The Contract Psycho's Revenge

Everyone in our social circle knew I was a contract psycho. If Pierce wanted to sleep with me, he had to sign a Consent and Acknowledgment Form first.

When his first love, Peyton, moved back to the States, he swore up and down that they were completely platonic and wouldn't cross a single line.

I pushed my wirerimmed glasses up my nose.

I popped open the wall safe, yanked out a stack of legal documents, and dropped a heavy cardboard box of security cameras onto the desk. "Verbal promises don't hold up in court." I tapped the thickest file. "Since you're so confident, let's make it official." "First order of business: the Total Home Transparency Clause." I pulled a camera lens from the box. "Threehundredandsixtydegree surveillance.

No blind spots. I want a 4K view of the toilet bowl." Pierce stared at the hardware. A muscle feathered in his jaw. His knuckles turned white.

Before he could explode, I shoved a fountain pen and a red thumbprint ink pad across the desk. "Second." I slid the contract toward him. "Sign this PreEmptive Breach of Marriage Agreement." "The terms are simple.

If you ever bring up divorce because of Peyton, it constitutes a unilateral material breach. The penalty is complete asset forfeiture.

You walk away with absolute zero." "You'll have to leave the boxers you're wearing right now to cover your debt." I leaned in, locking my eyes onto his. "Dare to sign?" … Chapter 1 He ground his teeth together.

His glare bored into me as he finally dragged the pen across the dotted line. He tossed the pen aside. "Satisfied?" I didn't bother answering.

I just watched the technicians drill the final camera mount onto the balcony wall, adding to the ones blinking in the living room and bedroom. I gave them a curt nod.

The contract was officially active. This house was now a zerosecret zone. It took less than twentyfour hours. Right at midnight, Pierce's phone shattered the silence. Peyton.

Even without speakerphone, her tearful voice carried through the quiet room. "Pierce, my power went out. It's so dark. I'm terrified." Pierce bolted upright.

He snatched his car keys from the nightstand and made a beeline for the door. I stayed propped up against the headboard.

I didn't move an inch. "Section Three of the Agreement." I kept my voice low, but the words sliced clean through the silent bedroom. "A private, postmidnight rendezvous between the married party and a nonrelative female incurs an immediate fiftythousanddollar penalty." Pierce froze, his hand on the doorknob.

He whipped around, his chest heaving. "Are you really this coldblooded? She's just scared!" "FaceTime her.

Or book her a hotel." "You're out of your damn mind." He shoved the door open and slammed it shut behind him. He dragged himself back in the next morning.

Deep purple bags hung under his eyes. "I slept in my car downstairs. I didn't do anything," he said, tossing his keys on the counter. His tone was heavy with defensive annoyance.

I didn't argue. I just hit a button on the remote, casting the dashcam footage directly onto the living room's flat screen.

The timestamp glowed bright white against the dark video feed. His car was parked dead center outside Peyton's apartment building. From 12:30 AM straight through to 4:30 AM.

Four solid hours. All the color drained from Pierce's face. His lips parted, trembling slightly, but no words came out. I already had my banking app open.

I authorized the transfer right in front of him.

Fifty grand, pulled cleanly from his account and dropped straight into mine. "Penalty deducted." I swiped the notification away. "Pleasure doing business with you." His knees buckled.

He collapsed onto the sofa like a puppet with cut strings. Peyton showed up that afternoon carrying an overpriced fruit basket.

Her makeup was flawless, though she'd strategically irritated her eyes to a faint red—the perfect picture of a victim. "Octavia, I'm so sorry." She clutched the basket. "It was my fault last night.

I shouldn't have bothered Pierce that late." Her mouth offered an apology, but her eyes slid straight to Pierce, flashing a subtle, triumphant gleam. "And Pierce… I told him I didn't need company, but he was so worried.

He guarded me all night from downstairs. It was so hard on him." As she spoke, she casually brushed against my pristine beige sofa.

A glaring red smear of lipstick stained the fabric. I pulled up the PDF on my phone. "Supplementary Clause Seven.

Any nonrelative female entering the primary residence or its annex without prior authorization constitutes a 'territorial invasion.'" I pointed straight at the red smudge. "Tenthousanddollar fine.

Sofa cleaning fee billed separately." Peyton's perfectly curated expression completely froze. Pierce couldn't hold it in anymore.

He stepped between us, veins popping in his neck. "She's a guest! Can't you be the bigger person for once in your life?" I didn't even look at him.

