My Contract Wife Is A Hidden Genius

Chelsea Holmes POV:

My smile snapped whatever restraint Edmund had left.

He didn't speak. He yanked my wrist, pulling my body hard against his solid chest. His other hand tangled in the hair at the back of my head, locking me in place.

His mouth crashed down on mine.

It wasn't a kiss. It was an assault. His lips were punishing, his teeth bruising against mine. He forced my mouth open, tasting of scotch and pure, dominant aggression. He was trying to prove he owned me.

Panic and humiliation flared hot in my chest. I shoved both my hands against his chest, pushing with all my strength. He didn't move an inch.

Tears of pure frustration burned my eyes. I clamped my jaw shut and bit down hard on his lower lip.

The metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth.

Edmund let out a muffled groan and jerked his head back.

I shoved him away, stumbling back until my hips hit the edge of the desk. I dragged the back of my hand across my mouth, wiping away his blood and his taste, breathing heavily.

Edmund stood there, his chest heaving. He raised a thumb to his mouth and wiped the blood from his split lip. He stared at the red smear on his skin, his eyes darkening into something volatile.

"You are going to regret this, Chelsea," he said. The words were a low, venomous promise.

He turned on his heel and walked out. The door slammed shut with a force that rattled the picture frames on the wall.

The next morning, I put on a sharp, tailored black suit.

At 9:50 AM, I walked into the conference room of Camila's law firm.

By 10:30 AM, the leather chair across from me was still empty.

Camila checked her watch and dialed the opposing counsel again. She listened, frowned, and hung up. "Mr. Avery's lawyer says he had an unexpected scheduling conflict. He won't be coming."

My stomach dropped. He didn't just stand me up. He did it to remind me that my time, my demands, and my presence meant absolutely nothing to him.

I swallowed the bitter taste of humiliation. "Fine. Draft the motion to compel."

When I finally got into a taxi outside the building, the adrenaline crashed. I pulled out my phone and dialed Zuri,my friend.

"Zuri..." My voice broke on the first syllable.

"Chelsea? What's wrong? Are you crying?" Zuri's voice was sharp and instantly protective.

I pressed the phone hard against my ear and told her everything. The kiss, the blood, the empty chair in the conference room.

"That absolute bastard!" Zuri screamed through the speaker. "Who the hell does he think he is? The king of the NHL? I will personally key his stupid sports car!"

Her rage was like a warm blanket. My breathing slowed down.

"Don't waste your tears on him," Zuri commanded. "Listen to me. You need to get out of New York. You need your own life back."

"I haven't worked in four years, Zuri," I whispered, staring out the window at the gray city streets.

"Did you forget you're a brilliant writer?" she demanded. "Did you forget those scripts you wrote in college? The ones that won awards before you locked yourself in that mansion?"

The word 'writer' felt foreign on my tongue.

"I have an opportunity," Zuri continued, her pace quickening. "A production company in LA is looking for fresh voices. I sent them your portfolio anonymously last week."

My heart gave a sudden, hard thump. "You did what?"

"Stop doubting yourself. You just need to leave this mess behind and start over."

I ended the call and leaned my head against the cold glass of the taxi window.

LA. A new city.

I wasn't going to let Edmund break me.