The city never stopped humming, not even at midnight. It breathed in neon and exhaled sin, a living thing cloaked in glass towers and dirty secrets.
I stood at the steps of Blackthorn Enterprises, dressed in a black cocktail dress that didn't belong to me and heels I had no business wearing. Rain misted from the sky, light but cold, clinging to my skin like accusation. I clutched the envelope in my trembling hand—the one that would decide my future. The one that would cage me.
Or save her.
My mother's condition had worsened again. Her oxygen machine wheezed like a dying animal in the hospital room, and the debt collectors had started calling my phone instead of just knocking on doors. I was cornered. A rabbit pressed against the jaws of a beast.
And the beast was waiting inside.
Ares Blackthorn.
The man who destroyed my family's name. Who stood in the courtroom three years ago with a smug smile while my father wept behind bars. The man who let my home go to auction, who watched our fall with glassy, unreadable eyes.
Now he wanted to marry me.
Out of something colder. Something sharper. I hadn't figured it out yet—but I would.
The elevator swallowed me whole, all mirrors and quiet menace, and spat me out on the top floor.
His office was glass and black steel, vast and surgical. Too clean for someone so dirty.
He stood at the window like a statue carved from shadows—tall, ruthless, and silent. His suit was black, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the top of a tattoo that slithered down his chest. I hated that I noticed. Hated the heat that crawled up my spine like a warning.
He didn't turn when I entered. "You're late."
"Traffic," I said flatly, closing the door behind me. "Or maybe I didn't feel like coming to sign a deal with the devil."
His voice was smooth, but edged in glass. "Then why are you here, Seraphina?"
Because you made sure I had no choice.
"I read your terms," I said, stepping forward. "One year. No divorce. No touching your money. Public appearances. A weekly dinner. And in return—"
"Your mother gets the best private care in the country," he finished for me, finally turning around.
God.
He hadn't changed.
Still those obsidian eyes, colder than death. Still that cruel mouth that looked like it could kiss lies into your skin and then cut you open without flinching. He looked at me like I was prey he'd caught and hadn't decided whether to eat or cage yet.
"You get a wife," I said bitterly. "Why me?"
He walked toward me slowly. Every step felt choreographed to mess with my heartbeat. "Why not you? You already hate me. It saves time."
"What do you want from me?" My voice cracked like a bone under pressure. "Revenge? Is that what this is?"
He stopped just in front of me. Too close. His cologne was cedar and smoke and danger, and it made my breath falter.
"I don't want revenge," he said, voice low. "I want obedience."
I flinched.
"You'll be my wife, Seraphina. Not in name. In function."
His eyes slid down my body with calculation, not desire. "You'll stand beside me when I tell you. Smile when I say. Bleed when I ask."
"And if I refuse?"
He tilted his head slightly, like a predator considering its prey's last words.
"Then your mother dies in a public hospital bed," he said. "With no one beside her."
I slapped him.
The sound cracked across the office like lightning. My palm stung. His face turned slightly with the impact, but when he looked back at me—he was smiling.
"I'll allow that one," he murmured. "Call it a wedding gift."
My hand trembled. I wanted to walk out. Run. Burn the contract.
But I walked to his desk and signed my name. My pen dug too deep into the paper. My name bled black across the lines like a wound.
Seraphina Vale.
The girl who used to be someone. Now a wife to the monster who ruined her life.
When I handed him the contract, he didn't take it right away. His eyes searched my face, unreadable again.
"You always did look prettier when you were angry."