The Cold CEO's Secret Contract Bride

The flimsy bedroom door slammed open, hitting the wall with a crack that made Candace Price flinch.

"Still here? I thought I smelled garbage."

Her aunt, Denese Casey, stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her floral housecoat. Her eyes, small and hard, scanned the small suitcase on the bed, the neat piles of clothes, and the portfolio of design sketches Candace was carefully placing inside.

"I'm packing, Denese," Candace said, her voice low and even. She refused to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

"Packing? You've been 'packing' for a week. You're a leech, Candace. Living here for free, eating our food."

"I pay rent." Candace straightened up, reaching for the receipt on her nightstand. The flimsy paper felt like a shield. "I gave Finn the money order last Tuesday. Two hundred dollars, just like we agreed."

Denese snatched the receipt and scoffed, her lip curling. "This? This is dirty money. Money from God knows where. You think a piece of paper cleans the stain of a criminal?" She crumpled it into a tight ball and threw it on the floor. "I want you out. Twenty-four hours."

The air left Candace's lungs. "You can't do that."

"Watch me."

The argument spilled out of the cramped bedroom and into the living room. Her cousin, Britteny Olsen, was sitting on the sofa, painting her toenails a violent shade of pink. She didn't look up, but a smirk played on her lips.

"Just go, jailbird," Britteny drawled, waving her hand to dry the polish. "You're bringing the property value down."

Candace's hands clenched into fists. Her uncle, Finn, emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. "Now, Denese, let's just calm down..."

"You shut up, Finn!" Denese whirled on him, her voice a shrill whip. "Don't think I don't know you feel sorry for her. One more word out of you and you'll be sleeping on this couch for a month."

Finn shrank back, his face pale and defeated. He wouldn't help her. He couldn't.

Denese turned back to Candace, her eyes gleaming with triumph. She played her final card. "You know, it would be a real shame if I had to call your parole officer. A real shame if I had to tell him what an 'unstable living situation' this has become. All this shouting... it's not good for my nerves."

Ice flooded Candace's veins. Her heart felt like it had been seized in a frozen fist. The threat was real. A violation, even a reported unstable environment, could send her right back to the place she'd sworn she would never see again. The thought of those gray walls, the smell of disinfectant and despair, made her stomach clench violently.

She was cornered. Defeated.

Without another word, she turned and walked back into her room, the sound of the door slamming shut echoing the finality of her situation. She didn't cry. The tears were frozen somewhere deep inside her. She sank to the floor, her back against the door, her mind a frantic, screaming void. She had no friends left from before, no savings to speak of, and nowhere to go. A shelter would be a violation of her parole conditions.

Her gaze fell on her worn wallet lying on the bed. Tucked inside was a small, folded piece of paper with a phone number scrawled on it. Pearl Montgomery.

Since the day she was released from prison, Candace Price lost touch with her cellmate, Pearl Montgomery. The woman who had been like a mother to her during those two years inside. Pearl had been her rock, her protector.

It was her only hope. Her last resort.

With hands that trembled so badly she could barely press the numbers, Candace dialed. The phone rang once, twice.

"Hello?" Pearl's voice was just as she remembered-warm, steady, a stark contrast to the venom that filled this house.

"Pearl? It's... it's Candace."

"Candace, honey! How are you? Is everything alright?"

The dam of composure broke. A choked sob escaped her lips. "No. No, it's not alright." Her voice cracked as she explained everything-the threats, the parole officer, the 24-hour deadline.

Pearl listened patiently, a comforting silence on the other end of the line. When Candace finished, her voice a raw whisper, Pearl didn't offer platitudes. She made a proposal that seemed to come from another universe.

"Honey, I have a son. He's a good man, a manager at Trader Joe's. Why don't you marry him?"

Candace went completely still, the phone pressed hard against her ear. She thought she must have misheard. "What? Pearl, that's... that's not funny."

During those days, every time Candice took care of the sick Pearl, Pearl would hold her hand and say in her soft Southern accent, “Candie, once my son marries you, you’ll truly be my daughter. If that boy dares to treat you badly, I’ll break his legs with my own hands. His name is Gauge Bailey. Remember that.”

Candice always took these words as a joke made while she was sick, and just laughed it off. But unexpectedly, Pearl remembered them firmly.

"I'm not joking," Pearl insisted, her tone firm but kind. "Think about it. It's a perfect solution. You get a stable home, a husband. Your parole officer will be thrilled. And I get a daughter-in-law that I already love and trust. It's a win-win."

Candace's mind reeled. Marry a stranger? "But... your son..."

"His name is Gauge Bailey," Pearl continued, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "He's simple, hardworking, reliable. He's not rich, mind you. He works long hours at the store, drives an old car. But he's a good man. He'll take care of you."

The description-a simple, ordinary man-was somehow reassuring. It was manageable. It wasn't some complicated fantasy.

Desperation was a powerful tide, and it was pulling her under. The choice was between a prison cell and a marriage to a stranger. It wasn't a choice at all.

She took a shaky breath, the air burning her lungs. "Okay," she whispered, the word barely audible. "Okay, I'll do it."

A sound of pure joy erupted from the phone. "Wonderful! Oh, Candace, you've made me so happy! He'll be there to pick you up in an hour."

Candace hung up, her body numb. A surreal mix of terror and profound relief washed over her. She stood up on shaky legs and finished packing her single suitcase, her movements mechanical. From the living room, she could hear Denese's triumphant laughter, but it sounded distant, like it was coming from a world she was already leaving behind.

Exactly one hour later, her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

"Outside. -GB"

She picked up her suitcase and her portfolio. She walked through the living room without looking at Denese or Britteny. She walked out the front door and didn't look back.

A modest, slightly older Toyota Camry was parked at the curb. It was exactly the kind of car a supermarket manager would drive. Leaning against the driver's side door was a man.

He was tall, far more imposing than she had imagined. Even in the dim evening light, his jawline was sharp, and the breadth of his shoulders strained the fabric of his simple dark jacket. This was Gauge Bailey.

The last bit of doubt in Candace Price’s mind vanished completely. She had spent time in prison, and in the eyes of others, she was a convicted criminal. What she feared most was hearing someone say, “A flower placed among cow dung” – and she herself was that disgusting “cow dung” that everyone despised.

Two years ago, the Price family’s business went bankrupt. Her parents died after falling from the top floor of their apartment. Candace was also framed and sent to prison. In prison, whenever Candace was bullied, it was Pearl Montgomery who stood up for her. And whenever Pearl’s arthritis flared up, Candace would stay up all night taking care of her. Over time, a deep bond of friendship and loyalty developed between the two of them, a bond forged through shared hardships.

He pushed himself off the car as she approached. He wasn't smiling. His eyes, dark and intense, swept over her in a quick, analytical glance that felt less like a greeting and more like an assessment. They were cold, a jarring contrast to the warmth in his mother's voice.

"Candace Price?" he asked. His voice was a low baritone, flat and devoid of emotion.

She could only nod, her throat suddenly tight.

He didn't say another word. He took her suitcase from her hand, his fingers brushing hers for a fraction of a second. His skin was cool. He opened the trunk, placed the bag inside, and then walked to the passenger side, holding the door open for her. The gesture was polite but felt robotic.

As she slid into the seat, the clean, neutral smell of the car's interior enveloped her. He closed the door, walked around to his side, and got in. The engine started with a quiet hum.

Candace stared straight ahead as the car pulled away from the curb, accepting that her life had just taken an irreversible, bizarre, and terrifying turn.