Owned By The Heartless CEO

CELESTINE POV

The heavy silk of my wedding dress felt like a lead weight pressing down on my chest. I sat stiffly on the edge of the king-sized bed, the silence of the massive bedroom echoing the emptiness in my chest. There were no flowers here. No warmth. Just sleek, modern lines of black marble and cold gray velvet.

This was my wedding night, but it felt like the eve of an execution.

The door clicked open, and my chest tightened.

Cyrus Valdemor stepped into the room. He had already loosened his silk tie, the top buttons of his black dress shirt undone to reveal the sharp line of his collarbone. He looked breathtakingly handsome—and completely lethal. He didn't look like a groom. He looked like a man who had just successfully executed a hostile corporate takeover.

Which, in a way, he had.

He didn't look at me at first. He walked over to the mahogany dresser, pouring himself two fingers of whiskey. The ice clinked against the crystal glass, a sharp, cutting sound in the quiet room.

"You can take off the veil, Celestine," he said, his voice a low, smooth baritone that sent a cold shiver down my spine. "The show is over. There are no cameras here."

My hands trembled slightly as I reached up, pulling the delicate tulle from my hair and tossing it onto the mattress. I forced myself to swallow the lump of humiliation rising in my throat. My father’s desperate face flashed in my mind—the tears in his eyes when he confessed that he had embezzled millions from the Valdemor Group. “He’ll ruin us, Celestine. He’ll put me in prison. You’re the only one who can talk to him.”

But Cyrus hadn't wanted to talk. He had demanded a contract.

"Are we just going to pretend this didn't happen?" I asked, my voice firmer than I actually felt. I stood up, the heavy layers of my skirt rustling around me. I refused to look weak in front of him. "You got what you wanted. Your company’s missing funds are secured through my family’s remaining assets, and you got a wife to appease your board of directors. What now?"

Cyrus finally turned around. His dark eyes locked onto mine, completely devoid of any human warmth. He took a slow sip of his drink, his gaze tracking down my white gown before coming back up to my face. The sheer indifference in his expression stung more than a slap.

"What now?" he repeated, walking toward me with slow, measured steps. He stopped just a foot away. He was a tall man, and his shadow completely swallowed me. He reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a crisp, stapled document.

With a careless flick of his wrist, he threw it onto the bed. It landed right next to my discarded veil.

"Sign it," he commanded.

I looked at the bold letters at the top of the page: MARRIAGE AGREEMENT.

"I already signed the certificate at the altar, Cyrus," I said, narrowing my eyes.

"That was for the public," he replied coldly, setting his glass down on the nightstand. "This is for reality. Read the clauses."

I picked up the papers, my eyes scanning the text. My blood turned to ice as the words blurred together. Two-year duration. Complete separation of personal assets. No public scandals. Under no circumstances shall either party seek emotional or physical intimacy.

"A marriage contract?" I whispered, looking up at him. My hands clenched around the paper, wrinkling the edges. "You want me to live like a ghost in your house?"

"I want you to understand your place," Cyrus said, his face a mask of absolute detachment. He took a step closer, forcing me to tilt my head back to look at him. "Let's be entirely clear about why you are here, Celestine. Your father is a thief. I didn't marry you because I wanted a wife. I married you because a sudden wedding covers up a massive financial scandal that would have tanked my stock prices if it went public."

The brutal honesty of his words hit me like a physical blow. I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted copper, desperate to keep the tears from falling. Don't cry. Do not let him see you cry.

"Two years," he continued, his tone smooth and entirely conversational, as if he were discussing a standard business merger. "You will attend dinners when I require a companion. You will smile for the press. But the moment we are behind closed doors, we are strangers."

"And if I refuse to sign this?" I challenged, lifting my chin, trying to find a shred of the Aragon pride I was supposed to possess.

Cyrus let out a short, humorless laugh. It was a terrifying sound. He leaned in, his face inches from mine. I could smell the faint scent of his expensive cologne mixed with the bitter edge of whiskey.

"Then I call the federal prosecutors tonight," he murmured. "And your father can spend his remaining years in a prison cell. It makes no difference to me, Celestine. The choice is entirely yours."

I stared into his dark, ruthless eyes, searching for even a flicker of mercy, a hint of the boy I vaguely remembered from society galas years ago. There was nothing left of that boy. This was a monster in a tailored suit.

"You are a heartless bastard," I breathed, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

His eyes hardened, a dangerous glint passing through them, but his voice remained deadly calm.

"I am a businessman. And right now, you are a very expensive liability." He walked back toward the door, pausing with his hand on the sleek silver handle. He didn't look back as he delivered the final blow. "You are just a golden cage ornament, Celestine. Two years. No touch, no real feelings, and never enter my room. I bought your freedom, so you owe me your life."

The door clicked shut behind him, the sound heavy and final.

The moment the lock turned, my legs gave out. I collapsed onto the edge of the bed, the heavy layers of my wedding dress bunching up around me. A single tear escaped, hot and bitter, tracing a path down my cheek, followed by another until I was silently sobbing into the empty space of the massive room.

I looked at the contract lying on the bed.

I was trapped. I was completely, utterly trapped in a gilded prison, tied to a man who viewed me as nothing more than a debt to be collected.

I reached out, my shaking fingers grabbing the pen left on the nightstand. With a heavy heart and blurred vision, I pressed the ink to the paper and wrote my name next to his.