I hit the intercom button for the housekeeper. "Strip this sofa cover. Take it out and throw it in the curbside trash.

Make sure Peyton watches you do it." The housekeeper blinked, startled, but quickly stepped forward and started pulling at the fabric.

Peyton's face went through a rapid cycle of chalkwhite and blotchy red. True tears finally welled up.

She slapped her hands over her face and sprinted for the door. "Are you happy now?" Pierce stared at me, his eyes clouded with heavy disappointment, before turning on his heel to chase after her.

The front door slammed shut, rattling the hinges. I didn't flinch. A dry, humorless laugh pushed its way up my throat.

I smoothed my skirt, sat back down at the dining table, and flipped open my laptop. I pulled up the monthly spreadsheets and started reconciling the household accounts.

Romance was a bad investment. Cash, on the other hand, never breached a contract. Chapter 2 Pierce had been acting out of character lately.

The consecutive financial hits had clearly drained him. He started playing the attentive husband, even suggesting we host an anniversary dinner party at the house.

The night of the party, the house was packed. Peyton showed up uninvited.

She drifted over to me in a flowy white dress, playing the wounded bird. "Octavia, let me help." She stepped toward the kitchen. I didn't agree. I didn't refuse.

I just let her walk in. Inside, I prepped a sea bass. Hot oil cracked and popped in the castiron skillet. Peyton hovered around my workspace.

Her eyes kept darting toward the spitting oil. A sudden, earpiercing shriek tore out of her throat. She plunged her own hand straight toward the boiling fat.

A second later, she cradled her rapidly blistering fingers against her chest.

Tears streamed down her face. "Octavia, why did you push me?" Pierce shoved his way through the doorway first. His eyes locked onto Peyton's scalded skin.

He didn't ask a single question.

He just slammed his hands into my shoulders and shoved me backward. "Are you out of your mind?" The small of my back crashed against the granite island edge.

Whitehot pain spiked down my spine. My knees buckled. Pierce didn't even spare me a glance. He scooped Peyton into his arms and pivoted toward the door.

Whispers rippled through the guests crowding the hallway. Fingers pointed in my direction.

I gripped the edge of the counter, steadying myself. "Not so fast." I grabbed the remote and hit the projector button.

The fourfigure, 360degree, highdef kitchen camera feed instantly blanketed the blank living room wall. The 4K video didn't lie.

It showed me completely focused on the cutting board. It showed Peyton, entirely on her own, thrusting her hand over the skillet. I never even brushed against her.

A collective gasp sucked the air out of the room. Pierce froze midstep. He stood there clutching Peyton, paralyzed. The sobs hitched and died in Peyton's throat.

I pressed a hand to my throbbing lower back. I pulled out my phone and swiped to a new PDF. "AntiDomestic Violence Addendum, Section Five.

If either party commits physical violence, including shoving or striking, resulting in minor injury, the offending party must forfeit one piece of real estate in their name, or pay a twomilliondollar cash equivalent." My tone stayed flat, but the living room went dead silent.

All the blood abandoned Pierce's face. Under the stare of two dozen witnesses, he didn't dare gamble on whether I'd call the cops.

Chapter 3 His jaw locked tight enough to crack a tooth. He whipped out his phone and transferred the two million right there on the spot.

The second the notification chimed, I could practically hear the sound of his ego hemorrhaging cash. Peyton had boiled her own skin for nothing.

The stunt flopped, and it cost Pierce a fortune. She slid out of his arms, her eyes locking onto mine with a toxic glare.

She looked like she wanted to carve the flesh straight off my bones. From that night on, Pierce pulled a hard oneeighty.

He morphed into the sickeningly attentive husband, groveling to a pathetic degree. Peyton even started greeting me with an artificially sweet, highpitched voice.

They thought the nice act would drop my guard. That quiet streak didn't even last fortyeight hours.

A middleaged woman weighed down by designer luggage and sporting a stiff, oversprayed blowout rang the doorbell. It was Pierce's mother.

The second she crossed the threshold, she sneered at the blinking cameras.

Then she grabbed Peyton's hand, pulling her close. "Oh, my sweet girl, I finally get to see you!" She didn't even look at me. "I have a barren waste of space for a daughterinlaw who turns my son's house into a maximumsecurity prison!" She threw indirect daggers the entire afternoon, treating Peyton like her own flesh and blood right in front of my face.

The next day, the limitededition perfume sitting on my vanity was "accidentally" knocked over. Shattered glass and heavy floral notes soaked the floorboards.

