Chapter Two

Aveline Rousseau

You will be marrying me.

"Marry you?"

The words fell from my lips like stones scattering across concrete, rough and thick with disbelief. I stared at Zephyrin, searching his face for a hint of dark humor, a cruel frown, anything that would tell me this was a sick power play meant to mock my desperation.

There was nothing. His face remained shaped from granite, his gray eyes steady, unblinking, and dangerously focused.

"You're out of your mind," I breathed, taking a sharp step backward until the back of my thigh hit the edge of the mahogany dressing table. "You think you can just step into your brother's place like a substitute actor in a play? This is a wedding, Zephyrin. It’s a legal contract. It’s my life."

"It is a business merger wrapped in white silk," Zephyrin corrected, his voice so quiet, so deadly calm, that it made the air in the room feel instantly colder. He didn't close the distance between us, but his presence seemed to expand, filling every corner of the suite. "And right now, that contract is bleeding out on the floor. In five minutes, the press will know Esmond abandoned you. By tomorrow morning, the bank will seize your father's remaining shares. By next week, Rousseau Enterprise will be auctioned off piece by piece to satisfy hungry creditors."

Every word was a nail driven straight into my coffin. The cold, mathematical accuracy of it made me want to scream.

"I don't care about the optics of your family," I snapped back, my hands shaking so violently I had to clench them into fists against my skirt. "I am not an asset to be transferred between brothers."

"I am not asking you to be an asset, Aveline," he said, stepping closer. The shadow of his tall frame fell over me, eclipsing the soft glow of the chandelier. "I am offering you a safe harbour. My name on that marriage certificate protects your father's firm immediately. It stops Henri-Pierre from executing his liquidation clause. It gives you the legal authority and financial backing to keep every employee on your payroll."

"And what does it give you?" I demanded, looking up into those eyes. "You walked away from your father's empire years ago. You built your own company so you wouldn't have to play his twisted games. Why would you chain yourself to me?"

For a fraction of a second, something dark and unreadable flickered behind his gaze, gone before I could parse it.

"That is my concern," he said softly. "The clock is ticking, Aveline. You have a choice. Walk out that door alone and watch your father collapse on the  floor when the scandal breaks, or take my hand and buy your family their survival."

Before I could answer, the doors burst open.

My father rushed in, his breath coming in ragged, shallow hitches. His tie was loosened, his face pale as death, a sheen of cold sweat shimmering on his forehead. Behind him stood my best friend and legal advisor, Vespera Tremblay, her sharp brown eyes wide with suppressed panic, holding a tablet buzzing continuously with notifications.

"Aveline..." my father gasped, his hand clutching his chest as he stumbled into the room. "The guests... they're getting restless. Henri-Pierre is on the main stage downstairs. He's... he's furious. He says Esmond isn't answering his phone. The reporters outside are tweeting that the groom has fled,

He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes flashing between me and the towering figure of Zephyrin standing beside me.

"Zephyrin?" my father stammered, confusion warring with terror on his weathered face. "What are you doing in here? Where is your brother?"

"Esmond is gone, Charles," Zephyrin said without breaking eye contact with me. His voice was an unyielding wall of authority. "He fled the country half an hour ago."

My father gasped, reeling back as if a physical blow had struck him. He staggered toward an armchair, collapsing into it, his hands burying themselves in his gray hair. "No... no, God, no. The merger... the bank... we're ruined. We're completely ruined."

"Dad!" I hurried to his side, dropping to my knees despite the heavy, restrictive layers of my dress. I grabbed his trembling hands, my heart tearing in two as I saw the sheer, broken defeat in his eyes. "Dad, look at me. Breathe. Please, breathe."

"I failed you, Aveline," he sobbed, a sound so raw and broken it shattered whatever was left of my composure. "I lost your mother's legacy. I lost everything. They're going to take the house... the firm... everything..."

"They aren't taking anything, Charles," Zephyrin’s voice cut through the despair like a steel blade.

