The Contract Ex-Husband of Wealthy Widow

Chapter 9: Second Client: Madam Bianca

The new apartment on the Upper West Side smelled of lemon polish and expensive silence. Raka stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, staring at the toy-sized taxis crawling along Central Park West. His phone buzzed on the marble kitchen island.

"The view is better than the studio, isn't it?" Elena’s voice was as crisp as a fresh banknote.

"It’s a nicer cage, Elena. I'll give you that."

"Don't get philosophical, Raka. It doesn't suit your current tax bracket. Are you dressed?"

"I’m in a three-piece suit eating a bowl of cereal. Why?"

"Because your second life begins in forty minutes. My office. Don't be late. Madam Bianca is a woman who counts seconds like they’re diamonds."

"Bianca. What’s the brief on this one? Another grieving widow who needs a shoulder to cry on?"

"Madam Bianca doesn't cry, Raka. She consumes. She’s thirty-two, she owns a logistics empire that she inherited under... fortunate circumstances, and she’s currently facing a hostile takeover from her late husband’s family. She needs a husband who looks like he has enough skeletons in his closet to scare off their lawyers."

"So, I’m the boogeyman this time?"

"You’re the 'reformed' bad boy who has supposedly brought his own private equity firm to the table to merge with hers. You’re the muscle, Raka. Act like it."

***

Raka walked into Elena’s office and stopped. Standing by the window was a woman who seemed to vibrate with a different kind of energy than Anya. Where Anya was ice, this woman was a controlled forest fire. She wore a crimson dress that fit like a second skin and heels that looked like they were designed to draw blood.

"He’s taller than the photos," Bianca said, not turning around. Her voice was a rich, smoky contralto.

"The camera loses a few inches of his... presence," Elena replied from her desk. "Madam Bianca, meet Raka."

Bianca turned. Her beauty was aggressive—high cheekbones, dark, almond-shaped eyes, and a mouth that looked like it was perpetually stifling a secret. She walked toward Raka, circling him like a buyer inspecting a thoroughbred.

"He has the eyes of a man who’s lost everything," Bianca murmured, stopping inches from him. "I like that. Desperate men are so much more motivated to be loyal."

"I’m not desperate, Madam. I’m just expensive," Raka said, meeting her gaze.

"Oh, he has a bite! Elena, you didn't tell me he had a bite."

"I told you he was an executive, Bianca. He’s used to giving orders, even if he’s currently in no position to enforce them."

Bianca reached out, her gloved hand tracing the lapel of his jacket. "We’ll see about that. Raka, do you know what happened to my last husband?"

"The rumors say it was a tragic accident. A car off a cliff in Amalfi?"

"Rumors are for people who can't afford the truth," Bianca said, her eyes darkening. "He was a weak man. He thought he could hide his gambling debts in my company’s ledgers. He 'departed' because he became a liability. I don't like liabilities."

"I’m an asset, Bianca. That’s what the contract says."

"The contract says whatever Elena writes. I want to know what *you* say. Can you handle a woman who doesn't ask for permission?"

"I’ve spent the last four months with Anya Sterling. I think my skin is thick enough."

Bianca laughed, a sharp, sudden sound. "Anya is a socialite playing at being a shark. I *am* the shark. Elena, leave us. I need to see if the engine under this hood actually runs, or if it’s just shiny paint."

Elena stood up, her expression as unreadable as ever. "I’ll be in the conference room. Try not to bruise the merchandise too badly, Bianca. We have a press announcement on Friday."

The door clicked shut. The silence in the office became heavy, charged with a sudden, predatory tension.

"Take off the jacket, Raka," Bianca commanded.

"We’re in a law firm, Bianca."

"I bought this law firm’s time. Which means I bought yours. Take. It. Off."

Raka complied, tossing the jacket onto the leather chair. Bianca moved in closer, her scent—something spicy and metallic, like copper and carnations—overwhelming him. She began unbuttoning his vest with practiced, aggressive fingers.

"I saw the news, you know," she whispered, her eyes locked on his. "The scandal at The Gilded Lily. You looked so... deliciously guilty. Did you actually enjoy that blonde actress, or were you just thinking about your paycheck?"

"I was thinking about the exit strategy."

"Liar. You have a hunger in you, Raka. I saw it in the way you gripped her waist in the photos. You’re a man who likes to take. I want to see you try to take something from me."

