Chapter 3

NORA

The air thickened instantly.

I blinked, stunned by the bluntness, the weight of those four words.

“We are?” I asked, like maybe I hadn’t heard him right.

“Yes,” he said again, calm and firm. “It’s part of the arrangement. Natural conception. No doctors unless necessary. No artificial methods. Just us.”

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. “Right.”

His gaze never wavered. “You can back out now.”

“No,” I said, voice rough. “I said okay.”

He nodded once and stepped closer. Not invading, just… present. “Then we’ll begin tomorrow. Tonight, you rest. You’ve been through hell.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

Ivory appeared at the doorway like she’d been waiting for the cue. She didn’t look surprised—just efficient, already knowing what to do.

“This way, Mrs. Wilson,” she said, her voice smooth as silk.

I flinched. “I’m not—”

“You will be,” Kian cut in.

His certainty made my stomach twist. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t hopeful.

It was inevitable.

Ivory led me through the pristine hallways, up the glass stairs, and into a guest room that looked like a five-star hotel suite. King-sized bed. Cream silk sheets. A view of the city so high, the chaos felt like a distant memory.

There was a dress laid out on the bed. Ivory paused at the door. “We’ll have a small private ceremony tomorrow morning. No press. No guests. Just the legalities.”

“Just the legality,” I echoed, like saying it would make it easier to accept.

She looked at me then, her eyes not unkind. “You’re not the first woman he’s helped, Nora. But you’ll be the last. That’s what makes you different.”

Before I could ask what she meant, she was gone.

I sat on the edge of the bed, dressed untouched beside me, and stared out into the glittering city lights.

One year. One child. Fifty million dollars.

—-

“Wake up.” 

The voice sounded like it was a female’s, I had expected Kian to wake me up but when I opened my eyes, it was Ivory.

“Good morning.” I said firmly.

“Dress up and come downstairs to the car, time is not on our side.” Ivory said and then walked back downstairs, she had dressed up already.

I didn’t argue, I wore the dress placed on the bed behind me and then stepped downstairs, Kian had been waiting in the car already, I slid into the car and with silence the driver drove off. We reached the altar, it was a very quiet wedding, no woman could ever dream of this wedding.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Silence.

Kian didn’t move. His jaw clenched once, eyes sharp as a blade. His hand was around mine—cold, firm, impersonal.

A kiss wasn’t part of the deal.

The officiant’s gaze darted awkwardly between us before clearing his throat and stepping back. Ivory signed the papers first, her expression unreadable. Julian followed, flashing a careless smirk as he handed the pen to Kian.

I stood there in that cream silk dress—no veil, no bouquet, no family—wondering how I’d gone from grieving in a hospital bed to being Mrs. Kian Wilson in just twenty-four hours.

A signature. That was all it took to rewrite a life.

We left the room in silence, the sound of heels against marble echoing louder than anyone’s congratulations.

“Congratulations, Nora,” Julian said as we stepped outside. His voice was smooth, too smooth, as if the words were dipped in something sarcastic.

I glanced up. He was handsome in a reckless, slightly dangerous way—messy hair, sharp jawline, the kind of man you never trust but always notice.

Kian stood beside me like a statue—flawless, cold, detached.

“I would love to speak to your wife,” Julian said, looking at Kian with a flicker of challenge in his eyes.

Kian didn’t look at me. “No formalities, Julian. Her name is Nora. You two can talk. I’m going home. Ivory will drop you off.”

The sharpness in his tone sliced through the air.

Julian raised a brow. “I’ll drop her off.”

Kian paused. Nodded once. “Suit yourself.”

Then he walked away, not even glancing back.

I exhaled slowly, watching the man I’d just married disappear like I didn’t even exist.

“What the hell,” I muttered under my breath. “I know this is clearly a contract marriage, but how could he be so cold to me like that?”

Julian smiled, one hand in his pocket. “So I still have my chances then.”

“What do you mean?”

“You married him for money, to bear his child, right?”

“Yes,” I said, trying to sound stronger than I felt.

“I can give you more. You don’t have to give me anything in return. I’d love to help you,” he said, his hand reaching for mine.

His touch was warm, but it felt wrong. I pulled my hand back like it burned.

“Contract or not,” I said firmly, “I’m still his wife.”

His smirk faded a little. “Touché.”

I didn’t wait for more. I walked straight to the car where Ivory sat behind the wheel, sunglasses on despite the dying sun.

Julian stood behind me, watching. I didn’t look back.

**

The drive to the mansion was quiet. Ivory didn’t ask questions. I didn’t offer answers.

But when I stepped into the glass fortress I was now supposed to call home, something felt off.

“Where is he?” I asked.

Ivory didn’t even blink. “He’s at his other mansion.”

Other mansion?

“Nora,” she said, her tone soft but firm, “you married for something. Don’t care about him, or you’ll get hurt.”

My chest tightened.

“Oh,” I replied simply, refusing to let anything show.

“He’ll come when he wants. Let him be,” she added, then left me in the vast living room, her heels clicking away like punctuation to a conversation I didn’t ask for.

“Fine,” I whispered to no one.

I changed into something more comfortable—sweatpants, hoodie, bare feet. The kitchen was spotless. Too clean. Like no one had ever really lived here.

I cooked—something simple. Stir-fried rice, grilled chicken, steamed vegetables. Not because I thought he’d eat it, but because I needed something to do with my hands. Something normal.

By nine p.m., the food was on the table. The house was still empty. Quiet.

Until I heard it.

The low hum of an engine pulling into the driveway.

Then footsteps.

Then voices.

Two of them.

The door opened.

Kian walked through the stairs—still in his wedding suit, not a wrinkle in sight.

Beside him… Ivory.

My stomach dropped.

I didn’t know why it bothered me. It shouldn’t. But it did.

“Your food is ready, Kian. I figured you’d be hungry,” I said, trying to keep my voice even.

Kian didn’t even glance at the table. He walked straight past me and headed up the stairs like I was a shadow on the wall.

Ivory lingered by the door.

“He already ate,” she said, her voice tinged with something that wasn’t quite rude but wasn’t far off either.

I rolled my eyes. “You’re his personal assistant, not his wife. If you love him so much, maybe you should’ve worn the ring.”

They both stopped, Kian turned his gaze back to me in anger.