Chapter 1 The Contract Bride
## Chapter 1: The Contract Bride
Daisy Woolridge stared at the contract lying on the mahogany desk, the embossed Shaw Industries logo gleaming under the harsh office lights. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, storm clouds gathered over Manhattan's skyline—a fitting backdrop for the tempest in her own life.
"You've read the terms?" Melvin Shaw's voice cut through the silence, cool and detached as he adjusted his platinum cufflinks.
Daisy's fingers tightened around the Mont Blanc pen. Three generations of Woolridge Electronics reduced to this: a marriage contract with the shark who'd been circling her family's drowning company for months.
"Every humiliating word," she replied, her Harvard Business School poise remaining intact despite the chaos inside her. "A one-year marriage of convenience. You inject capital into Woolridge Electronics. My family keeps 30% ownership instead of zero."
Melvin's lips curved into something resembling a smile, though it never reached his steel-gray eyes. At thirty-four, he'd already earned his reputation as Wall Street's most ruthless bachelor—a man who collected companies like others collected art.
"The clauses are non-negotiable," he said, sliding into the leather chair across from her.
Daisy skimmed the document again, each word burning into her retinas.
*Clause 1: The parties must share a bed each night during the contractual period.*
*Clause 2: Neither party shall develop romantic attachments toward the other.*
"Sharing a bed?" She finally allowed herself to voice her indignation. "Is that really necessary for a business arrangement?"
"Optics, Ms. Woolridge. We need the marriage to appear authentic to shareholders and the board." His voice was methodical, as if explaining a particularly boring financial report. "The merger depends on stability. A separate bedroom arrangement invites speculation."
What Melvin wasn't saying hung in the air between them: she was getting the better end of the deal. Her family's legacy preserved, her father's health bills covered, her younger sister's education secured—all for the small price of her freedom for twelve months.
"And Clause 2 seems... oddly specific," Daisy noted, hoping her tone conveyed amusement rather than the unease crawling up her spine.
"Insurance." His response was immediate. "Emotions complicate business. We both need to remember this is a transaction, nothing more."
Rain began to pelt against the windows as Daisy counted her remaining options: zero. The banks had closed their doors. Investors had fled. Her father's stroke had left him unable to steer the company through the financial hurricane that had claimed so many tech firms this quarter.
With a steadiness she didn't feel, Daisy signed her name on the dotted line.
"Congratulations, Mrs. Shaw," Melvin said, adding his own signature with a practiced flourish. "The wedding is Saturday. My assistant will send details."
---
The penthouse apartment felt like a luxury hotel—impressive but impersonal. Daisy stood at the threshold of the master bedroom, her wedding ring unfamiliar and heavy on her finger. The ceremony had been small but publicized enough to make tomorrow's business pages: TECH HEIRESS WEDS FINANCE MOGUL IN SURPRISE MERGER.
"Your things have been unpacked in the closet to the left," Melvin said, loosening his tie as he brushed past her. "I typically work until midnight. Don't wait up."
Their wedding night, and he was heading to his home office. Daisy should have felt relieved. Instead, an unexpected irritation flared within her. Not because she wanted his attention, she assured herself, but because his indifference was so complete.
Hours later, Daisy lay rigid on her side of the California king bed, listening to Melvin's steady breathing beside her. He'd slipped in after midnight, maintaining the careful distance specified in their unspoken boundaries.
She was drifting toward sleep when she heard it—a murmur so soft she almost missed it.
"Maisie..."
Daisy's eyes snapped open in the darkness.
"Please... forgive me..." Melvin's voice was anguished, nothing like his daytime precision.
Who was Maisie? The name triggered something in Daisy's memory—a photo she'd glimpsed during her research into Melvin Shaw before accepting his proposal. A woman with chestnut hair, standing beside a younger, actually-smiling Melvin at some charity gala years ago.
Careful not to disturb the mattress, Daisy reached for her phone on the nightstand. She opened the voice recorder app and held it closer to Melvin's side of the bed.
"Never meant to... Maisie..." More fragments emerged, pieces of a puzzle Daisy hadn't known existed.
Her new husband had secrets—and in the ruthless world of corporate marriages, secrets were currency. Whatever history lay between Melvin and this Maisie might prove useful if he ever tried to alter their agreement.
Just as she pressed record, Melvin shifted. Daisy froze, finger hovering over the screen.
"Satisfied with what you heard, Mrs. Shaw?"
Melvin's eyes were open, alert—no trace of sleep in them. He'd been awake the entire time.
Daisy's heart hammered in her chest, but she refused to look away. "Just gathering insurance of my own," she replied, her voice steadier than she felt. "After all, isn't that what this marriage is about?"
Something flickered across his face—surprise, perhaps respect—before his expression hardened again.
"Sleep well, wife," he said, turning away. "Tomorrow the real work begins."
Daisy stared at his back, the distance between them on the bed suddenly feeling like a chasm filled with unspoken truths and dangerous possibilities. She'd signed a contract prohibiting love, but nothing in the fine print had warned her about curiosity—the kind that now burned through her with unexpected intensity.
Who was Maisie? And what had the infamous Melvin Shaw done that required forgiveness?
