Contracted marriage with the Alpha Prince

Contracted marriage with the Alpha Prince

last updateLast Updated : 2024-03-14
By:  M.L Swift  Ongoing
Language: English
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"You drugged me and fooled me into your room. I know exactly what you want." Oh, honey, if only he knew the chaos that paraded through my mind on a daily basis. But I swear on my bank account that I have done no such thing. Drugging him? Oh no, I’d drug people for their money, but not for their dicks. -- "I don't think you can pay off your family's debt, even if you work day and night, for the next ten years, Ms. Lane." "What do you suggest, Mr. Anderson? I'm not following." "Marry me, Mellisa Lane." He leaned in close. His hand lifted my chin, so my eyes looked straight onto his.

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The casual slaps

So there I was, standing in the middle of a chaotic scene that felt like it had been ripped straight out of a telenovela. I rubbed my face, which was now emitting more heat than a jalapeño on a summer day. Why? Oh, just because someone decided to give me a warm welcome in the form of a well-executed slap. You know, just another day in the glamorous life of Melissa, the slap magnet. I took a step back, assessing the situation with the grace of a clumsy cat on roller skates. The woman in front of me, Denise Parker, stared back with a mixture of triumph and fury. I resisted the urge to unleash my inner Shakespeare and give her a piece of my mind. Instead, I held back, channeling my inner zen master. Do not cry, Lane. Don’t let that bitch see it. I looked around the room, searching for a sign that said, "Congratulations! You've just entered the Twilight Zone." No luck. It seemed I was stuck in this bizarre reality where slaps were the new handshake. I took a deep breath, reminding mys

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M.L Swift
i cant wait to read it once you finish.
2024-01-12 20:44:02
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52 Chapters

The casual slaps

So there I was, standing in the middle of a chaotic scene that felt like it had been ripped straight out of a telenovela. I rubbed my face, which was now emitting more heat than a jalapeño on a summer day. Why? Oh, just because someone decided to give me a warm welcome in the form of a well-executed slap. You know, just another day in the glamorous life of Melissa, the slap magnet. I took a step back, assessing the situation with the grace of a clumsy cat on roller skates. The woman in front of me, Denise Parker, stared back with a mixture of triumph and fury. I resisted the urge to unleash my inner Shakespeare and give her a piece of my mind. Instead, I held back, channeling my inner zen master. Do not cry, Lane. Don’t let that bitch see it. I looked around the room, searching for a sign that said, "Congratulations! You've just entered the Twilight Zone." No luck. It seemed I was stuck in this bizarre reality where slaps were the new handshake. I took a deep breath, reminding mys
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The casual sleeping partner

He strolled in with the grace of a sloth trying to breakdance, his gait swaying as if the ground beneath him was participating in an impromptu salsa. His face was a shade of red that hinted at either a vigorous workout or a disagreement with a bottle of questionable spirits.I blinked, processing the unexpected intrusion. "Well, hello there, Mr. Shirtless Wonder. Welcome to my humble abode. Do you come bearing gifts, or is this an avant-garde interpretation of 'Nightly Abs Unleashed'?"He squinted at me, his eyes struggling to focus on my existence. "This isn't... my place."A stranger with ash-colored pupils that seemed to glow in the low light. He declared, with the theatrical flair of a Shakespearean actor, "I'm very thirsty."Okay, weird entrance, but hey, maybe he was just a lost poet looking for a metaphorical drink in the desert of life. His eyes locked onto mine, and he started advancing toward me, step by step. And that's when it hit me – the feeling in the pit of my stomach
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The casual escape

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the unfamiliar room. As I stirred from a somewhat restless sleep, a peculiar soreness in my lower body brought me back to the reality of the night before. I groaned, my inner monologue already preparing a sarcastic commentary on the unexpected turn of events."Oh, fantastic. Just what I needed – a souvenier of the night's questionable decisions."I shifted in the bed, blinking away the remnants of sleep, only to notice that he was no longer beside me. The space next to me was empty, and the rumpled sheets seemed to mock me with their silent testimony to the night's escapades. I sat up, casting a furtive glance around the room as if expecting it to spill the secrets of the night.The bathroom door was closed, and tendrils of steam curled out from under it, hinting at his presence within. My mind, still foggy from sleep, registered the blurred shape of toned muscles and the echo of movements beyond the frosted glass.
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The casual search

Killian stepped out of the bathroom, the air heavy with steam and the aftermath of a long, hot shower. Drops of water clung to his sculpted abs, glistening like liquid diamonds in the soft light of the morning. He surveyed the room, the scent of her lingering like a playful tease in the air. Yet, there was no trace of her, only the neatly packed luggage, an empty space that mirrored the abrupt departure of a mischievous ghost."Vanished into thin air," he muttered to himself, his voice a low rumble that echoed in the room. He ran a hand through his damp hair, a cascade of droplets falling to the floor like the remnants of an elusive dream. His gaze lingered on the marks on his back, souvenirs from the night before – a testament to the passion that had ignited like a flame in the darkness.A wry smile tugged at the corner of his lips, caught between amusement and annoyance. "Well played, my dear. Well played indeed."He reached for his phone, the screen illuminating with a mix of messa
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At the set

