Chapter 3: The Marks on Her Skin

The registry clerk stamped the marriage certificate so hard that her pen cup rattled, and Iris Whitmore became Kieran Sterling's wife while he checked the time on his phone. Kieran folded the certificate into his breast pocket before the ink dried. He strode out of the registry office with Owen close behind him, and Iris hurried after them with her plastic bag clutched to her chest.

"St. Clare's is south of here," Iris protested, digging her heels into the pavement when the car swung north at the lights. "You promised me the hospital after the stamp."

"The hospital comes after Ravenhill," Kieran replied, not even looking up from his phone screen. "My wife does not arrive at her mother's bedside smelling of prison bleach and wearing a faded sweater."

"My mother needs me now, and you care about my clothes?" Iris snapped, her voice rising.

"I care about my name," Kieran countered, sliding into the back seat. "And you carry it now. Get in."

Ravenhill Manor stood on the hill above the city, all grey stone towers and black iron gates. Uniformed staff lined the front steps when the car pulled up, every head turning toward Iris's plastic bag. Kieran climbed out, left her with the head maid at the foot of the steps, and disappeared into the house.

"Greta, get her scrubbed and dressed," Kieran ordered over his shoulder. "Send her down in the grey dress from the east closet."

The head maid marched Iris up the grand staircase and into a marble bathroom with gold taps and a steaming tub. She yanked the sweater over Iris's head before Iris could push her hands away. Greta's lip curled at the dark purple bruises scattered across Iris's neck and shoulders.

"Well, look at this," Greta sneered, flicking the darkest mark with a manicured nail. "The master drags a woman out of prison, and she shows up covered in some other man's bites."

"Touch me again and see what happens," Iris warned, snatching her sweater back against her chest.

"Maids don't threaten management," Greta shot back, her eyes hard. "You won't last a week in this house before the master throws you out."

Iris shoved the maid through the doorway and slammed the heavy oak door on her smirk. She sank into the hot water up to her chin, scrubbing her arms with soap until her skin burned pink. Her tears dripped into the bath, mixing with the water as she pressed a wet cloth over her eyes.

The door crashed open. Kieran Sterling stood on the threshold, with Greta peering anxiously over his shoulder.

Iris lurched to her feet, snatched a thick bath sheet from the rail, and clutched it against her body. The towel covered her from chest to mid-thigh, leaving the bruises across her shoulders and thighs entirely exposed. Kieran's eyes tracked every single mark.

"Leave us, Greta," Kieran commanded, his voice dropping an octave.

The maid scurried down the hall, pulling the door shut behind her.

Kieran stepped into the thick steam, his gaze locked on the purple shadows staining Iris's pale skin. His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in his cheek. Iris backed against the tiled wall, clutching the towel so hard her knuckles turned white.

"Days out of prison," Kieran began, his voice dangerously soft, "and some man already marked you from your neck to your knees."

"Get out of my bathroom," Iris hissed, her chin trembling with fury.

"My bathroom, my house, and my name on your certificate," Kieran corrected, taking a slow step closer. "My grandmother thought she found a sweet, innocent girl for me, and I married a woman who spent her parole in a stranger's bed."

"You bought a signature this morning, Mr. Sterling," Iris shot back, refusing to look away from his dark, accusing eyes. "My past came with it. Free of charge."

Kieran crossed the wet tiles in two strides and caught her chin between his fingers. Water dripped from her damp hair onto his wrist. He tilted her face up, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"Then learn the terms of the purchase," he murmured, his face inches from hers. "This marriage lasts several months. When the contract ends, you sign the divorce papers my lawyers give you, and you leave Ravenhill with whatever sum they hand you."

"And until then?" Iris whispered, her breath hitching against his thumb.

"Until then, you behave," Kieran continued, his grip tightening just enough to command obedience. "Keep your men far from my gates. Outside this room, you are simply the new maid. Our marriage stays a secret between you, me, Owen, and my grandmother."

"A maid?" Iris repeated, her voice cracking in disbelief. "You want your wife to scrub floors?"

"Grey uniform, staff quarters, and a list of chores from my head housekeeper," Kieran confirmed smoothly. "Every reporter in the capital watches my gates for a wedding photograph, and my brother pays two of them to watch harder."

"Your grandmother lives in this house," Iris pointed out, fighting the panic rising in her chest. "She'll see her granddaughter-in-law scrubbing her stairs."

"My grandmother chose your name, so she can watch how you earn it," Kieran replied coldly, dropping his hand from her chin. "Complain to her, and she'll hand you a bucket herself."

"And if I want out before the months run down?" Iris pressed, her eyes flashing.

"Then you walk out through the front gate with your mother's medication cancelled behind you," Kieran finished.

"What if I go to the press and tell them who I really am?" Iris challenged.

"Then St. Clare's gets a phone call, and your mother is discharged by dinner," Kieran answered without a blink.

He stepped back, wiping the water from his fingers onto his trousers. Iris stood frozen, her whole body shaking with rage and helplessness.

"Get dressed," Kieran ordered from the doorway, not looking back. "I'm driving you to the hospital myself."

Kieran drove the black sedan in silence, both hands locked on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. Iris sat in the passenger seat in the stiff grey dress from the east closet, twisting its fabric between her fingers. The high collar choked her, hiding the marks on her neck.

When he pulled up at the entrance of St. Clare's and unlocked the doors, Iris reached for the handle. Kieran's voice stopped her hand.

"Take your time upstairs," Kieran said quietly, his eyes still on the windshield. "Her doctors called my office while you were dressing."

Iris froze, her hand hovering over the latch. "What did they say?"

Kieran finally turned his head, his expression unreadable. "From what they told me, you have very little time left with her."