The Billionaire's Contract Lover

CHAPTER 1

The Beginning

“Ruby!”

The voice cracked through the hallway like a whip.

“How many times must I call you before you answer?”

Ruby halted mid step, the weight of the laundry basket digging into her arms. She drew in a slow, steadying breath. That tone—sharp, impatient, laced with irritation—had become the constant soundtrack of her life.

“Yes, ma,” she replied softly as she stepped into the living room.

Vivian Cole stood waiting, arms folded with calculated elegance, her manicured nails tapping rhythmically against her elbow. Beside her, Clara lounged on the couch like royalty, legs stretched comfortably, eyes glued to her phone screen.

“What took you so long?” Vivian demanded.

“I was hanging the clothes outside,” Ruby murmured.

Clara finally looked up, a mocking smirk tugging at her lips. “And you couldn’t run? Honestly, Ruby, you walk like someone twice your age.”

Heat crawled up Ruby’s neck, humiliation prickling under her skin, but she kept her head lowered. “I’m sorry.”

Vivian scoffed. “Sorry, don't cook dinner. Move to the kitchen and start preparing food before your laziness keeps us all waiting.”

“But… I haven’t finished cleaning the rooms,” Ruby said quietly.

Vivian’s gaze sharpened. “Did I ask for an update on your chores? Or are you now bold enough to argue with me?”

“No, ma,” Ruby whispered.

“Good. Now move.”

Ruby nodded and hurried toward the kitchen, feeling Clara’s satisfied stare boring into her back.

The moment she crossed the threshold, her chest tightened. Her eyes stung. Another day begins with insults, a reminder that in her own father’s house… she was nothing more than a servant.

Ruby hadn’t always lived this way.

There was a time—distant, tender, almost dreamlike—when love danced freely in the walls of this home. Her childhood had been filled with warm laughter, her mother’s humming drifting through the air, and her father’s terrible dancing that somehow made everything funnier.

Her mother, Pamela Cole, had been her sun—gentle, nurturing, and endlessly patient. Her father adored them both, the three of them forming a world Ruby believed would last forever.

But forever ended when Ruby turned nine.

Pamela’s illness began quietly, stealing her strength little by little until there was nothing left to fight with. Ruby remembered holding her mother’s hands, feeling the warmth slip away day by day. She remembered the nights spent praying, the mornings spent hoping, the evening her mother whispered, “Be strong, my Ruby,” before her voice faded like a candle’s last breath.

The night her mother died, something inside Ruby broke beyond repair.

It broke the family love, a once United home shattered in one night.

Shortly after Vivian came like a nightmare, she entered their lives when Ruby was eleven—beautiful, sophisticated, and smiling a smile that never reached her eyes. When Anderson introduced her as a “friend,” Ruby had felt her stomach tighten, though she didn’t understand why.

Vivian touched Ruby’s hair the first day they met and said, “Oh, she’s cute, fragile like a stray kitten.”

Ruby smiled politely then, not knowing the truth hiding beneath those words.

Six months later, Vivian became Mrs. Cole.

With her came Clara—thirteen, fashionable, confident, and dripping with entitlement. Clara looked at Ruby over the way someone examines a stain on their shirt.

Ruby tried to be friendly.

“Hi,” she greeted shyly. “Do you want to play something?”

Clara wrinkled her nose. “Play? With you? I don't play with housemaids.”

Those words marked the beginning of a new reality.

Vivian was sweet only when Anderson was home, showering Ruby with false praises, while wearing the mask of a perfect stepmother.

But the moment Anderson stepped out, the mask crumbled.

At some certain times she became a threat to Vivian, her beauty struck out like some lighting. She was jealous of her, she had everything her daughter lacked. She decided to get rid of her by hitting her on the far or putting hot water on her body. Ruby had injuries on all parts of her body, she was like a living dead.

Anderson? He never saw the darkness behind the curtain. Vivian made sure of that.

*********

The front door slammed so hard the walls seemed to shudder.

Ruby flinched instinctively, her hands tightening around the wooden spoon. For a second, she thought the sound might crack the fragile peace she’d been clinging to all evening.

Then came the sound of her father’s footsteps retreating down the porch steps, sharp and angry, followed by the roar of his car engine tearing into the night.

He was gone.

The house fell into a strange, hollow quiet—the kind that pressed against Ruby’s ears and made her chest feel tight. She stood alone in the kitchen, the smell of stew thick in the air, steam curling up from the pot like a warning she didn’t yet understand.

She checked the clock above the sink. It was past nine.

Too late, she knew. Everything was always too late with Vivian.

But dinner had to be ready. That was the rule. If it wasn’t ready, there would be yelling. If it was ready, there might still be yelling—but at least Ruby could pretend she’d done something right.

She stirred the pot slowly, carefully, as if sudden movements might summon trouble faster.

Her arms ached. Her legs trembled from standing too long. She hadn’t eaten since morning, but hunger was something she’d learned to silence. Hunger didn’t matter. Fear did.

Vivian hated the sound of cooking after her husband left the house. She said it reminded her of disrespect of defiance of a girl who didn’t know her place.

And tonight, her husband left angry, which made everything worse. Ruby heard footsteps coming closer enough to tell it was over her, her heart sank immediately.

Vivian entered the kitchen without a word.

She was still dressed neatly, her hair perfectly arranged, her face calm in that terrifying way Ruby had come to recognize.

Vivian didn’t need to shout to be dangerous. Her silence was sharper than screams. She looked at the pot then at Ruby.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Vivian asked quietly.

Ruby swallowed. “I—I was finishing dinner. Dad might come back hungry.”

Vivian laughed softly, but there was no humor in it.

“After the way he stormed out?” she said. “You think food is what matters right now?”

Ruby didn’t answer. Experience had taught her that words often made things worse.

Vivian stepped closer. The kitchen suddenly felt too small, the air too thick.

“I told you,” Vivian said, her voice low, “that when he leaves like that, you stop. Everything stops.”

Ruby’s fingers trembled around the spoon. “I’m sorry. I just thought—”

“You thought?” Vivian cut in sharply. “That’s your problem. You think when you should obey.”

Vivian’s gaze hardened as she took in the scene—the bubbling stew, the heat still rising, the proof that Ruby had continued despite her rules.

Anger flashed across her face like lightning.

“So you want to cook?” Vivian said. “Fine. Let’s see how much you like it.”

Before Ruby could react, Vivian grabbed the pot.

“Wait—please—!” Ruby cried, stepping back.

But it was too late, the world tilted.

Heat exploded across Ruby’s body, a sudden overwhelming shock that stole the breath from her lungs. She screamed before her legs gave out beneath her.

The kitchen erupted into chaos.

The pot clattered to the floor. Liquid splashed across the tiles.

Ruby collapsed.