I didn't waste my breath arguing. I just pulled the original receipt from my files, grabbed a printed Household Property Damage Claim form, and snapped a photo.

I hit send on a text to Pierce. [Your mother smashed this. Three times the market price.

Deducting it straight from your next quarter's dividend.] Pierce's face drained of color the second his phone buzzed. After that, the petty sabotage kicked into overdrive.

Hot sauce laced into my night cream. My couture gowns slashed to ribbons with fabric shears. I documented every single hit.

Every ruined item translated cleanly into a massive deduction from Pierce's accounts. I was bleeding his liquid assets completely dry. They finally hit their breaking point.

That afternoon, Peyton cornered me by the secondfloor landing. She put on a pleading expression.

She claimed she knew she was wrong and begged me to let it go for her and Pierce's mother. The moment I turned my back to walk away, a sharp gasp ripped from her throat.

Her body went completely rigid as she threw herself backward, tumbling down the hardwood staircase. As her body hit the first step, a heavy, greasy scent hit the back of my throat.

The edge of the landing was coated in a clear slick of cooking oil. Pierce's mother bolted out of the guest room with razorperfect timing.

She locked eyes on Peyton lying "unconscious" at the bottom of the stairs, then lunged up the steps like a rabid animal. Crack. A stinging slap crashed across my jaw.

A highpitched ringing immediately pierced my left ear. Chapter 4 Pierce lunged up the stairs. His eyes went bloodshot as they locked onto Peyton's "bleeding" forehead.

He whipped his head toward me, the tendons in his neck snapping tight. "Is there no room for her in your world?

Do you actually want her dead?!" He bared his teeth, his hands curling into fists as if ready to rip my throat out. My cheek burned with a raw, stinging heat.

I didn't shed a single tear. I didn't scream. I just raised my hand to the collar of my blouse.

My fingernails pried at the center of my sapphire brooch, pulling free a device smaller than a grain of rice. "You guys played it smart.

You knew exactly where the blind spots for the hallway cameras were." I dropped the microlens into my palm. "But you can't dodge what's on my body." I synced the feed to the wall projector.

The highdefinition playback didn't stutter.

It showed Peyton tiptoeing to the landing, coating the hardwood in clear oil, adjusting her posture, and deliberately throwing herself down the stairs.

All the blood washed out of his mother's wrinkled face. Her hand, still raised high for a second strike, froze dead in the air. The breath hitched in Pierce's throat.

He stood completely paralyzed. "Framing, defamation, and domestic battery." I swept my gaze over them, spitting out the words like ice. "That slap just cost you fifty grand.

And you can cover Peyton's medical bills yourselves." I let the silence stretch for a beat before dropping the final anvil. "I also want the five percent company equity under Pierce's name.

Consider it a nondisclosure fee. Otherwise, this footage hits the front page of every social media platform by noon." Pierce stiffened, his shoulders pulling rigid.

He knew the stakes. If this video leaked, Peyton's reputation was permanently burned to the ground.

Trapped into protecting his first love, he grabbed a pen and signed the equity transfer documents. I had successfully hollowed out the bulk of his net worth.

After that, he completely flipped the script. He dropped to his knees right in front of me, real tears tracking down his face. "Octavia, I messed up.

I really messed up." He grabbed the hem of my skirt. "I'll send Peyton out of the country tomorrow. Let's just live a good life, okay?" His mother pulled a massive reversal, too.

She became sickeningly sweet, inviting me to a secluded hot spring resort in the suburbs to "make amends." I knew exactly what this was. A cornered animal's final, desperate lunge.

I agreed to go. The SUV pulled up to the resort. There were no hot springs. The massive, dimly lit lobby was completely gutted and dead empty.

Heavyset men in black tactical gear blocked every exit, their hands resting near their waistbands. Peyton stepped out from behind a dark wooden partition.

A triumphant, crooked smirk twisted her lips as she waved a thick stack of papers. A Voluntary Asset Relinquishment Agreement. Pierce let the pathetic husband act drop entirely.

A dark, jagged sneer spread across his face. "Sign it.

Vomit up every single dime you swallowed, and we let you walk." He took a slow step forward. "Otherwise, tomorrow's headline reads: Pierce's Wife Suffers Tragic, Fatal Fall While Vacationing in the Mountains." I didn't shake.

I stared down at the documents in Peyton's hand, my heart rate dead steady. "You staged this entire circus just for a payout