When Contracts Turn to Forbidden Kisses Chapter 89

Ethan

When I was scrolling through the app, I saw the bombshell news spread like wildfire across every financial media outlet. The headlines were practically screaming: "Black Investment Group's Manhattan Financial Center Project Faces Funding Crisis."

Beneath the headlines, financial analysts were already speculating about the future of what had been my crowning achievement three years ago.

This project had been the most sought-after development in New York's financial district. Every major player wanted a piece of it, including the Astor family.

I remembered the boardroom battles, the late-night negotiations, and the satisfaction when I finally secured it for Black Investment Group. Now it was being dragged through the mud, with accusations of financial irregularities and funding problems.

I couldn't help but smirk as I read the gleeful comments from competitors who'd been forced to bow out. Their schadenfreude was almost palpable through the screen. They were probably celebrating my supposed downfall.

My then phone buzzed with James's name flashing on the screen. I sat up in the hospital bed, hitting the speaker button while reaching for the unlit cigarette I'd been fidgeting with all morning. The familiar weight between my fingers was comforting, even if hospital regulations prevented me from actually lighting it.

"It's working," I said flatly, satisfaction warming my chest despite my cool tone. "They took the bait."

"You sure about this approach?" James's voice crackled through the speaker. "That's a hell of a lot of capital to risk just to talk with the Astors."

I rolled the cigarette between my fingers, unimpressed by his concern. "You can't catch big fish without quality bait, James. The Astor family won't respond to small provocations."

"And if this backfires? The board is already asking questions."

"Let them ask," I replied, watching the morning sunlight filter through the hospital blinds.

A brief silence fell between us, heavy with unspoken worries. Then James sighed, a hint of reluctant respect in his voice. "Alright, Ethan. Just don’t lose yourself in this game."

After hanging up, Michael walked in, his expression serious as always. I ended the call with James, promising to check in later.

Michael glanced at the unlit cigarette in my hand and frowned but said nothing about it. Instead, he lowered his voice despite us being alone in the room.

"Sir, I have an update on Ashley Randal. Her father, Nathan Miller, fell into depression and attempted suicide multiple times after going bankrupt. He is currently receiving treatment at this hospital."

I raised an eyebrow. "Depression." That was unexpected, but what he deserved.

"Yes, sir. And Ashley has been doing relatively well for herself. She opened an opera training school in the city last year. It's small but seems to be stable."

Michael hesitated for a moment. "And?"

I looked at him, urging him to continue.

He hesitated again and said, "Three years ago, not only did she push the child in her belly onto you, but she also went to Mrs. Black to show off. Now, Mrs. Black thinks you have a wife and children — it's a huge misunderstanding."

I was stunned to hear this. So that’s why Amelia said those things, why she held a grudge against me.

My mind raced, trying to piece together the implications. I glanced at the door, suddenly distracted. I was wondering when Amelia would come back to change my bandage.

I could feel the tension building in the room. Every muscle in my body was coiled tight with anticipation. I'd spent three years searching for Amelia, and now she was just minutes away from walking through that door. The thought made my heart race in a way that had nothing to do with my medical condition.

"Tell Noah about his sister's latest stunt. Let him handle his family mess," I ordered.

Time seemed to slow as I waited, each second stretching longer than the last. My mind replayed every conversation, every moment we’d shared and lost. What would she say? Would she see the man I had become, or only the mistakes of the past?

When the door finally opened, I instantly reined in my expression, softening the hard lines of my face. Amelia stepped into the room looking every bit the professional in her white coat, a small tray with fresh bandages and antiseptic in hand. Clipboard held firmly against her chest like a shield. The moment our eyes met, I felt a surge of urgency.

“I need to explain something,” I blurted out before she could say a word. “About the kid. It's not...”

“Mr. Black,” she said quietly but firmly, “don’t bring up that subject. If you do, I won’t come back. Understand?”

Her words hit me like a blow. I wanted to press further, to tell her everything, but the finality in her voice stopped me cold. I nodded, swallowing the words that threatened to spill out.

She set down the tray and began to prepare the bandages, her movements precise but distant. The air between us thickened with unspoken tension, and I realized that some wounds ran deeper than the ones on my skin.

However, the door swung open again, and Ashley walked in.

Her sudden appearance cut through the fragile atmosphere like a sharp blade.

I watched in horror as Amelia's hands froze mid-motion, a slight tremor passing through them before she regained control. Her face remained impassive, but I knew her well enough to recognize the slight tightening around her eyes.

"I didn't call for you," I said quickly to Ashley, my voice sharper than I intended. "Why are you here?"

"I heard you were admitted," Ashley replied with a practiced smile. "I thought I should check on you."

"No need," I snapped, looking desperately at Amelia. "We never had any relationship. Nothing happened between us."

Amelia gathered her clipboard and stepped back. "I'll leave you two to talk," she said, her voice perfectly controlled. "Call the nurse if you need anything, Mr. Black."

"Amelia, wait—" I started, but she was already gone, the door closing firmly behind her.

I stared at the closed door, feeling a familiar sense of helplessness wash over me. Every time I got close to her, something went wrong.