Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Vivienne's Pov 

The elevator ride to the sixty-fifth floor of Vance Enterprises had felt like a slow ascent to the guillotine. Now, sitting in the dead center of the cavernous, glass-walled boardroom, I felt the cold steel of the blade hovering right against my neck.

Julian sat opposite me at the head of the massive obsidian table, just watching me. In front of me lay forty pages of thick, cream-colored paper. The marriage contract. I turned another page, the sharp, dry rustle of paper the only sound in the dead-silent room. The air conditioning was turned down to a freezing temperature, but my blood was rushing too hot and too fast for me to shiver. I read the lines of text, my stomach twisting into tighter, more violent knots with every word.

These weren't marriage vows. These were terms of surrender.

Section 4: The Signatory shall relocate to the primary residence of Julian Vance. She will not maintain a separate domicile or private lodging.

Section 9: All public appearances, statements, media interactions, and affiliations must be pre-approved by Vance Enterprises.

Section 12: The Signatory surrenders all rights to initiate divorce proceedings. The dissolution of this contract rests solely at the discretion of Julian Vance.

 I was selling myself into a gilded cage.

I slowly lifted my head. Julian’s ice-blue eyes were locked onto my face, tracking every micro-expression. He was leaning back in his leather chair, entirely relaxed, his broad shoulders easily filling out his immaculate dark suit. He was probably waiting for the tears, waiting for my hands to shake, for me to beg, to negotiate, to show him exactly how broken and desperate I was. I refused to give him the satisfaction.

I squared my shoulders, driving my fingernails into my own palms under the table to ground myself. I closed the heavy folder, pushed it toward the center of the obsidian table, and picked up the heavy gold fountain pen he had left for me.

"Are you not going to have your legal counsel review the terms?" Julian asked. His voice was dangerously smooth, a dark velvet wrapped tightly around rusted iron.

"What legal counsel, Julian?" I fired back, my voice remarkably steady despite the violent pounding in my chest. "The lawyers who dropped my family the second our bankruptcy hit the news? Or the ones you’ve probably already bought out?"

A muscle ticked in his strong jaw. It was a microscopic reaction, but to me, it felt like a massive victory. I had pierced his perfect armor, just a fraction.

"I read enough to understand my prison sentence," I continued, standing up. I leaned over the table, planting my hands flat against the cold stone, refusing to break eye contact. "I belong to you. I live where you say, I smile for the cameras, and I play the perfect, obedient little wife to fix whatever PR nightmare you need this sham of a marriage for. And in return, the wire fraud charges against my sister disappear today."

"Before the ink is dry," Julian confirmed. His gaze slowly dropped to my mouth, lingering there for a fraction of a second before snapping back to my eyes. The raw, predatory heat in that single look made all the oxygen in the room vanish.

I didn't look down at the paper. I kept my eyes fiercely locked on his as she brought the pen down to the signature line. I pressed hard, the nib scratching aggressively against the parchment, and signed away my freedom.

When she finally lifted the pen, the silence in the room shifted. It grew heavier. Thicker.

Julian didn't immediately reach for the contract. He stood up slowly, his imposing frame casting a long, dark shadow over the table. He walked around the edge toward her, his footsteps entirely silent on the plush carpet. All these were just dances to show his dominance, what a childish thing and I hated him for it.

My survival instinct screamed at me to step back, to put physical distance between them. Instead, I dug my heels into the floor and held my ground.

He stopped mere inches from me. Up close, the sheer size of him was overwhelming. He reached out, but he didn't reach for the paperwork.

His large, calloused hand came up toward my face. He didn't touch my skin, his hands was just hovering over my face, but his knuckles lightly brushed a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear. The ghost of a touch was so unexpected, so entirely out of place for a corporate boardroom, that it sent a violent, electric shock straight down my spine.

"You have fire in you, Vivienne," Julian murmured, his voice dropping to a rough, gravelly whisper meant only for her. "I expected you to shatter. But you’re standing here, looking at me like you want to burn my building to the ground."

"Give me a match," I whispered back, my heart hammering wildly against my ribs. "And see what happens."

For a split second, a genuine, dark smile curved his lips. It wasn't a rehearsed corporate smirk. It was something primal. Something dangerous.

"We’re going to have a lot of fun," he promised softly.

He stepped back, the cold, impenetrable mask of the billionaire snapping perfectly back into place. He picked up the signed contract and held it out to a man standing in the shadows by the door—a man I hadn't even realized was in the room until now.

The man stepped into the light. He was built like a heavyweight fighter, wearing a suit that barely contained his dense muscles, with cold, dead eyes and a jagged white scar running down his thick neck. He didn't look like a corporate assistant. He looked like an assassin.

"Matteo," Julian ordered without looking at him. "Process this. Make the calls. The Sterling girl's record is wiped clean. If anyone asks questions, bury them."

"Done, boss," Matteo grunted, shooting Vivienne a look of pure, unfiltered hostility before turning on his heel and slipping out the heavy doors.

Relief, sharp and physically painful, crashed over me. Sienna was safe. It was done. The nightmare for my sister was over, even if my own was just beginning.

"I need to go home," I said, suddenly feeling the crushing exhaustion pulling at my bones. I reached for her purse on the empty chair. "I need to tell Sienna the banks won't touch her, and I need to pack my things. Give me two days, and I’ll be out of the apartment before the landlord locks the doors."

Julian was already walking toward the private elevator at the back of the boardroom. He paused, turning to look at me over his shoulder, his eyes entirely blank.

"You misunderstand the terms of your surrender, Vivienne," he said, his tone utterly devoid of warmth.

I froze, my hand hovering over the leather strap of my bag. "Misunderstand what? I signed the contract. I did what you asked."

"Your sister is handled," Julian cut me off, stepping into the sleek elevator. He pressed a button, and the heavy metal doors began to slide shut. "But you don't have an apartment anymore. And you aren't going home to pack."

Panic spiked hot and fast in her chest. She took a step toward him. "Julian, wait—I don't have anything with me! I need to talk to her!"

"You belong to me now," his voice echoed coldly as the doors narrowed, showing only a sliver of his unreadable face. "And my wife does not leave my sight. Matteo is waiting for you in the underground garage. Welcome to your new life."

The doors slammed shut with a final, metallic thud, trapping me inside the glass cage of Vance Enterprises, completely at his mercy.