I had to get back to work. The film set buzzed with the chaotic energy, and here I was, Mellisa Lane, stunt double extraordinaire, standing on the sidelines with a front-row seat to the drama. Leonard Johnson, the director with a personality bigger than Hollywood itself, was having a heated discussion with Catherine Marsh, the leading lady of the movie "Ashes of Me." The air practically crackled with tension. I listened intently, my inner monologue went something like, "Keep your mouth shut, Mellisa, let's not stir the pot just yet." That's my golden rule when dealing with directors and divas – like a wise philosopher once said, "When in doubt, offer a tissue." So, I reached into my pocket, conjured up a tissue like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat, and presented it to Catherine with a charming smile. Now, I'm no therapist, but I've found that tissues are surprisingly effective in defusing tense situations. Catherine, with her perfectly mascaraed eyes and a pout that coul
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The Devil grins

My fingers unconsciously traced the neon blue stripes on my own sneakers – the beloved Mira, my trusty companions in the world of high-flying stunts. "Black with neon blue strikes, you say? Sounds familiar." Cat’s makeup artist shot me a curious glance. "Wait, Mel, didn't you have a pair just like that?" I straightened up, feigning innocence. "Oh, countless people have taste, darling. It's a common phenomenon." As they continued dissecting the mysterious woman's attire, I couldn't shake off the nagging feeling that this tale had an unexpected twist. And then, the bomb dropped. Someone pulled up a picture of the mysterious woman, her back to the camera, messy black hair cascading down her shoulders. My heart pounded in my chest as I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. That woman might have been... me? The makeup artist leaned closer to the screen, comparing the picture to my disheveled appearance. "Oh my God, Mel, that's you! That's your signature messy hair. And those sneaker
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As he watches me

I forced a tight smile, desperately hoping it looked more like a friendly grimace. "Oh, do enlighten me, Kevin. I live for surprises." He gestured nervously toward him, who was leaning against a nearby equipment crate with the kind of smug satisfaction that made me want to disappear into thin air. "Meet Killian Anderson, son of the film investor, and apparently, today's unexpected guest star," Kevin announced with a flourish, as if unveiling a prize at a particularly bizarre game show. I resisted the urge to facepalm, opting for an eye roll instead. "Fantastic. Just what I needed today – a sprinkle of unexpected elegance and entitlement. My lucky stars must be on vacation." Killian sauntered over, a devilish smirk playing on his lips. "Well, well, if it isn't my co-star from the wildest night in Hollywood history. Fancy seeing you on set, Ms.Lane." He knew my name. Oh no, the devil did his homework. I shot him a glare that could have melted steel, my attempt at concealing the aw
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Accident happens

"Rescue away, noble steed. Just don't forget to check your Gucci armor for any dents." “Alright, people, let's make magic happen! Action!" Leonard Johnson's voice echoed across the set, a cue for the chaos to ensue. Then I had to play into it. “Help, m’lord, help!” In a surreal twist, Killian executed a daring leap over my horse, our bodies momentarily entangled in a scripted struggle before gravity took its course. The scenario was ludicrously simple – the horse would trip over a conveniently placed rock. As we gallop down the winding path, I couldn't shake the feeling that fate was orchestrating a cosmic comedy just for my amusement. “Anderson.” I turned my head and called him The path ahead was perilously uneven, and the horse beneath me seemed to have a personal vendetta against straight lines. Killian rode beside me with the poise of someone who had, in a previous life, been a medieval knight moonlighting as a Hollywood heartthrob. "I want to invite you out for dinner
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Like I said, accidents happens.

As the doctor continued his work, Killian's gaze lingered on me. It was a look that held a myriad of unspoken words, a silent acknowledgment of the absurdity of our situation. Suddenly, he broke the silence with a childish plea. "Mel, could you... you know, give me some emotional support? Hold my hand or something?" I shot him a death stare, my sarcastic instincts kicking in. "Emotional support? You've got to be kidding me. You're not a child-" He grinned mischievously. "Come on, Lane. It's not every day I gets stitched up like a patchwork quilt. A little comfort wouldn't hurt." I sighed, feeling the weight of his puppy-dog eyes. "Fine, but just for the record, this is not because I want to. It's purely out of sympathy for your poor, battered ego." He laughed, an almost musical sound that filled the room. "Sympathy or not, I'll take it. Now, come here and hold my hand, would you?" I hesitated for a moment, contemplating the absurdity of the situation. Then, with a theatrical eye
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Proposal

The air crackled with tension as I shot Killian a quizzical look, my eyebrow raised in disbelief. "That was not a proposal," I declared with an air of mock seriousness, crossing my arms over my chest. "A proposal must include a proper meal, candlelight, and maybe a flash mob. You know, the works."Killian, ever the enigmatic maestro of chaos, merely nodded, seemingly undeterred by my attempt to brush off the gravity of his words. He gestured to his assistant to leave.I felt a twinge of irritation bubbling beneath the surface. How dare he reduce this moment, whatever it was, to a casual exchange? Killian stood up, his tall frame casting a shadow over me. The proximity was both intimidating and oddly captivating. He met my gaze, the intensity of his eyes locking onto mine. "I don't think you can pay off your family's debt, even if you work day and night, for the next ten years, Ms. Lane."My jaw tightened, my frustration bubbling to the surface. "What do you suggest, Mr. Anderson? I'm
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