Signed in Ink

Beatrice's POV

The contract room smells like expensive paper and permanent decisions. I sit across from Vincent while Christopher hovers nearby looking like he wants to apologize for everything that brought us here.

Sandra spreads documents across the table in neat rows. "Standard joint purchase agreement, six months duration with option to extend. Both buyers share equal authority. Lot 23, please review section four before signing."

Section four lists my new life affairs. I’ll live in Vincent's penthouse, attend functions as requested, not contact my former pack, not leave without permission, and obey all reasonable commands from either owner.

"Define reasonable," I say, because vague language always hides traps.

Vincent leans back in his chair looking almost pleased by the question. "Attending business dinners, representing my company appropriately, not discussing our arrangement publicly. Am not going to demand anything degrading, if that concerns you."

"And if I disagree about what counts as reasonable?"

"Then we negotiate like adults." Vincent's eyes meet mine. "Or I enforce contract penalties…your choice."

"Those penalties include criminal charges," I point out.

"Only if you violate terms," Vincent says. "Minor disagreements get resolved through discussion, not legal action. I prefer cooperation over coercion, it produces better results."

Christopher shifts uncomfortably. "Vincent, you are making this sound worse than it needs to be."

"I am making it sound accurate," Vincent corrects. "Beatrice asked for clarity, I am providing it."

Yeah  he's right. At least with Vincent I know exactly where I stand, unlike Desmond who pretended kindness while planning cruelty.

I pick up the pen and scan the signature pages one final time. Six months after that I can renegotiate or leave. Six months is survivable.

I sign on every line.  Christopher signs as secondary owner and his hand actually does shake. Vincent signs last and his signature is bold like everything else about him.

"The transfer is complete," Sandra announces, gathering papers. "Beatrice, you are now contracted to Vincent Franklin and Christopher Franklin for six months beginning tonight. Your previous pack bond is dissolved."

The bond with Desmond snaps and the relief is so intense… I gasp. Three years of constant  disgust and disappointment vanishes like someone turned off a valve that had been dripping poison into my head, and the silence where he used to be feels like space to breathe.

New bonds form, thinner than mate bonds but still present. Vincent's feels cold like chains made of ice. Christopher feels warm and anxious like a hand reaching to catch me if I fall. Neither feels like freedom but freedom was never an option tonight.

"My car is waiting," Vincent says, standing. "We should leave before the other buyers finish their purchases."

He walks out assuming we will follow because the contract says we must. Christophe tried to hold my hand but I ignored it and walked on my own,  to prove I can still move under my own power even if the destination is not mine to choose.

Vincent's car is exactly what I expected, black luxury with leather seats and a driver who does not acknowledge my existence. The city lights blur past as we drive deeper downtown toward buildings so tall they block stars.

"Where exactly are we going?" I ask.

"My penthouse," Vincent says without looking up from his phone. "Fortieth floor, three bedrooms, you will have your own space."

"How generous of you to give me my own enclosure."

Vincent glances up. "You signed a contract, not your opinions. If you have something to say, say it. I prefer honesty over pleasant lies."

"Fine. I think you bought me to hurt Desmond and you do not actually care what happens to me as long as it serves your purpose."

"Correct," Vincent says without hesitation. "I bought you specifically because Desmond owes me money from a business deal and humiliating him by purchasing his Luna seemed like fair revenge. Your feelings about this are irrelevant to my goals."

The brutal honesty should hurt but instead it feels like solid ground after years of Desmond's  lies. "At least you are honest about using me."

"Am always honest about my motives," Vincent responds. "It saves time and prevents disappointment."

Christopher finally speaks from where he has been sitting silently between us. "Bea, I know this is not what you wanted, but you are safe now. That matters."

"Safe in a different cage," I point out.

"A better cage," Christopher insists. "Vincent is rigid but he honors contracts. He won't hurt you the way Desmond did."

"He’s  also sitting right here," Vincent mutters. "Yeah, Christopher is correct, I do not waste energy on cruelty. You’re an asset I intend to use efficiently, not torture for entertainment."

We ride the rest of the way in silence because what else is there to say. They owned me legally for six months and I chose this over worse alternatives. I have to survive it without losing whatever pieces of myself Desmond did not already destroy.