She pushed him back against the marble desk, the same spot where Elena had 'recalibrated' him weeks before. But Bianca wasn't interested in recalibration. She was interested in conquest. She hiked up her crimson dress, revealing black silk stockings and a garter belt that looked like a web.

"They say you’re the 'bad boy' now," she hissed, her hands moving to his belt. "Prove it. Show me why Anya was so 'heartbroken' to lose you."

She didn't wait for a response. She was a whirlwind of silk and skin. When she pulled him into her, she let out a low, guttural growl, her nails digging into his forearms.

"Yes," she panted. "Don't be polite, Raka. I didn't hire a gentleman. I hired a wolf."

The encounter was a stark contrast to the clinical sessions with Elena or the staged distractions with Anya. Bianca was vocal, violent, and entirely in control. She set a pace that was punishing, her body arching with a raw, unbridled power. Raka found himself swept up in her intensity, his hands bruising her hips as he met her aggression with his own.

"Is this... what your... husband... couldn't handle?" Raka gasped, his breath hitching as she bit his shoulder.

"He was... a coward!" Bianca cried out, her eyes wide and flashing with a dangerous light. "He... cried... when I... took... what was... mine! Don't you... dare... cry, Raka!"

She pushed him to the limit, her movements a blur of red silk and pale skin. When she reached her climax, she didn't collapse; she gripped his throat, her eyes burning into his as she shuddered against him.

"Mine," she whispered, the word a threat as much as a confession.

Raka followed a moment later, a jagged sound escaping his throat as he surrendered to the sheer force of her. They stayed like that for a long minute, the only sound the hum of the air conditioning and their synchronized, ragged breathing.

Bianca stepped back, smoothing her dress as if she had just finished a light jog. She didn't look disheveled; she looked energized.

"You’ll do," she said, checking her lipstick in the reflection of the window. "You have a certain... darkness that fits the narrative. My husband’s family will believe you’re exactly the kind of man who would help me bury them."

Raka adjusted his clothes, his heart still thudding. "You talk about burial a lot, Bianca."

"In my world, Raka, you’re either the one holding the shovel or the one in the hole. Which one are you?"

"I’m the one getting paid to hold the shovel, apparently."

"Good answer." She walked to the door and opened it. "Elena! You can come back in. He’s functional."

Elena entered, her gaze sweeping over Raka’s slightly disheveled hair and Bianca’s triumphant glow. "I assume the terms are acceptable then?"

"He’s perfect," Bianca said, picking up her designer bag. "Raka, my driver will pick you up at seven tonight. We’re attending a dinner with my 'dear' in-laws. They think they’re coming to discuss the merger. They’re actually coming to meet the man who’s going to make them disappear from my board of directors."

"Disappear?" Raka asked, his brow furrowing.

"Metaphorically, of course," Bianca said, a smile spreading across her face that didn't reach her eyes. "Mostly."

She paused at the door, looking back at Raka. "By the way, Raka. My husband didn't just 'depart.' He was a very loud man. I prefer the quiet ones. Remember that."

The door closed behind her.

Raka turned to Elena. "She’s insane. You know that, right?"

"She’s ambitious, Raka. And she’s under a lot of pressure. Her husband’s death was... complicated. The family is convinced she had a hand in it, though the police found nothing."

"And you’re putting me in the middle of a murder investigation?"

"I’m putting you in a position to secure a very large inheritance for a client. That is what we do. Did you find anything... concerning during your 'interview'?"

Raka thought of the look in Bianca’s eyes when she talked about her husband. The sheer, cold triumph. "She’s not like Anya. Anya was hiding things because she was afraid. Bianca... Bianca is hiding things because she’s proud of them."

"Then be careful, Raka. A proud predator is much harder to manage than a fearful one."

"Is that your advice? 'Be careful'?"

"My advice," Elena said, sitting back down and picking up her tablet, "is to make sure you’re the one holding the shovel. Now, go home and change. You have a dinner to attend. And try to look like a man who knows where the bodies are buried. It’ll make the in-laws more inclined to settle."

Raka walked out of the office, the weight of the new contract feeling heavier than the last. As he stepped into the elevator, he caught his reflection. He looked like the man the world thought he was—a cheater, a villain, a man who had sold his soul for a penthouse.

But as the doors closed, he realized he wasn't just playing a role anymore. He was sinking into a world where the lines between the play and the crime were starting to vanish.

"Who was he, Bianca?" he whispered to the empty elevator. "And what did you really do to him?"

The gold-plated walls offered no answers, only the silent, mocking reflection of a man who was becoming exactly what his clients paid for.