I’m the contracted bride of the billionaire

Philip leaned against the sleek black town car, arms crossed and jaw tight, as he waited for his driver Stan. The encounter with his father at brunch still left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Marry within six months or lose his birthright as CEO. It was unjust, undignified, and positively archaic. But challenging Arthur’s edict outright would only estrange his father further. There must be some way to appease him on the surface while buying himself time to figure out a long-term solution.All content © N/.ôvel/Dr/ama.Org.

Philip’s brooding was interrupted as his stepsister Becky exited the house, chattering away on her phone while the maid trailed behind carrying armloads of shopping bags.

“I know, can you believe it?” Becky giggled. “Mandating Philip get a wife just to inherit the company?… Of course I’ll be maid of honor, I have so many ideas for vintage gowns!”

Philip gritted his teeth in irritation as Becky prattled on about potential wedding themes, oblivious to his presence. At 25, his stepsister still acted like a bubbly teen, forever preening and positing for social media. Philip tolerated her shallowness and Cambel’s distant chilliness in the name of family harmony, but neither would be his first choice as confidantes.

Becky finally climbed into her sports car, still gossipping about Philip’s predicament as she drove off. No doubt this juicy tidbit was already making rounds among her privileged friends. Philip sighed, the beginnings of a headache pulsing at his temples.

At last Stan pulled up in the sleek town car. Philip slid gratefully into the back seat, loosened his tie and leaned back, trying to clear his mind as Manhattan’s skyline came into view ahead.

“Rough brunch at the family estate, Mr. Waller?” Stan’s knowing eyes glanced at him in the mirror. The older man had been ferrying Philip around since he got his driver’s license years ago. Little got past his perceptive gaze.

“You could say that,” Philip grunted.

Thankfully, Stan didn’t pry, letting Philip stew in silence as the car joined the bustle of midtown. Outside his Fifth Avenue building, Philip thanked him and headed up to his lavish penthouse apartment, his steps were heavy.

He loosened his tie and poured himself two fingers of whisky, swirling the amber liquid pensively. Philip’s next board meeting was tomorrow and he still needed to prepare. But his thoughts refused to focus, distracted by his father’s words echoing in his mind.

You will select a suitable wife and marry within the next six months. As if it were as easy as acquiring a new Maserati!

Frustrated, Philip pushed the contract briefings aside. He needed to clear his head and think this through rationally, not make any rash choices. Grabbing his keys, he set off on foot without any destination in mind.

Philip walked for over an hour, winding through bustling shops and street vendors, seeing everything yet nothing. None of the polished women he encountered held any appeal. How could he spend his life with someone who only wanted the Waller’s name and fortune?

Passing a small gallery, something in the window display caught his eye – a beautifully vibrant oil painting of a couple dancing, the woman’s skirt twirling, their faces full of joy. Philip stepped closer, transfixed by the image, and noticed the artist signature in the corner: A. Monroe.

Amelia. Fondness washed over him as Philip recalled their serendipitous coffeeshop chat just the day before. For that one hour, he’d felt free to be himself, not the billionaire CEO-to-be. An idea slowly took root in his mind. A marriage in name only, just long enough to convince his father…

No, Philip chided himself, he barely knew this Amelia. And yet… those luminous eyes and effortless laugh stirred something in him he’d long thought dead. Could they reach some mutual beneficial arrangement?

Philip realized he had already pulled out his phone to call the boutique and track down her contact information using their security footage. Tell her this is strictly business, he coached himself. An innocent contract between two consenting adults.

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t even notice the dark sedan with tinted windows trailing discreetly behind him, until it slid up to the curb half a block later. The back door opened and Cambel stepped out, dressed in Chanel and an irritated expression.

“What do you want?” Philip asked tersely, slipping the phone back into his pocket.

“I saw you wandering around in a daze and wanted to check on you,” Cambel replied, her tone artificially sweet. “Brunch got rather intense.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“But darling, your father only wants what’s best -”

Philip cut her off. “I hardly need relationship advice from you.” Where was this sudden concern coming from? Cambel barely paid him any mind outside obligatory family events.

“Philip, I know we’ve had our differences, but I still hope to see you succeed,” Cambel shifted tactics. She gestured to her car. “Why don’t we discuss this over dinner at my club?”

“I’ll pass, I have work to prepare for,” Philip turned on his heel before she could persist wheedling. He had no desire to get roped into his stepmother’s agenda. Their only common interest was the future of Waller Comm, and on that front Cambel clearly had other plans.

Making his way briskly home before she could circle back around, Philip vowed to keep his own developing scheme private. Seeking out Amelia would be tricky enough without interference.

Meanwhile across town, Cambel strode into her Upper East Side townhouse in a foul mood, barking at the housekeeper to bring her aspirin. It was bad enough Arthur was putting pressure on Philip, but now her obstinate stepson was dodging her olive branches! She refused to see that cocky playboy run the family empire into the ground.

