Contract Marriage: I Will Never Love You

The neon sign above the strip club door isn't on. The club was clearly closed, but I burst through the door anyway. Thankfully, the door was unlocked.

My eyes dart wildly, ignoring the staff members' curious glances, my mind focused on one goal: finding my unruly husband.

A middle-aged woman with bottle-blonde hair and hard eyes approaches. "We're not open yet, sweetheart," she says. "Come back in another four hours."

"Where is he?" I demand, my voice sharper than I intend. The woman's eyebrows shoot up.

"Whoa there, sweetheart," she says. "Who exactly are you looking for, and what's your business with him?"

I swallow hard, fighting back the urge to scream. "Matthew," I manage. "Matthew Jameson. I need to see him now."

The owner's eyes narrow. "And who might you be?" she asks, her voice laced with suspicion.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. "I'm his wife," I say, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "Sarah Wilson-Jameson. And I don't care what he's told you or anyone else. I have every right to see my husband."

The woman's expression shifts, and I see pity on her face. She sighs, running a hand through her graying hair. "Look," she begins, her voice softening slightly. "I don't know what's going on between you two, but maybe this isn't the best—"

"Tell me where he is," I interrupt curtly."

She hesitates for a moment longer, then nods reluctantly. "Alright," she concedes. "He's in booth number 5. But I'm warning you, you might want to take a deep breath and calm down before you go in there."

"Thanks," I cut her off abruptly before striding toward the booth.

"Fucking asshole," I whisper to myself, clenching my fists at my sides.

What will I find behind that curtain? The thought of Matthew with another woman makes my chest tighten painfully.

I reach the booth, my hand trembling as I pull the curtain aside, my eyes flying open to confront the scene inside.

Of course.

Matthew is lounging on a plush leather couch, his posture relaxed and arrogant. A woman with black hair and big breasts is draped across his lap, her long legs intertwined with his.

My stomach lurches, but I take a deep breath. I need to stay calm.

Matthew's dark eyes meet mine, and I watch as his expression shifts. The initial flash of surprise quickly morphs into a smug grin that sends ice through my veins.

"I told you you won't like what you will see here," Matthew drawls.

I ignore him and lock eyes with the woman. "Get off my husband's lap. NOW."

The stripper shifts uneasily.

"Stay right where you are, sweetheart," Matthew orders, his voice sharp with irritation. His arm tightens possessively around her waist, and I feel a surge of nausea.

So this is how you want to play, Matthew.

My heart pounds, but I force myself to stand tall. "Look at me," I say to the woman, my voice low but firm. "Get..the fuck…off my…goddamned husband."

"I said don't move," Matthew snarls at the woman, but his control is slipping. I can hear it in his voice, see it in the tightening of his jaw.

The woman scrambles off Matthew's lap. "I am just going to let you handle this, Matty," she mutters.

"Great idea. You are smarter than you look," I drawl, inching toward my beloved husband.

As she rushes past me, I glare at Matthew.

"Well," Matthew snarls. "You think you've won something here?"

"I thought you were with friends, Matthew. You have the audacity to call me a liar when you straight up lie to me on the phone?" I accuse.

Matthew rolls his eyes. "I didn't lie. I was with friends. They left. And Lola here is a very good friend of mine who happens to give excellent lap dances."

I let out a harsh laugh, the sound grating against my own ears. "Oh, I'm sure she does, Matthew. Anyway, I am not here to argue with you. I am here to take you back home so you can get ready for dinner with my parents."

Matthew leans back on the couch. "No."

I stare at Matthew, my heart pounding in my chest. "What do you mean, 'no'?" I demand, my voice rising.

Matthew's dark eyes bore into mine, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "I mean exactly what I said, Sarah. I'm not going anywhere with you. Now, be a good wife and tell Lola to come back here and finish her lapdance."

I take a step toward him, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. "You are being immature, Matthew."

