The Contract Said No Strings Attached (Charlotte) novel Chapter 87

Dylan stormed out of his family’s old estate, frustration simmering dangerously beneath the surface. The relentless pressure from his relatives, their tedious lectures and demands, echoed in his mind like a vise tightening around his skull.

Just then, his phone buzzed. It was Jonas. “Dylan, come out for a drink. I’ll keep you company and help you blow off some steam.”

Without hesitation, Dylan changed direction and headed straight for the club.

Inside, the place was cloaked in shadows, the music pounding so loud it nearly rattled the glasses. Dylan’s arrival drew more than a few stares, but his chiseled features were set in such a forbidding scowl that no one dared approach.

Jonas had already snagged a booth. As soon as he spotted Dylan, he pushed a glass of whiskey across the table. “What’s up? The old place giving you hell again? Come on, spill it.”

Dylan knocked the drink back in a single gulp and set the glass down with a thud. “Nothing worth talking about. Just the same old nonsense.”

Jonas clicked his tongue, then turned to Fitch and Thomas, who had just joined them. “Let me tell you guys, you wouldn’t believe how unlucky Dylan is. His wife? Man, she’s something else. And I don’t mean that in a good way.”

Fitch and Thomas exchanged a look, both skeptical.

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Come on, that’s Ms. Thomson. She can’t be that bad, right?”

Jonas leaned in, swearing up and down. “I’m telling you, it’s the truth. I saw her myself—she looks like something out of a circus sideshow.”

“A circus sideshow?” Fitch tried to picture it but failed. How bad could it be?

Jonas wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Face like a monkey, haircut like a mushroom, dressed like some washed-up punk rocker. And bright red hair, too—looked absolutely ridiculous.”

Fitch and Thomas both grimaced at the mental image.

Dylan stayed silent, his expression icy. Since he didn’t say a word to defend his wife, Fitch and Thomas figured Jonas must be telling the truth.

Everyone in town knew that Ms. Thomson had grown up away from her family. Even after she was found four years ago, George and his wife kept their daughter so sheltered that nobody in the Wye social circle had ever actually seen Rebecca. Whether she was beautiful or plain, it was all up to Jonas’s word.

Fitch shook his head with a sigh. “I thought the Thomsons and Dylans getting married would be the perfect match—like something out of a fairytale. Guess I was wrong…”

He paused for a moment, lost in the memory of that night: her laughter, the way she moved, everything about her. “She had this… unique energy. Not like those shallow socialites at all. Finding a girl like that, it’s like trying to catch a unicorn.”

Dylan listened from the sidelines, unable to hold back a cold, mirthless chuckle.

A unicorn? Sure, the woman had some charm, but calling her a unicorn was a stretch.

Too bad for Fitch—he didn’t stand a chance. That woman wasn’t just any girl. She was already married. She even had a son.

Thomas grinned and teased, “Fitch, sounds like you’ve actually caught feelings.”

Fitch didn’t answer. He just took another long drink.

Meanwhile, on the other side of town at Sunset Villa Estates, Rebecca stood in front of a sharply dressed elderly man. “Ma’am, I’m the butler from the main house. The master would like you to visit when you have time. When might you be available?”

Rebecca hesitated. She was married to Dylan now—it was only right to pay her respects. “Please let the master know I’ll come by once my face clears up. I’m having an allergic reaction right now, and I wouldn’t want to alarm him.”