My father lifted his head slowly.

Zephyrin stepped forward, taking a gold pen from his inner jacket pocket and tossing a thick legal document onto the table beside us.

"The marriage license was drafted with the Delacroix family name," Zephyrin stated calmly, his eyes locking back onto mine. "I am stepping into the contract. I will sign as the groom. The merger proceeds as planned, the Rousseau debt is absorbed by my personal portfolio, and your firm remains untouched."

Silence descended on the room, heavy and suffocating.

Vespera gasped, stepping forward, her sharp mind instantly calculating the legal ramifications. "Zephyrin... you can't be serious. The board"

"The board answers to capital," Zephyrin interrupted coldly, not glancing at her. "And I have more capital than my father." He looked down at me, kneeling beside my weeping father on the floor. "The decision is yours, Aveline. But make it now. The doors to the conservatory open in two minutes."

I looked down at my father’s trembling hands. I looked at Vess, who gave me a subtle, horrified shake of her head. Then, slowly, I looked up at the man standing over us.

Zephyrin Delacroix. A man feared by the highest ranks of corporate Canada. A man who looked at me not with love, not with pity, but with a terrifying, absolute determination that promised both salvation and ruin.

If I said yes, I was selling my freedom to the coldest man in Montreal. If I said no, I was watching my father die of a broken heart before the sun set over Quebec City.

I stood up slowly, lifting the heavy train of my gown. My knees shook, but I forced my chin up, staring straight into his icy eyes.

"On one condition," I said, my voice echoing with a cold strength I didn't know I possessed. "This is a contract. Nothing more. You do not own me, Zephyrin. You will never touch me, you will never dictate my life, and the moment my father's firm is stable, we dissolve this marriage."

Zephyrin’s jaw tightened slightly. For a long, tense second, he didn't move. Then, he stepped closer, extending his hand toward me.

"Agreed," he whispered, his voice low and dangerous.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and placed my gloved hand in his. His grip was broad, warm, and implacable, wrapping around mine like a golden restraint.

Downstairs, the heavy brass doors of the grand conservatory swung open, and the heart began to play its haunting, rhythmic march.

Zephyrin led me out of the suite and down the grand stone staircase, his presence a dark shield against the sea of gasping guests and blinding camera flashes. Henri-Pierre stood at the end of the aisle, his ivory-handled cane gripping the floor so hard his knuckles were white, his face twisted in utter fury as he realized his eldest son had hijacked his grand design.

We reached the altar. The priest looked pale, his hands trembling as he held the leather-bound book, glancing nervously at Zephyrin.

"We are here today..." the priest stammered, his voice echoing off the vaulted stone ceiling, "...to unite these two souls in holy matrimony."

Zephyrin turned to face me, taking both of my cold hands in his. His eyes were intense, searching my face with an emotion so deep, so hidden, it sent a sudden, frightening shiver straight down my spine.

"Do you, Zephyrin Delacroix," the priest swallowed hard, "take Aveline Rousseau to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

Zephyrin never broke eye contact with me. "I do."

"And do you, Aveline Rousseau, take Zephyrin Delacroix"

"I do," I interrupted, eager to end the nightmare.

"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife," the priest whispered quickly. "You may kiss the bride."

My breath hitched. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

Zephyrin reached up, his long fingers gently lifting the lace veil from my face. He leaned down slowly, his dark slate hair brushing against my forehead, his breath hot against my lips. I braced myself, shutting my eyes, waiting for the cold, transactional touch of a man claiming his prize.

He didn't kiss my lips.

Instead, he leaned closer, his warm lips brushing softly against the shell of my ear, his deep voice dropping into a razor-thin whisper that made my blood run instantly cold.

"Do not look at your father, Aveline," Zephyrin murmured. "And do not turn around."

My eyes snapped open. "What?"

"The police have just entered the back of the chapel," he whispered against my skin, his grip on my waist tightening like iron. "And they aren't here for Esmond."