Chapter 32: Ghosts of the Contract.

Chapter 32: Ghosts of the Contract.
The words rang in her skull long after the call ended. "There's a price on your head, Sherry." She couldn't breathe. The hotel bed felt suddenly too warm. The silence between her and Enzo was too loud.
She stood, bare feet pressing into the plush carpet, heart hammering as she paced to the window. The night outside was a velvet lie, quiet, cold, too still for the chaos unravelling inside her.
"They want me dead," she said softly.
Enzo didn't flinch. He sat at the edge of the bed, shirtless, head bowed, hands clasped like he was praying or suppressing violence. "I'll increase protection," he said.
Sherry turned sharply. "Protection isn't the problem, Enzo. You are." His head lifted slowly.
"What happened to me and to us wasn't supposed to be like this. I didn't sign up to be hunted or trapped in someone else's war."
His voice was flat. "No, you signed a contract."
She stared. "You're really going to throw that in my face right now?"
He stood. "That contract saved your company. Protected your family's name. You used it, too, Sherry."
"I thought it was temporary. A means to an end. I didn't think I was selling my life for a stitched-together lie and a war I never started."
He stepped closer. "You knew what this was."
"No," she snapped. "I thought I did. But you have kept me in the dark from the beginning. And now someone wants me dead because I'm tangled up in your vendettas."
Enzo's eyes narrowed. "You think this is my doing?"
"You're the one who drew me into this world. Into you." She wrapped her arms around herself. "You built a cage with luxury bars and convinced me it was love."
His jaw twitched.
"I want out," she whispered.
Something dark flickered in his eyes. "You're not walking away."
"I'm not yours, Enzo. Not anymore."
"Yes," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You are."
She held up her phone. "Then tell me why I just got a legal threat from Robert Gray's firm. They are claiming breach of contract. That I will lose everything about Margo Fashion House, my assets, my name, if I even try to break it."
Enzo's face hardened.
"They're watching us. Using this contract like a leash. And you... You won't let me go because you're afraid."
"I'm afraid to lose you," he growled.
She shook her head. "You're afraid to feel."
He crossed the room, grabbing her wrist gently but firmly. "You think ending this keeps you safe? You step out of my protection, Sherry, and you're not just vulnerable; you're dead."
Her voice cracked. "Then what? I'm your prisoner? Get dressed up and smile for the press while someone counts the seconds to pull a trigger?"
"I won't let that happen."
"You already are."
She pulled her hand free and turned toward the door.
"I'm going to the office," she said, barely breathing. "And you're not coming with me."
"Try walking into Blackwood Industries without my security," he said coldly, "and see how far you get."
She paused. "Is that a threat?"
"It's a promise."
In the end, they both went to the office together.
The ride to the office was silent.
Ethan sat across from her in the car, scanning his phone, pretending not to see the way she trembled. But he knew. Of course, he knew. He always knew.
When they pulled up to Blackwood Industries, the paparazzi were already waiting.
Click. Flash. "Is it true you're divorcing the Devil?" "Are you the next victim?" "Did Robert Gray pay you off?"
Sherry stepped out in heels sharp enough to slit a throat and a navy blazer that clung to her body like armor. She didn't flinch. She didn't blink.
Inside, whispers danced down the halls like fire.
"Contract wife..."
"CEO's sex puppet..."
"She's leaving..."
"She's staying..."
"Dead girl walking"
She pushed open the boardroom doors without knocking.
Half the board was already seated. The other half stared at her like she was a ticking bomb.
She sat. Calm. Controlled. Destroyed.
"I'll make this short," she said, voice clear. "Margo Fashion House is on the edge of collapse. Investors are pulling out. Tabloids are turning every headline into a weapon. You're scared."
No one spoke.
"But make no mistake," she said. "My family built Margo Fashion House from the ground up. Before Blackwood. Before the contract. Before Enzo."
A woman coughed lightly. "Miss Hart..."
She leaned forward. "You can call me CEO Hart. And I will not be replaced. Not by Victoria Hayes. Not by some other pawn. And not by Enzo's past."
A murmur ran through the room. But no one interrupted her again.
She stood and walked out with her spine steel-straight and her heart in pieces.
Later that night, Sherry sat alone in a downtown bar with dim lights, hard jazz, and the bitter bite of a whiskey she didn't remember ordering.
She stared into her glass.
Who had she become?
Was this the girl who once stitched her dreams into fabric?
Or just another ghost in a contract drawn with invisible ink and blood?
"Rough night?"
The voice slithered beside her.
Sherry turned.
Robert Gray.
Smiling. Perfect. Viper-smooth in a custom-cut suit.
"You're bold, I will give you that," he said, sliding onto the barstool beside her. "Drinking alone with a price on your head."
"Don't flatter yourself," she said. "I didn't come for you."
"No, but I did come for you."
She narrowed her eyes. "You're playing a dangerous game."
He leaned in. "So are you. But I'm offering you a new board. New pieces. A chance to win."
"I'm not interested."
"You will be." He swirled his glass. "You know Enzo can't save you. Not really. He's too wrapped up in his past to ever see your future. But I can."
"And what's the cost?" she asked bitterly.
He smiled. "Betray him. Walk away. Publicly. And I'll protect you. Fund your next company. Make Margo Fashion House independent again."
Her blood turned to ice.
"I'm not for sale."
"Oh, sweetheart," he whispered, brushing a thumb along the rim of his glass. "Everyone is. Especially when they're scared."
She stood. "You don't know me."
He tilted his head. "Don't I?"

Enzo was waiting when she returned to the hotel suite.
He stood by the window in a black suit, tie loosened, scotch in hand. A storm behind his eyes.
"You were with him," he said without turning.
Her stomach dropped.
"How did you..."
"Security tracked your phone. Audiovisual."
Her eyes widened. "You're bugging me now?"
"I'm protecting you."
"You're spying on me!"
He turned then, storming toward her, rage in every line of his body. "I walk into this hotel and see footage of you laughing with the man who wants you dead. You expect me to be calm?"
"He offered me a deal. I turned him down."
"You should have turned and walked out the second he spoke your name."
"I needed answers."
He towered over her now, chest heaving. "The only answers you need are in me. But you keep running to ghosts."
She shoved his chest. "Because I can't trust you!"
He grabbed her wrists and slammed her back into the door.
His breath was ragged. His voice shook.
"Tell me now," he growled. "Are you going to be mine... or his?"
Her eyes burned.
"Let me go."
"Not until you answer me."
"You don't own me."
"I chose you when I could have destroyed you."
"I didn't ask to be chosen!"
He leaned in, his mouth at her ear, his grip steel.
"Then choose me, Sherry. Or walk away. But if you stay... There are no more games."
Silence.
Her heart was a war drum.
Then she whispered,
"I don't know who you are anymore."
His grip faltered. Just for a second.
And she slipped out of his hold, leaving the door open behind her.
She walked out-but did she really walk away?