WIFE

I stood frozen long after his words settled into the room, my gaze locked on the folder as if it were a loaded weapon rather than paper and ink, my chest tight, my thoughts spiraling in every direction at once, because I already understood that whatever was written inside would change the shape of my life in ways I couldn’t undo, and that terrified me more than any threat he had thrown my way.

“I need time. Don't force me that fast. This is not easy,” I said at last, forcing each word out carefully, deliberately, because panic had never protected anyone and I refused to let him see how close I was to losing control.

“.....You don’t get to trap me in a room, scare me half to death, and then expect my signature like this is some ordinary business deal. You know, I don't know why you are dling this at all. I don't want get married now. And you are forcing me rightaway? Are you some kind of crazy people came out from the mental hospital.”

He didn’t answer right away, and that silence felt heavier than shouting ever could. His eyes stayed on me, sharp and unreadable, as if he were dissecting every reaction, every shift in my breathing, measuring how far he could push before I broke.

Finally, he turned toward the windows, hands clasped behind his back, the city stretching beneath him like a map of territories and enemies only he could see.

“Time is a privilege,” he said evenly, his voice controlled but laced with warning, “and it’s one you lost the moment you stepped onto that stage. They’re already moving, Bianca. Old connections are being traced, names are being whispered in rooms you don’t even remember entering, and whether you like it or not, your existence has made you valuable again.”

“Valuable to who?” I demanded, frustration clawing its way past my fear. “You keep talking like I’m some kind of asset instead of a person. I don’t remember any of this. I don’t remember you. I don’t remember these people you’re so afraid of.”

He turned back to me sharply, his calm cracking just enough to reveal something darker underneath. “You don’t forget gunfire by choice,” he said lowly. “You forget because your mind decided survival mattered more than memory. You were there, Bianca, you were there. You pulled me out after the shots were fired. You saved my life. I almost died. But you came. You don't know how much I'm scared to die that time. Until a man grab you and we never met again. I promised that time I'll find you.”

The room tilted. “That’s not possible,” I whispered, even as my pulse thundered in my ears. “I would remember something like that.”

Before he could respond, the door opened abruptly, the same men in dark suits reappearing, urgency written into their usually blank expressions. One of them stepped forward, his voice tight. “Sir, the eastern crews are probing the perimeter. Two blocks out. They’re testing how far your protection extends.”

Stefano’s jaw tightened instantly, his attention snapping into ruthless focus as he reached for his phone. “Increase security,” he ordered without hesitation. “Lock the building down. No one leaves without clearance.”

My heart slammed violently against my ribs as the reality of it sank in. “What does that mean?” I asked, my voice sharp with rising panic. “What happens if they get closer?”

He ended the call and looked at me, and for the first time, there was no pretense of softness in his expression. “It means they won’t negotiate,” he said simply. “And if you’re not legally under my name, they won’t hesitate to use you.”

He crossed the room then, picked up the folder, and slid it across the table toward me with infuriating calm, placing a pen on top as if sealing my fate with a single, controlled gesture.

“That contract,” he continued, his voice firm and unyielding, “is the only reason you’re standing here instead of being hunted. It gives you my protection, my resources, my enemies’ restraint. Without it, you’re just leverage waiting to be taken. You should be thankful I found you.”

I stared at the pen, my hands trembling, my throat burning as fear and fury twisted together inside me. “So if I sign, I belong to you,” I said, my voice barely holding together. “And if I don’t, I walk out there and die.”

He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing mine, his gaze locking onto me with a gravity that left no room for illusion.

“And if I sign,” I whispered, my heart pounding so loudly it felt like it might break free of my chest, “what exactly am I agreeing to become?”

He leaned in, close enough that his words felt inescapable, absolute.

“My wife.”