Seven

Chapter 7

KIARA’S POV

I stared at the gold band on my finger as we walked out of the courthouse, and for the first time in my life, I felt like I was suffocating. Married. I was actually married to Silva Blackwood. The ink on that certificate wasn't even dry yet, but it felt like a brand on my skin. I, Kiara Monroe—no, Blackwood now—the woman who built an empire from nothing, had just signed away my independence for the sake of a tiny heartbeat I could barely feel yet.

The New York air felt thin as Silva led me toward his sleek, black luxury sedan. He didn't offer a hand. He didn't even look at me. He just walked with that infuriating, predatory grace, as if he hadn't just tied himself to his worst enemy. I climbed into the passenger seat, the smell of expensive leather and his crisp cologne filling my senses. Usually, I loved the smell of success, but right now, it made my head spin.

The gravity of it hit me all at once. The press, the board members, the Russians—how was I going to explain this? My stomach gave a violent, liquid lurch.

"Silva," I gasped, clutching my bag.

"If you're about to start another lecture on how much you loathe me, save it for the ride," he snapped, his voice cold and dismissive.

I didn't have time to reply. I barely had time to lean forward before my breakfast made a very unwelcome reappearance all over his pristine floor mats and the side of the leather seat. The sound was horrific in the quiet car.

I sat back, gasping for air, my face burning with a level of mortification I didn't think was possible for me. I wanted the earth to open up and swallow the car whole. Kiara Monroe does not vomit in people's cars. Kiara Monroe is always in control.

Silva didn't scream. He didn't even curse. He just pulled the car over with a jerky, efficient motion and reached into the back for a box of tissues and a bottle of water. He handed them to me without a word, his expression a mask of pure, icy disgust.

"Clean yourself up," he said, his voice like a razor. "We have a public facade to maintain, and you currently look and smell like a disaster."

"I'm pregnant, you prick," I hissed, wiping my mouth, though my hand was shaking. "It happens."

"It shouldn't happen in my car," he retorted, already on his phone, likely calling a detailing service to scrub my existence out of his vehicle.

Once the immediate crisis passed, the next one arrived: logistics.

"We need to decide where we’re staying," he said, looking out the window as if the city held more interest than his new wife. "My penthouse is secure. You’ll move in by tonight."

"In your dreams," I barked, feeling some of my fire return. "I have a mansion that actually has a soul. I am not moving into your sterile bachelor pad."

"Your mansion is a security nightmare, Kiara. My home is outfitted for the level of protection my heir requires."

"My heir?" I scoffed. "It's our child, and I’m not living in a fortress where I can’t breathe."

We argued for ten minutes, two CEOs trying to hostile-takeover each other's lives. Eventually, the exhaustion won. We settled on his place for the first month, strictly for the "security" he kept harping on about.

"And the press?" I asked, leaning my head against the cool glass of the window. "They aren't stupid. We win awards, we're rivals, and suddenly we're married? They'll smell a rat."

"They'll expect a honeymoon," Silva said, his eyes narrowing. "A distraction."

"Fine. We'll tell them we're going to a private island. Something remote. No press allowed, complete privacy for the 'blissful' newlyweds." I felt sick again just saying it. Another lie. Another layer of the foundation we were building this nightmare on.

I pulled out my phone to call Linda. I needed to warn her before the news broke.

"Linda," I said when she picked up. "I need you to sit down."

"Ma'am? Is everything okay? The Russian files are—"

"I'm married," I cut her off. "To Silva Blackwood. We're heading to his place now."

There was a silence so profound I thought the call had dropped. Then, a faint, strangled squeak came from the other end.

"Ma'am? The... the Blackwood? The one you called a 'clueless pig' yesterday?"

"The very one," I sighed, closing my eyes. "Handle the PR. Tell them it's a private island retreat. I'll be in touch."

I hung up before she could ask the questions I didn't have answers to. I was Mrs. Blackwood. And God, I hated the sound of it.

SILVA’S POV

Disgust doesn't even begin to cover it. I sat in my study, the scent of the car still lingering in my nose despite the professional cleaning I’d already ordered. My life had been a series of calculated moves, and yet, I’d somehow ended up legally shackled to a woman who couldn't even keep her morning meal down.

I stared at the marriage certificate on my desk. It looked like a death warrant.

I pressed the intercom for Marcus, my Head of Security. He was in the room within seconds.

"Sir?"

"Kiara is moving in tonight," I said, my voice flat. "I want 24/7 surveillance on her. Every room she enters, every person she speaks to, every bite of food she puts in her mouth. I want a report every four hours."

Marcus blinked, surprised. "Sir, she’s your wife. Do you want her to know about the—"

"She is a security risk," I interrupted. "And she is carrying the Blackwood heir. Her 'comfort' is secondary to the safety of that child. If she breathes sideways, I want to know about it. Treat her like a high-value asset under threat."

He nodded and left. I wasn't protecting her. I was containing her. I couldn't have her impulsive, arrogant nature ruining the one thing that actually mattered now—my legacy.

The thought of putting my life and my business on hold for this farce was infuriating. I had mergers in the works, expansions that required my full attention, and instead, I was playing house with the Ice Queen of New York.

I waited until I was sure Kiara was occupied with her packing before I called Ben, my private legal counsel and the only man I trusted with the truly dirty work. He arrived through the service entrance twenty minutes later.

"Silva," Ben said, sitting opposite me. "I heard the news. The city is going to lose its mind."

"Let them. I need something else from you, Ben. This contract marriage has an expiration date, but my relationship with that child does not."

I leaned forward, my hands interlacing. "I want a separate marriage dissolution exit plan. Quietly. I want you to draft a legal strategy that ensures I get full, unconditional custody of the child the moment the contract ends. I want Kiara buried in so much litigation and 'character evidence' that she won't have the standing to demand a weekend visit."

Ben raised an eyebrow. "She's a powerful woman, Silva. She won't go down without a fight."

"She can fight all she wants," I sneered. "But by the time I'm done, she'll realize that being a Blackwood was the only thing giving her status. I want her left with nothing but the memory of the mistake she made in that club. The child stays with me. The empire stays with me."

"And Kiara?" Ben asked.

"Kiara is a means to an end," I said, looking at the door. "Once she’s delivered what I need, she’s irrelevant."

I watched the clock. The unofficial honeymoon was beginning, and while Kiara was busy planning a fake trip to an island, I was planning the rest of her life. Or rather, the end of her life as she knew it. This wasn't a marriage; it was a siege. And I had no intention of losing.