Chapter 2: Signing the Contract

The black Rolls-Royce moved silently away from the cathedral. Inside, the air was cool and smelled of expensive leather. It was a sharp contrast to the humid, flower-scented chaos I had just left behind. I sat by the window, watching the city blur past. I didn't feel like a bride. I felt like a soldier who had just changed fronts.

Next to me, Alexander King was looking at a tablet. He didn't look like a man who had just picked up a wife at a failed wedding. He looked like he was closing a routine business merger.

"Thomas," Alexander said quietly. He didn't look up from the screen.

The man in the front passenger seat turned around. I hadn't noticed him much before, but now I saw his professional, alert expression. He was middle-aged and wore a sharp gray suit.

"Yes, Mr. King?" Thomas replied.

"The folder."

Thomas handed a thin leather map over the seat. Alexander took it and dropped it onto my lap. The weight of it felt heavy against my silk skirts.

"That is our preliminary agreement," Alexander said. His voice was deep and steady. "Read it. If anything is missing, tell me now."

I opened the folder. The document inside was printed on thick, high-quality paper. The terms were laid out in clear, simple bullet points. There was no legal jargon to hide the truth.

The marriage would last for exactly one year. For that duration, I would legally be Mrs. King. My job was simple: keep the nature of this contract a secret and attend every important social event by his side. In return, all my expenses would be covered. At the end of the year, I would receive a fifty-million-dollar bonus.

It was more than enough. I reached into my small clutch bag, pulled out a pen, and signed my name at the bottom of the last page. I didn't hesitate for a second.

Alexander finally turned his head. He looked at the signed document, then back at me. One of his eyebrows shifted slightly. It was the first sign of genuine interest I had seen from him.

"You didn't even check the clause about asset division in case of a divorce?" he asked.

"I’m not interested in your assets, Mr. King," I said. My voice was as flat as his. "I only need your name. I need enough power to crush the people who think they can walk over me. The fifty million is just a bonus."

Alexander let out a short, dry laugh. It wasn't a warm sound, but it wasn't mocking either. "Interesting. You’re the first woman to tell me to my face that they only want me for my power."

His gaze moved down to my wedding dress. I followed his eyes and saw the problem. The bottom of the expensive silk was shredded. There were gray streaks of dirt where I had stepped on it while rushing down the altar steps.

"The dress is torn," he noted.

"I stepped on it," I said, looking at the ruined fabric. "It’s trash anyway. Just like the man I was supposed to marry."

Alexander reached out. He didn't touch me, but he placed a finger under my chin, tilting my head up so I had to look him in the eye. His eyes were a cold, piercing gray.

"From today on," he said, "the wife of Alexander King does not wear rags."

He looked toward the front of the car. "Thomas. Take her to the estate. Call the managers at Dior and Chanel. Tell them to empty five boutiques and have her wardrobe filled before the sun goes down."

"Understood, sir," Thomas said, already reaching for his phone.

"And about that ten million dollars from Sterling," Alexander added. A small, predator-like smile appeared on his face. It was the look of a man who enjoyed the hunt. "I’ll have my personal legal team handle it. Arthur Sterling won't just be paying back the investment. He’ll be lucky if he has a roof over his head by next month."