Checking her flawless reflection in the hall mirror, Cambel steadied herself. As always, she worked best from the shadows. With the right whispers in Arthur’s ear, she could still shape the Board to her liking. Thomas would be easier to control at the top, and far more deserving.

Speaking of, Cambel spotted her son in the living room on his laptop, no doubt doing schoolwork. While Becky coasted on her looks and connections, Thomas took his Ivy League education seriously.

”At work I see,” Cambel greeted him proudly. “We raised a fine scholar.”

“Just reviewing some case studies for my economics seminar,” Thomas smiled up at her. At 20 he was handsome in a preppy way, but still had some sharpening before he could shine in society like Philip.

“Your father was quite impressed by your contributions at brunch. Those business analytics courses are clearly paying off,” Cambel said leadingly.

“I suppose…” Thomas shrugged. “But we both know Philip is still the favorite for president. I don’t take it personally.”

Cambel waved a hand dismissively. “Philip may have the connections, but no one would deny your financial expertise outshines his. And you have ample time to charm the board.”

Thomas looked thoughtful. “It’s kind of you to say, Mother. But Philip will surely find some bride just to get control.”

“Oh I wouldn’t underestimate your brother’s stubborn streak. His relationships never last long,” Cambel replied archly, steepling her fingers.

“Even if that’s true, Father will never overlook Philip. He’s been groomed for this his whole life,” Thomas argued.

Cambel tilted his chin up. “Let me worry about your father. He listens when I nudge things along. But we may need… leverage.” She let the word hang meaningfully.

Thomas looked at her warily. “Leverage? You don’t mean blackmail?”

“No, darling, nothing so crude.” Cambel laughed. “But everyone has secrets. And pressure can often reveal hidden flaws. If Philip’s not as dedicated as he claims, the board will look elsewhere.”

Thomas still seemed hesitant to sully his hands directly. “I trust your judgment, Mother. Just don’t hurt him.”

Cambel waved dismissively. “I merely ensure all options get fair consideration. Now, let’s discuss your speech for the tech conference. I have some ideas…”

… They talked amiably about his upcoming events, but Cambel’s mind ticked with potential schemes. She had connections across every arena of business and society here – PI’s, journalists, rivals looking for intel. If she discovered the right leverage, she could gently guide Arthur away from Philip. The family reputation mattered to him almost as much as the company’s bottom line.

“Oh, before you get back to your studying…” Cambel turned casually to Thomas. “Do keep an eye on your brother’s movements, won’t you? Discreetly of course. He’s been so secretive lately. I’d hate for him to do anything… unwise.”

Thomas hesitated, then nodded. “I suppose with stakes this high, it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.”

“That’s my thoughtful boy.” Cambel kissed Thomas’ forehead before heading upstairs, pleased. One well-placed rumor could undermine even the most powerful man.

She pulled out her smartphone and scrolled through various names and confidential numbers. Where to begin? A fit of laughter from Philip’s latest model girlfriend caught on camera? Proof of shady business dealings?

Cambel’s crimson nails hovered over Alexa’s number. As a socialite, she thrived on gossip and drama. And she’d clearly love another shot with Philip. Cambel filed that option away for later. For now, a more subtle approach was prudent.

She drafted a quick email to an investigative journalist she sometimes fed tidbits: “Let’s meet for martinis this week. I may have a story on the Waller’s heir that will whet your appetite…”

Power was never grasped directly. It shifted through inference, intimation, insinuation. Philip’s obvious disdain for her transparent offers of an alliance had been insulting. If an uncooperative stepson refused her helping hand, he’d force her to take the velvet glove off.

She glanced at a photo of her late husband Anthony – Thomas’ father – on her dressing table. Sweet, dutiful Anthony had been so manageable before the cancer took him. She missed that. Philip was more stubborn, like Arthur. Her influence had limits.

Cambel set her phone down and smoothed her hair. Whatever she unearthed, or manufactured, it would be for the good of the company and the family reputation. Thomas could be directed easier as CEO. And he deserved it after years of dutiful study, unlike reckless Philip. She was protecting their legacy.

Starting this little fire simply ensured that when Arthur was ready to retire, he had options besides his arrogant eldest son. Philip’s marriage ultimatum was a blessing in disguise. Six months gave her time to gently cast doubts in all the right places.

Cambel headed downstairs satisfied. She’d planted the seeds today. Now patience and nurturing would accomplish the rest. Thorns grew fastest when carefully cultivated.

Let Philip have his little world of nightclubs, fast cars and trysts for now. In time, he’d pay the price for disregarding her wise advice. No one plotted more quietly or judiciously than a woman underestimated. Philip would learn that lesson soon enough.

For the good of the family, Cambel would make certain of it.