The Contract Said No Strings Attached (Charlotte) novel Chapter 85

Dylan slid into the back seat of the car and lit a cigarette, the smoke curling lazily around him as his mind drifted far away.

Ever since they signed the marriage papers, Rebecca hadn’t contacted him once. He had to admit, her willingness to keep her distance surprised him; she was holding up her end of the bargain, just as she’d promised.

Maybe it was for the best. They were just a couple on paper, nothing more—no obligations, no messy entanglements. This whole marriage was nothing but an arrangement.

When he finished his cigarette, Dylan told the driver to head for Sunset Villa Estates, but just as he was settling back, his phone rang. The call was from the old family manor.

After he hung up, Dylan frowned, reconsidered, and gave a curt order: “Take me to the manor.”

The driver didn’t dare hesitate. He fired up the engine and sped toward the Austins’ ancestral home.

Inside the old house, in a classic tea room lined with antique oak shelves, Hugh Austin sat in a stately armchair, rolling a string of wooden prayer beads between his fingers, eyes half closed in thought.

The family’s longtime butler hurried in, bowing slightly as he delivered his report in a low voice. “Sir, the young master has been staying at the office these past few days. He hasn’t been back to Sunset Villa.”

Hugh Austin’s hand stilled on the beads, his expression darkening. “That ungrateful boy. If this goes on, when will I ever have a great-grandchild? I can’t let this continue. We need to do something—get him to produce an heir soon, or he can forget about running the company.”

The words had barely left his mouth when a soft, sardonic laugh came from the doorway. “So you called me back for this?”

“I’m warning you, Dylan: you will give me a grandson. I won’t have generations of the Austin legacy end with you! If you dare donate the company, you’ll be cursed by your ancestors long after you’re gone!”

But Dylan only stared back, cold and unmoved, as if his grandfather’s anger couldn’t touch him.

“Grandpa, have you forgotten? I told you from the start—my marriage to Rebecca is just a contract. We agreed on three years, and then we’ll divorce. You signed off on it. Why pressure me for a child now?”

His grandfather snorted, stubborn as ever. “I don’t care about your contract. Does a piece of paper stop you from having a child? Let me be clear: you have to give this family an heir! When your contract’s up, divorce her if you want. But letting down your ancestors? That’s something I won’t allow!”

At that moment, Dylan’s mother, Mrs. Austin, burst through the door. Her face was pinched with worry as she hurried to stop them. “Dylan, you can’t have a child with Rebecca—not that woman!”