CHAPTER 5

"You want me to marry him?" Zack’s voice cracked, the sound like dry leaves skittering across the floor. He edged toward the door of the penthouse suite, his one good eye tracking Julian Wright.

Julian didn’t move, but the sheer weight of his presence acted like a physical barrier. "You need the Durand name, Zack. Not just for a title. For your skin. Without it, you’re just a loose end waiting for Ethan Cole to tie a noose around. You’ve spent a decade in a hole. You have no money, no allies, no clue how this city breathes."

Julian took a step forward, his expensive shoes silent on the rug. "You went to Nathan in those woods because you knew he was the only thing stronger than the man who broke you. You trust him. Even if you’re too scared to admit it."

Zack looked at his hands. They were shaking. He thought of Nathan—the way the man had looked at him in the car, like he was something precious and volatile. "Does he even want this?"

"He knows the stakes," Julian said simply.

If someone had told Zack years ago that he’d be promised to the prince of Havenfall, he would have thought it was a fairy tale. Now, it felt like a sentence. But between a basement and Nathan Durand, the choice wasn't a choice at all.

Zack lowered his head, his voice a ghost. "Fine."

"You put a bullet in Logan?!" Julian roared, his jaw working as he paced the length of his mahogany-rowed office.

Nathan leaned against the doorframe, his knuckles still stained a faint, bruised purple. "He was off-grid. Neutral territory. I did the city a favor, and I saved us the paperwork of a trial."

"We aren't common thugs, Nathan! We are an organization. We have protocols." Julian slammed his fist onto the desk, the pens rattling in their holder.

"Protocol didn't save Zack for ten years," Nathan snapped, his voice dropping into a dangerous, guttural register. "His body in a ditch serves as a better warning to anyone else thinking of touching what belongs to Cocolink."

Julian stopped pacing, his eyes narrowing as he studied his son. "You’re acting like he’s already yours."

"He is," Nathan said, the word short and sharp.

"He’s fragile, Nathan. He’s been poisoned, starved, and god knows what else. If you claim him now, you’ll break what’s left." Julian sighed, the fire leaving him. "What’s the plan?"

"I’m giving him a three-year window," Nathan said, rubbing a hand over his face. "I’ll get him stable. Teach him the business. If he wants out after three years, I’ll let him walk. I won’t trap him like Logan did."

Julian raised an eyebrow. "And if you mark him? If you make it official?"

Nathan’s jaw tightened. The thought of another man touching Zack made his blood boil, but he forced the image down. "I’ll keep a leash on myself. I won't claim him fully until he can look me in the eye without flinching."

A month later, the man in the mirror was a stranger.

Zack stared at his reflection. The hollows in his cheeks had filled out. The grey, sickly tint of his skin had faded to a pale, healthy cream. He was still thin, but no longer skeletal.

Nathan stood behind him, his massive frame dwarfing Zack’s. He was helping Zack with the cufflinks of his silk dress shirt. The wedding was an hour away. It was a cold, calculated merger on paper, but the heat radiating off Nathan made it feel like something else entirely.

Zack had spent the month learning the layout of the Durand empire through whispers and half-opened doors. He knew about Madeline—the woman Nathan was supposed to marry before the order came down. A high-society girl. Someone who belonged in the light. Not a broken ghost from a basement.

"What's going on in that head?" Nathan’s voice rumbled against Zack’s back.

Zack leaned back, the warmth of Nathan’s chest a grounding weight. "Thinking about the contract."

Nathan’s hands stilled on Zack’s wrists. He stepped back, reaching into his blazer to pull out a sheaf of papers. "About that. I added a clause."

Zack took the document, his eyes skipping over the legalese. "A three-year exit?"

"If you want it," Nathan said, his voice strangely flat. "Three years to learn how to be a man in this city. After that, if you want to leave, the Durand name stays with you for protection, but the marriage is void. You can find someone else. Someone... normal."

Someone like Madeline, Zack thought. The numbness he’d perfected in the basement washed over him, a cold, familiar shield.

"If that’s what you want," Zack said.

"It’s for the best," Nathan replied, but he didn't look Zack in the eye.

The light in the room felt suddenly artificial. Zack turned back to the mirror. He had three years to become indispensable. Three years to make the man who rescued him realize that a ghost was better than a socialite.

The door opened. Lucas stood there, checking his watch. "Time to go, boss. The priest is waiting."

Nathan gripped Zack’s shoulder, his fingers digging in just enough to hurt. Just enough to feel real. He leaned down, his mouth hovering inches from Zack’s. "Don't look so scared, Zack. It's just a party."

He led Zack out of the room, but as they walked toward the altar, Zack saw a figure in the shadows of the hallway. Madeline. She wasn't crying; she was smiling. A sharp, glass-edged smile that made the hair on Zack’s neck stand up.

As they reached the end of the aisle, the heavy doors of the chapel didn't just close—they locked.

"Wait," Zack whispered, his hand tightening on Nathan’s arm. "Who invited Ethan Cole?"