Vincent's building has security that makes pack borders look casual, guards in suits and elevator keypads and cameras everywhere. The penthouse is forty floors of glass and steel with furniture that looks expensive and uncomfortable. The art on walls probably cost more than my pack's annual budget.

"Your room is the second door on the left," Vincent mentions,shrugging off his jacket. "Christopher's is across from yours. My suite is on the other end, you mustn't disturb me there."

"What are the actual rules?" I ask. "Besides what was in the contract."

Vincent pours himself a drink from a crystal decanter. "Don't leave the building without permission. Don't contact your former pack. Don't discuss our arrangement with outsiders. In exchange, full access to everything here except my private office and bedroom."

"What about him?" I gesture at Christopher.

"Christopher is your security," he responds. "He goes where you go when you leave this building. He also apparently thinks he is your friend which is fine as long as it does not interfere with contract terms."

Christopher's face blurs. "I am her friend, Vincent. I’ve been her friend since we were children."

"And now you are her owner," Vincent blot out bluntly. "Don’t confuse the two things."

The words land like a slap and Christopher flinches but refuse to argue because Vincent is right and we all know it. Christopher might want to protect me, but he still signed papers making me property.

"Anything else I should know?" I ask.

Vincent pulls up a calendar on his phone. "First public appearance is tomorrow night, charity gala. You’ll l wear something appropriate, smile at correct people, let me introduce you without elaborating on our arrangement. No one needs to know I purchased you unless it serves strategic purpose."

"What do I tell people who ask how we met?"

"Mutual business associates, keep it vague," "Practice your story with Christopher today so you do not fumble tomorrow."

A phone rings and Vincent answers it, switching immediately into business mode and forgetting we exist. Christopher touches my elbow gently.

"Let me show you your room," he says quietly.

I follow him down a hallway lined with art that means nothing to me. My room is bigger than my entire office at the pack house, with a bed that could fit four people and a bathroom with a tub large enough to swim in.

The closet is full of clothes in my size, designer labels still attached.

"Vincent had his assistant order these," Christopher explains. "If you don't like them, we can exchange them."

I run my hand over silk that costs more than most people earn weekly. "This is too much."

"Vincent doesn't do anything halfway," Christopher says. "If you're going to attend his events, he wants you to look appropriate."

"You mean he wants his property to look valuable."

Christopher winces but does not deny it. "I am sorry, Bea. I know this is not how you wanted us to meet again."

We stand in awkward silence and ten years of separation sit heavy between us. This is not the reunion either of us imagined.

"Why did you really search for me?" I ask. "The truth, Christopher."

He sits on the edge of my bed and suddenly looks exhausted. "Because you disappeared without saying goodbye and I spent ten years wondering if you were dead or suffering. When I heard about the auction, I could not let you be sold to someone who might hurt you. So I went to the one person I knew with enough money to actually bid. Vincent."

"You don’t trust him”?

"I love him," Christopher whispers carefully. "He raised me after my parents died. But he is strict c, Bea. He sees people as assets or threats. That is why I had to be here too, to make sure he treats you right."

"By owning me together?"

Christopher  shrinks again. "I know how it sounds, but at least you are not alone with him. At least I can protect you."

I want to tell him I do not need protecting, that I survived ten years without him and three years with Desmond and I can survive this too. But Christopher looks so earnest, so desperate to make this right, that I can’t crush him.

"I need to get some sleep," I say instead. "Can we talk more tomorrow?"

"Of course." He stands and walks to the door, then pauses. "Bea..I am really sorry. For all of it."

After he leaves I lock the door and sit on my expensive bed in my expensive room in a penthouse I can't leave, wearing a dress styled to make me look valuable to strangers who paid ten million dollars to own me.

I should cry or scream or break something beautiful just to prove I am not broken yet.

Instead I change into one of the silk nightgowns someone left in the dresser and climb into the huge bed, and through the walls I hear Vincent's voice on another business call and Christopher's room is silent, and I close my eyes knowing tomorrow I start learning how to be worth ten million dollars to people who see me as investment not person.

But tonight I am still Beatrice;the girl who ran at sixteen and the Luna who ran a pack in secret. That woman who stood on an auction stage and chose her own buyers.

That has to count for something, even if I’m  the only one who knows it matters.