His Contract Bride for Christmas

Six

Ryan:

The shrill ring of my phone dragged me out of a restless sleep. I groaned, rolling over to squint at the glowing screen on the nightstand.

Dad.

I sighed, already knowing this wasn't going to end well. Swiping to answer, I pressed the phone to my ear. "Yeah?" My voice was hoarse, heavy with sleep.

"Ryan," my father's voice was sharp, cutting through the fog in my head. "You're still in that town, aren't you?"

I sat up, rubbing a hand over my face. "Good evening to you too, Dad. And yes, I'm still here. Why?"

"Why?" He let out a humorless laugh. "Because you've been gone long enough. You need to come back. Immediately."

I frowned, irritation bubbling beneath the surface. "I told you I needed time. I'm handling things here, scoping out the community center."

"Handling what? You think you can change my mind?" His voice was incredulous, bordering on disgust.

"It's not just about that anymore," I shot back, my tone defensive.

"You must return to the city and accept Felica's marriage offer. I have decided I won't retire until you marry." His tone was sharp. Ryan, you're not some savior. You're a businessman. And right now, your business is here with the family. You can't just walk away because you've decided to play the hero."

I clenched my jaw, the weight of his words pressing down on me. "It's not like that."

"Then what is it?" he demanded. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're throwing away everything you've worked for on a whim."

I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me," he said, his voice softening just enough to catch me off guard. "Ryan, I know I'm hard on you. But I've spent my life building something for you to inherit. I can't stand by and watch you throw it all away. Come back, and we'll figure this out together."

I hesitated, the fight in me wavering.

"You can't stay there forever, Ryan. You know that." The logic in his words cut through my stubbornness. I hated that he was right, but he was. I couldn't stay.

"Fine," I said after a long pause. "I'll come back. But I'm leaving the owner here something—money for the painting I purchased, plus extra for the room. In return, you stop the marriage business and accept that while I may do things differently than you, I can still run the company."

There was a pause on his end, then a satisfied hum. "I'll expect you back by morning."

The line went dead before I could respond.

"I knew this wasn't the last of the marriage bit he had been throwing out at me for months,"

I sat there for a moment, staring at the phone in my hand. Then I got up, grabbed my notebook, and began writing.

Dani,

I'm sorry to leave like this, but something's come up, and I need to go back to the city. I'm leaving you the $5,000 for the painting—it's worth every penny—and an additional $2,000 for the room.

I know things have been tough, but I promise I'll stay in touch.

You're stronger than you think, Dani. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

Ryan

I folded the letter and left it on the kitchen counter, weighted down with an envelope of cash. As I stepped outside into the cool night air, I glanced back at the house one last time, my chest tight with a mix of regret and resolve.

I had to go back, but this wasn't the end—not for Dani and not for me.

The country's darkness began to blur until it became the shimmering neon of the city. The moment escaped me, and I turned to the memory of why I had left home in the first place.

The snow fell in relentless sheets, blanketing the city in a white haze that muted the usual chaos.

From the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse, the world below looked almost serene, a deceptive calm that I craved but could never quite touch.

Behind me, my phone buzzed for the fifth time in as many minutes. I didn't need to look to know who it was—my father. Or maybe my sister is trying to smooth things over after yet another boardroom bloodbath.

I let it ring.

The tension in my chest hadn't eased since the meeting this morning. It was another shouting match over the direction of the family business, another round of accusations and thinly veiled threats.

My father, ever the tyrant, had called me "soft" in front of the entire board as if my refusal to bulldoze a small-town community center in Danville for the sake of a new development project was some moral failing.

I could still hear his cold and cutting voice: "You don't have what it takes to lead this family, Ryan. You don't have a wife or a family, and you can't even make one decision. Maybe you should step aside before you embarrass us further."

The worst part? He wasn't entirely wrong. I didn't have the stomach for the kind of ruthless ambition that fueled the Sterling empire. But stepping aside wasn't an option, either. Not with the vultures circling.

I grabbed the tumbler of scotch from the table and downed it in one gulp, the burn doing little to dull the ache in my chest. I needed out. Just for a while. A week, maybe two, away from the suffocating weight of expectations and the constant power plays. I thought of the art gala Jullian, my long-time friend, was hosting. That could be the perfect excuse. I wanted to see him anyway.

Danville sat right between me and the art gala, which may have been the best opportunity to sway me toward voting to doze it over.

I didn't think twice. Within the hour, I had a bag packed—just the essentials—and was in the elevator, ignoring the doorman's concerned look as I stepped into the storm.

The streets were nearly deserted, and the city hunkered down as the snowstorm intensified. My driver tried to talk me out of it, his voice tight and worried: "Mr. Sterling, the roads are dangerous. Maybe wait until morning?"

"No," I said, my tone sharper than intended. "I need to leave. Now. Please let my father know. Tell him I will see if I can find the answers I need to sway my vote. He will understand." He didn't argue further, though I caught his glance with the concierge before I pulled away.

The drive out of the city was slow, the snow thick and unyielding, but I didn't care. With every mile, the tension in my chest eased a fraction.

By the time I reached the outskirts of Danville, it was well past midnight, and the storm had transformed the town into a postcard-perfect scene.

As I remembered, the inn at the city's edge was quaint, with a wraparound porch and a flickering sign that read "No Vacancy." The owner, a woman in her sixties with kind eyes, didn't bat an eye at my late arrival or my expensive coat dusted with snow.

"Rough night?" she asked.

"Something like that," I muttered, offering a faint smile.

"I'm afraid the storm has us all booked. But, I could call around and see if I could find you a room elsewhere." I nodded appreciatively, thanking her for doing something she had no obligation to do.

Hospitality was rare in the city that I had grown so fond of. It was quieter here, softer even.

I could only imagine how Danville would be—isolated, a town full of people fighting to keep alive a community the state longed to fizzle out.

How quiet would it be there?

A few minutes later, the lady returned with a fearful look.

"I'm afraid the other two hotels in the area are also full. But there is a bed and breakfast just over in Danville. It is called Evergreen Bed and Breakfast. I couldn't reach the owner, but Dani is a good girl; she will take good care of you." I nodded, deciding it would be best for me to head out and drive until I couldn't. I could sleep in the car for the night if I needed to.

"Thank you very much." With a smile, I headed out, having no idea what I was about to walk into listening to the woman or the fire it would light in my life...

Now, here I was, walking away from it, away from her.