Chapter 2: Signed and Sealed

The ink was still drying when Sebastian slid the folder across the long glass table.

Aria didn’t hesitate. She picked up the pen, the cool metal sleek between her fingers. Her name—Aria Sinclair—already looked out of place next to his. Soon it would be Wolfe. She would carry his name, bear his brand, and be thrust into a world that ran on wealth, power, and precision.

But she never flinched.

“I expected more pages,” she said, flipping through the pristine, ironclad agreement.

“You’re not marrying my fortune,” Sebastian replied without looking up from his drink. “You're marrying me.”

Aria glanced at him. He was leaning against the window frame, tie loosened, jaw tight. Always so controlled. Cold, even. But now, with the tension of this arrangement starting to feel real, there was something in his gaze—a warning. Maybe even a question.

“I thought I was marrying your image,” she teased.

He turned his head slowly. “Make no mistake. You’re walking into my life. My bed. My rules. I’m not the man you play games with, Aria.”

“And I’m not the girl who’s afraid of rules.”

She signed.

It was done.

Their marriage would be legal by morning. The ceremony would be private, discreet, and fast. In less than 48 hours, Aria Sinclair would become Aria Wolfe.

“Congratulations,” she said, pushing the contract back to him. “You’ve just acquired a wife.”

He smirked faintly. “And you’ve just stepped into the lion’s den.”

Aria rose from the chair, smoothing the hem of her deep green dress as she moved. She walked toward him, slow and deliberate, stopping just shy of his reach.

“So what now?” she asked softly.

Sebastian’s eyes swept over her—dark, calculating, hungry.

“Now,” he said, “we establish boundaries.”

“Yours or mine?”

“Both.”

He took a step forward. She didn’t back away.

“No public scandals,” he began. “No drunken paparazzi moments, no suggestive interviews, and for the love of God—don’t flirt with anyone else.”

She smiled, arching a brow. “Jealous already, Mr. Wolfe?”

“Protective,” he corrected, voice dipping. “You’ll carry my name. That means something. You don’t get to act like a child anymore.”

“I haven’t been a child for a long time.”

His eyes flickered down to her lips, then lower. “I know.”

Heat rushed through her, but she kept her posture regal.

“My turn,” she said. “No controlling who I see or speak to. No locking me away in some penthouse like a porcelain doll. And I get a say in our public image—I don’t want to play the ice queen while you parade around like a brooding god.”

He chuckled darkly. “Brooding god?”

“You wear it like a second skin.”

Their eyes locked again. The energy between them sizzled—half challenge, half seduction. She was fire. He was flint. And this marriage was going to spark every inch of it.

Sebastian closed the distance between them, one hand coming to rest on her hip. “And behind closed doors?”

Her breath hitched. “What about it?”

“I don’t do cold marriages. I don’t do pretend.” His voice dropped, husky and firm. “If you’re in my bed, you’re mine. You don’t fake pleasure. You give it. Freely. Fully. And you take what I give you.”

Aria’s pulse raced. His hand was hot against her waist. Her knees trembled—not in fear, but in raw anticipation.

“I didn’t sign up to be your little plaything,” she whispered.

“No,” he murmured, tracing a line up her spine. “You signed up to be my wife.”

She gasped when he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“And I promise you, Aria,” he breathed, “being mine will never feel like a game.”

Her body reacted to him without permission—tightening, yearning, burning. But she swallowed her response and stepped back.

“Then I guess we’re both in for one hell of a ride,” she said, voice shaky but defiant.

He smiled—dark, confident, dangerous.

“Pack your things. You move in tomorrow.”

Her jaw dropped slightly. “Tomorrow?”

“You wanted this life, didn’t you?”

“I expected a little more… transition.”

Sebastian crossed his arms. “There’s no room for hesitation, Aria. The world will be watching. You need to look like you belong at my side from the moment the ring hits your finger.”

“Fine,” she said, lifting her chin. “Just remember, I don’t do fragile.”

He stepped closer again, lowering his voice to a whisper. “And I don’t do disobedience.”

Their eyes locked for one long, breathless moment before he turned and walked out of the room, leaving her there—still trembling, still burning, still wondering if she had just made the most reckless decision of her life.

But one thing was clear.

She had stepped into his world.

And nothing would ever be the same again.