CHAPTER 3: The Contract

The silence in the room after Julian left was deafening.

You are eating for two now.

His words bounced around my skull. I slid my hand over my flat stomach. I was pregnant. I was alone. And I was wanted by the police for a crime I didn't commit.

I looked at the window reflection. The woman staring back was a ghost. My mascara was smeared down my cheeks like war paint. My white dress, once a symbol of purity and hope, was torn at the hem and stained with the dirt of the floor where Caleb had shoved me.

I looked down at the contract lying on the silk sheets.

Marriage Agreement between Julian Thorne and Vivian Hayes.

I picked it up. The terms were simple, brutal, and efficient.

The marriage would last 12 months.

I would appear at all public events as his devoted wife.

I would live in his penthouse.

In exchange, he would settle Caleb’s debt, clear my name legally, and grant me access to unlimited funds.

There was no mention of love. No mention of intimacy. It was a business deal.

But then I saw the addendum at the bottom, written in sharp, slanted handwriting.

Clause 5: The child will be protected as an heir of the Thorne estate.

My breath hitched. He wasn't just offering to save me. He was offering to save my baby. Caleb wanted to discard us; Julian, a stranger known as a monster, was offering a fortress.

I wiped my face. The tears stopped. A cold resolve settled in my chest, replacing the fear.

I wasn't going to cry anymore. Crying got me nothing but betrayed.

I grabbed the pen left on the nightstand. I didn't hesitate. I signed my name. The ink was dark and permanent.

Vivian Thorne.

I stood up, my legs still shaky but holding my weight. I walked to the bedroom door and pushed it open.

The living area of the penthouse was vast, dark, and modern. Julian was standing by the fireplace, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He had taken off his jacket. His white shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, revealing forearms corded with muscle and ink—a tattoo of a serpent winding around his wrist.

He didn't turn around, but I knew he sensed me.

"Did you read it?" he asked, his voice low.

"I did," I said. I walked further into the room, the train of my ruined dress dragging on the hardwood floor. "And I signed it."

He turned then. His gray eyes swept over me, lingering on the dried blood on my temple.

"Good," he said. He took a sip of his drink. "Then the arrangement begins immediately."

"I have conditions," I said, my voice surprising even me.

Julian raised an eyebrow. The air in the room grew heavy. "You are in no position to negotiate, Vivian. You have nothing."

"I have the one thing you need," I countered, stepping closer. "You need a wife to fix your image. You need someone who looks innocent and sweet to make the public forget whatever dark dealings you are trying to hide. I can play that part. But I want something else."

He set the glass down. He walked toward me, a predator closing in on prey. He stopped so close I had to crane my neck to look at him.

"And what do you want, little mouse?"

"I want Caleb destroyed," I said, my voice shaking with hate. "I don't just want my name cleared. I want him to lose everything. I want him to feel the way I felt when he threw me to the floor."

Julian stared at me for a long moment. Then, slowly, a dark smile spread across his face. It wasn't a nice smile. It was terrifying.

"Done," he whispered.

He reached out and touched the strap of my wedding dress.

"But first," he said, his voice dropping an octave, "get out of this thing. You look like a victim. My wife does not look like a victim."

He gestured to a black box on the velvet sofa.

"Put that on. We have a dinner to attend."

"A dinner?" I blinked. "Tonight? I—I can't. I just got a concussion. I'm pregnant. My life just fell apart."

"Tonight is your ex-fiancé’s engagement party to your stepsister," Julian said casually, checking his watch. "They didn't waste any time announcing it. They think you are gone. They think they won."

He looked at me, his eyes burning with intensity.

"I intend to walk in there with you on my arm and remind them that the game has only just begun."

He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear.

"Go change, Mrs. Thorne. It’s time to go to war."

I looked at the black box. I looked at the man who had just bought my soul. And for the first time all day, I didn't feel weak.

I felt dangerous.

"Yes," I whispered. "Let’s go."