Blindly Obsessed With My Contract Wife

"Zachary... does it feel good?"

A woman's gentle voice floated out through the partially open door of the presidential suite.

The moment Clara Lambert heard those words, she froze, instinctively gripping the tray of warm milk more tightly.

Only distinguished guests had been staying on the hotel's top floor that evening. Her supervisor had repeatedly reminded her that the guest in that suite was extremely influential and had to be treated with the utmost care.

Clara lifted her hand toward the door, but before she could knock, something visible through the narrow opening made her stop.

She only needed one glance. A bone-deep coldness swept through her body, leaving her feeling as though every drop of blood had frozen.

Beside the luxurious black leather sofa, a woman dressed in an immaculate white couture gown was kneeling halfway on the floor, positioned between a man's legs.

Their position was so suggestive that anyone who saw it would have been embarrassed.

The man was sprawled casually against the sofa, his black shirt open at the top with two buttons undone and his defined collarbone exposed.

A pair of gold-rimmed glasses sat neatly on his nose, while his relaxed brows gave him an unmistakably distant and aristocratic appearance.

The instant Clara saw his face, her mind went blank beneath a deafening buzz that swallowed every thought.

She knew that profile better than she knew her own.

He was dressed in expensive clothes-nothing like the way he normally looked. Still, she recognized him immediately.

It was Zack, her boyfriend.

Five years earlier, she had found him bloodied and unconscious in a muddy ditch behind her village. Clara had carried him home herself and stayed beside him for three days, refusing to let him die. When he finally regained consciousness, his memory was gone.

After losing his memory and having nowhere else to turn, Zack stayed with her for five years, constantly trailing after her like a huge, needy puppy.

Only last night, he had embraced her and sworn, "Clara, when I start earning money, I'll give you a good life. I promise."

Yet now he was sitting in a presidential suite worth tens of thousands per night, while another woman occupied the space between his legs.

"You shouldn't have put so much strain on your ankle after you twisted it earlier." Emily Ford raised her face, her fingers moving slowly up his suit trousers. "Does it still hurt here? I'll rub it for you a little longer."

A piercing ringing filled Clara's ears, making their conversation almost impossible for her to hear.

Cold spread through her from head to toe, while her trembling fingers struggled to hold on to the tray.

Then came a loud crash. The tray slipped from her hands and struck the marble floor, the glass breaking into pieces as warm milk spread over the polished tiles.

Several young men came down the corridor, their conversation filled with laughter. The moment they noticed the mess, their expressions changed.

"What's wrong with you? Can't you even carry a tray properly?" one of them barked angrily.

His voice finally pulled Clara out of her daze. She slowly looked up.

Footsteps sounded from inside the suite, approaching at an even pace.

Zachary Bennett appeared in the doorway with one hand resting casually inside his pocket. His face was cold and composed, showing no sign that anything unusual had happened moments earlier.

Then he saw Clara. His eyes widened for an instant, and his stride stopped.

Clara remained motionless as she stared straight at him, desperately looking for any sign of panic, guilt, or regret on his face.

Yet she found none.

The initial surprise quickly disappeared. Behind his lenses, Zachary's gaze tightened, revealing not remorse but annoyance at being caught and irritation over the interruption.

Emily came after him, gathering her skirt as she stepped outside. When she noticed Clara, unmistakable smugness appeared in her eyes, almost as though she were deliberately declaring her place beside Zachary.

"Mr. Bennett, so this is where you were." One of the wealthy young men hurried over with an ingratiating smile. "The Hopkins family just contacted us about whether you'd like to go over the engagement party arrangements yourself. Who would've thought you'd be tucked away here enjoying some quiet?"

His companion looked toward Emily and gave a meaningful chuckle. "Well, Ms. Ford is here as well. You're about to become engaged to Ms. Hopkins, Mr. Bennett, but you're still spending time with your savior. If Ms. Hopkins hears about this, won't she be jealous?"

Clara listened quietly as the words sank in.

Each revelation landed painfully in her chest.

The man she had believed was penniless and helpless had never been a nobody at all.

He was Zachary Bennett, heir to the prestigious Bennett family, and he was about to get engaged to the daughter of the Hopkins family-a family of equal prominence.

All this time, she had been the only one who knew nothing.

"Now that I think about it, Ms. Ford really is your lucky star, Mr. Bennett," another man said, laying the praise on thick. "Without her medical skills, who knows how long it would've taken you to regain your memory and return to the Bennett family to take control of the business?"

"That's right. It only took two treatments for Mr. Bennett to remember everything. That's a huge favor," someone else agreed.

Emily modestly lowered her gaze, a bashful smile appearing on her lips. "You're making too much of it. I simply did what a doctor should. Zachary has endured so much during all those years away from home. I'm just relieved that I was able to help him."

Her eyes then fell on the broken porcelain, and she gave a startled little gasp. "Oh dear, how could the attendant have been this careless? Zachary was drinking tonight, and if he doesn't drink his warm milk soon, his stomach will start hurting again."

Anger shook Clara from head to toe, yet she didn't even bother looking at Emily. Her eyes remained locked on Zachary.

If Emily was truly the person who had saved him, then what did that make her?

Five years earlier, she had hauled his badly wounded body back to her home, bandaged his injuries, stitched his wounds, and fought to keep him alive.

Whenever his head hurt so badly that he could barely bear it, or his old injuries began acting up, Clara was the one who spent entire nights caring for him, preparing his medicine and repeatedly massaging his aching body.

Yet now, everyone spoke as though Emily was the one who had rescued him.

And what made it even more infuriating? Zachary offered no response whatsoever!

He neither clarified what existed between them nor bothered to refute anything the others had said.

Whatever tiny bit of hope Clara had been holding onto disappeared completely.