Chapter 1

Three years ago, Claire Bennett saved Miranda Quinn.

That act changed her fate—she ended up marrying Michael Quinn, the heir to the Quinn family, Miranda's grandson.

To the outside world, Michael was the picture of a devoted, fortunate husband.

"I'm a lucky man to have found Claire," he'd say at galas and press events, his smile never wavering.

Behind closed doors, the facade dissolved.

"So, Mr. Quinn, you've got everything under control now, right? Being Mrs. Quinn isn't exactly a walk in the park," Claire would remark.

In just three years, Quinn Holdings' value had skyrocketed, doubling in size.

Michael had gone from being under his family's thumb to finally calling his own shots.

"Three months from now, when the contract ends, I'll keep my word," Michael said.

Yes, they were married on paper—a contract couple.

They both got what they needed from this arrangement.

For three years, they'd shared the same house—no romance, no messy feelings, just two people who got along like friends.

Once the three years were up, they'd go their separate ways.

Now, there were only three months left before their agreement ended.

*****

The charity gala hosted by Quinn Holdings was in full swing, and Claire was back on duty.

Her arm linked through Michael's, a picture-perfect smile gracing her lips.

Internally, a different monologue played on loop. The life of a society woman was exhausting—always poised, forever elegant, a prisoner to propriety.

A man approached, glass in hand. "Mr. Quinn, Mrs. Quinn. A perfect match. It's heartwarming to see a couple so devoted."

"You flatter us, Mr. Kingsley," Michael replied politely.

"Mr. and Mrs. Kingsley, you are the ones to admire. Ten years of marriage and still going strong," Claire chimed in, her tone sweet.

Barry Kingsley's wife's smile almost faltered—ten years of marriage, and their secret kid was already eight years old.

But that was alright. These niceties need to be said. Everyone understood the unspoken rules.

Once they were out of earshot, Claire muttered under her breath, "Why do they love hearing all these fake compliments?"

Michael gave her a subtle smile, barely moving his lips. "Just stick to your Mrs. Quinn act."

"Gotta hand it to you. A true romantic, through and through," she whispered back, maintaining her radiant facade.

Their hushed exchange, observed from a distance, only added to the public image of a loving couple.

After all, three years ago, Claire saved Michael's grandmother, and Michael pledged himself to her. That story went viral back then.

Three years later, Quinn Holdings' valuation had doubled, and Michael's "devoted husband" persona was solid as a rock.

For Claire, the arrangement was more than fair.

Her end of the bargain was secure: the family plot. That ancestral cemetery back home, resting place for generations of her family and the broader village's forebears, was the first piece of land slated for demolition to make way for a Quinn Holdings luxury resort.

Petitions and peaceful sit-ins at the corporate headquarters had been ignored. To the eyes of capital, the sacred ground of a small town meant nothing.

She had appealed to Miranda, leveraging the life debt. The old woman was sympathetic but held no real power.

It was Michael who had come to her. "Contract marriage. Three years. The land stays untouched."

Claire had asked, "Why me?"

"My family wants a strategic match. I don't. You saved my grandmother; they won't object. As for the three-year term..."

He'd paused, his gaze drifting. "She should be truly thriving by then."

Claire understood perfectly. There was someone else in his heart.

He was waiting for her to return.

And Claire, with no influence, no fortune, and a vulnerability he now held, was the perfect contractual wife—no risk of attachment, no messy emotions, a clean exit when the time was up.

She put her name on the dotted line.

Three years—that was the deal.

Each got what they needed.

Just three months to go.

Halfway through the party, Claire's smile was stuck on her face—her cheeks were aching from all the pretending.

Then she spotted Emily Lane.

Emily was wearing a striking red backless dress, her lips a fiery crimson—she was like a blaze in the crowd.

"Long time no see, Michael," Emily said, her voice smooth and confident.

A subtle tension gripped Michael's frame.

Claire's eyes sparkled—the one he'd been waiting for was finally back.

"Emily, you're back," Michael said, his eyes practically shining with excitement.

"Just got back yesterday. Heard there was something going on tonight, so I came over," Emily said.

Emily's eyes slid to Claire, a slow, appraising look. "And this must be Ms. Bennett. Michael has mentioned you."

Claire extended her hand. "Welcome back, Ms. Lane."

Emily ignored her, turning to Michael with a playful pout. "I've got some friends over there. Want to go say hi?"

Michael nodded, then glanced at Claire. "Why don't you go take a break?"

"Alright," Claire replied.

She discreetly let go of his arm, watching as the two walked off side by side.

Around her, glances flickered—curious, pitying, amused.

However, Claire paid them no mind.

The less attention she got, the more at ease she felt.

But just as she was starting to enjoy a bit of peace, Emily showed up.

"Ms. Bennett. For someone of your... background, landing the Quinn name must feel like winning the lottery," Emily said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Claire's brow furrowed slightly. The woman had a polished look but a remarkably crude tongue.

Claire, however, was never one to suffer insults in silence.

"Ms. Lane. It seems your fact-finding mission since returning home focused more on my personal luck than the local news, huh?"

Emily's expression tightened. "A stand-in with a sharp tongue. How quaint. Enjoy the view while it lasts. You'll be shown the door soon enough."

Being evicted was part of the plan, but the condescension still stung.

"What happens later is a matter for later," Claire replied evenly.

She turned away, holding her glass of juice, determined to avoid a scene with the woman Michael loved.

After all, Michael held all the cards when it came to her.

However, Emily stepped right in front of her, blocking her path.

"Do you think just because Michael favors you, you have the right to provoke me?" Emily sneered.

Claire nearly sighed out loud. If Emily had so much time on her hands to pick fights, why not spend it charming Michael instead?

She replied calmly, "Ms. Lane, I've never thought that way. Michael isn't my shield. My confidence comes from living honestly and staying within the law."

Emily had clearly come looking for a confrontation—to put Claire in her place. But Claire's calm refusal to engage only sharpened Emily's irritation.

Without another word, Emily snatched her wineglass and threw the drink straight into Claire's face in full view of everyone.