He laughs at that. "That's rich coming from you. Shall I remind you of all the immature things you've done to get us here, Sarah?"

I freeze, Matthew's words hitting me like a slap in the face. As much as I want to deny it, to scream at him that he's wrong, I can't. Because deep down, I know there's truth in what he says.

Matthew watches me, his eyes glittering with triumph. "Not so fun when the tables are turned, is it, Sarah?" he sneers. "How does it feel to be humiliated?"

I sigh. "Fine. You want your lapdance? You will get it. But you are coming with me right after," I declare, then storm out of the booth to find Matthew's 'friend.'

It doesn't take me long before I spot Lola by the bar. "Hey, you!" I call out.

Lola turns to face me, her eyes wide. "Yes?"

"Matthew wants you back in the booth," I say, keeping my tone neutral though every nerve in my body is screaming at me to let loose.

Lola hesitates, her gaze darting between me and the bar. "I don't think that's a good idea," she says nervously.

"I will pay you extra," I tell her.

Lola glances around, clearly weighing her options, before sighing. "Fine," she mutters, grabbing her drink and downing the rest of it in one gulp. She brushes past me without another word, heading toward the booth.

I follow close behind, my jaw clenched so tightly it feels like my teeth might crack.

When we arrive, Matthew is lounging in the same position, his arrogant smirk firmly in place. He looks past Lola to me, clearly enjoying the show.

"You're really something, Sarah," he drawls. "I'll give you that."

"Save it," I snap, standing by the entrance of the booth. "You have five minutes to enjoy this little charade, Matthew. Then we're leaving."

Matthew shrugs as if my words mean nothing to him and motions for Lola to sit.

She hesitates. "This is weird," she says as Matthew hands her a wad of cash.

"Go ahead, girl. Give him what he wants," I reply flatly, my voice laced with sarcasm. "This is exactly how I envisioned spending my afternoon—watching my husband grope a stripper in a dingy booth."

Lola stands up. "Sorry, Matty. You need to figure this out on your own. I don't want to get in the middle of this."

"Smart girl," I snap, stepping forward. "You're free to go, Lola. Keep the money."

"I'm out," Lola mutters, clutching her money and disappearing through the curtain.

As soon as she's gone, I stand over him, my fists clenched at my sides. "Well, 'Matty'. It looks like you won't be getting your lapdance today. Now, get up."

He suddenly grabs me and roughly pulls me toward him.

I gasp as I land hard on his thighs, his strong hands gripping my waist. My heart races as I feel the heat of his body pressed against mine.

"Let me go," I hiss, trying to wriggle free. But his hold only tightens, his fingers digging possessively into my flesh.

"You wanted my attention, sweetheart? Well, now you've got it," Matthew growls.

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. "This isn't a game, Matthew. I'm serious. We need to leave."

"Oh, I think we're exactly where we need to be," he replies, his voice low and dangerous. One hand slides up my back to tangle in my hair, jerking my head back. I whimper at the sharp tug.

"Always trying to control me, aren't you Sarah?" he snarls against my throat, his stubble scraping my sensitive skin. "When are you going to learn that I won't be tamed?"

"I just want us to be happy," I whisper brokenly. "I want my husband back."

Matthew laughs a harsh, bitter sound. "You never had me, princess. You had an illusion. A lie you told yourself."

His mouth crashes down on mine in a punishing kiss, his tongue forcing its way past my lips to plunder and possess. I moan helplessly, my body betraying me as I melt against him.

He bites down on my lower lip hard enough to draw blood. I cry out in pain and shock as he shoves me roughly back against the couch cushions. My head spins from the sudden movement and the coppery taste of blood in my mouth.

Matthew stands up and straightens his jacket. "Well then. Let's get this stupid dinner over with."

I stare up at him, my chest heaving, anger and arousal making my head spin.

I slowly rise to my feet, swiping at the trickle of blood on my lip with the back of my hand, refusing to cry.