn’t the place. This wasn’t the time. I had to hold

the line.

“Mrs. Sinclair?”

The woman’s voice cut through the fog.

I looked up.

She stood a few feet away, concern faint but professional. “We’re ready for you.”

I nodded once.

“Of course,” I said.

My voice sounded… fine. Steady. Almost calm.

That terrified me more than the fear.

2/6

She gestured toward the set. I followed, my body moving automatically, like I’d stepped into a role I’d rehearsed too many times already. The studio opened up beyond a soundproofed door-clean lines, soft lighting, a neutral backdrop designed to suggest warmth and vulnerability without committing to either.

There was a chair waiting for me.

Opposite it, another-empty for now.

Cameras sat quietly, their lenses dark. Waiting.

I took my seat.

The chair was comfortable. That felt intentional too. Everything here was designed to disarm. To invite honesty. To coax confession from exhaustion.

A technician approached, clipped a mic discreetly to the neckline of my blouse. Her fingers were gentle, respectful.

“Let me know if you’re uncomfortable at any point,” she said softly.

I almost laughed.

She stepped away. Another person gave me water. I took a sip, just enough to wet my throat, then set it aside.

I folded my hands in my lap.

They were shaking.

I pressed my palms together harder, grounding myself, feeling the pressure, the reality of my body still obeying

You can do this, I told myself.

You have to.

The interviewer arrived last.

A woman in her early forties, calm presence, practiced empathy etched into every line of her face. She smiled at me-not predatory, not fake. Just… kind.

That almost undid me.

“Venus,” she said, taking the seat across from me. “Thank you for being here.”

“Thank you for having me,” I replied.

My voice held.

Barely.

The cameras flicked on.

The red light came on.

The interviewer didn’t waste time pretending this was gentle.

3/6

“Venus,” she said, “the past few weeks haven’t been easy for you-or for the Sinclair family. You’ve been photographed leaving a bar alone. You missed the Sinclair Group charity summit. There are reports of tension at home. Some people are asking whether you’re… coping.”

I met her gaze.

“I’m coping with a missing child,” I said. “Everything else is secondary.”

A ripple passed through the room.

“But you understand,” she continued carefully, “why people are concerned.”

“Yes,” I said. “Because it’s easier to scrutinize my behavior than to ask why a mother has been left to carry this alone.”

She paused. “Alone?”

I didn’t look away.

“My daughter, Iris, was taken,” I said. “And since then, I’ve learned something very uncomfortable about my marriage.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “What’s that?”

“That when crisis can’t be managed,” I replied, “some people retreat into what they can control.”

Silence.

“And Aaron Sinclair,” I continued, voice steady, “controls companies. He controls outcomes. He controls narratives.”

I let that settle.

“But he does not sit with uncertainty well. And Iris is uncertainty.”

The interviewer inhaled slowly. “Are you saying your husband hasn’t been present?”

“I’m saying,” I corrected, “that he’s been present in the ways that protect his world.”

I folded my hands together.

“He works late. He delegates. He manages risk. He keeps the Sinclair Group functioning perfectly.”

I lifted my eyes.

“And meanwhile, I’m the one waking up every morning to a child-shaped silence that no amount of strategy

can fill.”

A murmur behind the camera.

“So the strain between you-” she began.

“Is not about stress,” I cut in. “It’s about priorities.”

That landed harder than any insult.

4/6

“People keep asking if I’m spiraling,” I went on. “If I’m unstable. If I’ve lost control.”

A faint, humorless smile crossed my face.

“I want to be very clear: I didn’t lose control. I lost my child.”

The interviewer swallowed. “And Aaron?”

I didn’t hesitate.

“Aaron chose to protect the institution he knows how to protect,” I said. “And I chose to protect the one thing that matters more to me than optics, shareholders, or public confidence.”

Her pen stilled.

“Which is?” she asked.

“My daughter,” I said flatly.

Another pause.

“Are you saying the Sinclair Group has taken precedence over your family?”

“I’m saying,” I replied, “that when your child disappears and one parent asks for patience while the other is screaming into the void, something is fundamentally broken.”

I leaned slightly forward.

“And I refuse to be labeled ’emotional’ for reacting like a mother while a man is praised for being ‘composed’ because he knows how to keep a boardroom calm.”

That one hit clean.

The interviewer hesitated, then asked quietly, “Where does that leave your marriage?”

I took a breath.

Not shaky. Not dramatic.

Final.

“Aaron and I are filing for divorce.”

The room froze.

The interviewer’s eyes widened. “You’re confirming that—”

“Yes,” I said. “We are in the process of separating.”

“Because of Iris?”

“Because,” I corrected, “our values no longer align.”

I let that stand.

5/6

“I will not share grief with someone who treats it like an inconvenience,” I added. “And I will not stay married to a man who believes control is a substitute for presence.”

Silence stretched-raw, electric.

“I wish Aaron well,” I finished. “He’s very good at running companies.”

Comments

Support

Share

6/6

+25 Bonus