CHAPTER 4: The Midnight Registry

***AURORA***

The door of the luxury sedan clicked shut with a dull thud, completely cutting off the roar of the downpour.

Inside, the space was vast, dark, and suffocatingly quiet. The scent of rich leather, expensive tobacco, and Ronan’s overpowering Alpha pheromones filled the enclosed cabin, settling over my skin. I sat frozen against the leather seat, my damp white dress clinging miserably to my thighs. My hands were shaking, but I clamped them tightly in my lap, refusing to let the man sitting across from me see a single trace of weakness.

Ronan didn't look at me. He sat in total, unreadable silence as the car glided smoothly away from the hotel.

The blue light of the dashboard illuminated his sharp profile; the hard, chiseled line of his jaw, the slight break in his nose from some long-forgotten violence, and the massive breadth of his shoulders beneath his charcoal vest. He had tossed his wet suit jacket onto the empty middle seat, rolling up his shirtsleeves to reveal thick, heavily muscled forearms covered in faint battle scars.

Every instinct in my body was screaming at me that I had just stepped into a cage with an apex predator. The reckless, champagne-fueled adrenaline that had driven me to propose a marriage dare in the alley was rapidly vanishing, leaving behind a cold, paralyzing dread.

What did I just do? I had asked the most feared underworld king in the city to marry me out of pure spite. And he had said yes.

"Where are we going?" I finally whispered, my voice sounding incredibly small in the quiet car.

"To fix your mistake," Ronan replied smoothly, not bothering to turn his head. 

Twenty minutes later, the car slowed down, passing through a set of massive, towering iron gates flanked by armed security guards. We pulled up the winding driveway of Blackthorne House. The estate loomed out of the dark misty rain like a gothic fortress, constructed of heavy, dark stone and surrounded by centuries-old oak trees. 

The door was thrown open by a silent guard holding a large black umbrella.

"Get out," Ronan commanded quietly, stepping into the rain without waiting for me.

I scrambled out after him, holding up the shredded hem of my gown as he led me through the grand living area of the estate. The mansion was dark and minimalist, radiating an oppressive masculine energy. He didn't offer me a dry towel or a drink to calm my nerves.

Instead, he marched straight down a long, dimly lit corridor and pushed open a pair of double doors, gesturing for me to enter.

It was his private study. The walls were lined with thousands of leather-bound books, and a massive desk sat in the center of the room beneath a chandelier. But it wasn't the luxury of the room that made me freeze.

It was the man standing beside the desk.

An older gentleman in a wrinkled suit was pacing nervously, clutching a leather briefcase. His scent was completely laced with anxiety and from it I could tell he was a lower-status Beta. The moment Ronan walked into the room, the man practically bowed to the floor, his knees trembling.

"L-Lord Blackthorne," the man stammered, his eyes darting frantically to me, widening in sheer horror as he recognized the ruined white wedding dress. "I...I came as soon as your men called. I have the documents ready, but are you certain..."

"Quiet, Miller," Ronan cut him off, his voice dropping an octave.

Ronan walked behind the desk, picking up a document bound in official silver foil. It was the absolute, ironclad Alpha Council marriage registry; the kind reserved only for the elite rulers of the pack alliance. Once stamped by a licensed pack notary, it was legally impossible to dissolve without a formal Council trial.

Ronan slid the documents across the desk, followed by a fountain pen.

"You have one chance to walk out of those doors, Aurora," Ronan said, leaning his hands on the desk, his massive frame looming over me as his silver eyes locked onto mine. "If you sign this, you become a Blackthorne. You bind your name, your debts, your family's remains, and your entire existence to mine. There is no turning back. No cold feet or regrets."

The sting of Cassian’s smug, entitled face backstage flashed in my mind. “The arrangement with the Vale family has long since passed its viability.” He had thrown me away like garbage. He was probably toast-clicking Celeste right now, laughing at the pathetic girl he had left at the altar.

The alcohol and the deep rage roared back to life, burying my fear.

"Give me the pen," I whispered.

I stepped up to the desk, my fingers cold and trembling as I snatched the silver fountain pen. I didn't read the clauses. I didn't care about the terms. Driven by a hunger for vengeance, I pressed the nib to the paper.

In elegant, sweeping cursive, I signed my name: Aurora Vale.

Right next to it, Ronan’s dominant signature was already dried in bold black ink.

Was he seriously already prepared for this? But how?

The notary trembled as he raised a steel seal, slamming it down onto the document. The magical, binding energy flared faintly across the paper, sealing the legal bond.

It was done. I was a married woman.

Ronan looked down at the document, his expression entirely unreadable, though a dark satisfaction flickered in the depths of his silver eyes. He turned to the guards waiting at the door.

"Take her upstairs to the main guest suite," Ronan ordered flatly. "Get her out of that wet dress. I will deal with her in the morning."

I didn't say a word. The exhaustion of the day finally crashed down on me like a tidal wave. My legs felt like paper as a maid led me out of the study and up the grand staircase.

The guest suite was enormous, decorated in deep grays and dark sheets. The maid quietly helped me unlace the tight, ruined wedding gown, draping me in a luxurious, oversized black silk robe that smelled faintly of cedarwood.

The moment my head hit the pillows, the darkness took over. I collapsed into a deep sleep, entirely unaware of the storm that was about to break over Nocturne City.