The Fine Print

{Isla’s POV}

For the record, I didn’t throw anything.

I thought about it. I pictured the brass paperweight on the side table, shaped like a sleeping wolf. Flying across the room and bouncing off Cassandra’s perfectly arranged teeth. But I was already the family disgrace, unwanted bride, the kidnapper, the woman with her breast out at dawn. The last thing I needed right now was assault added to the list before breakfast.

“What exactly are you doing in my husband's house?” I asked, crossing my arms. “And the audacity to hold him like that.”

Cassandra blinked at me, the way you’d blink at a child who had just confessed he hated his mom. “Axel said I could stay until the healer confirms everything.”

I scoffed.

Until the healer confirms everything.

So, he didn’t fully believe it?

“Perfect,” I said, unfolding my arms, then remembered what happened the last time it was left unsupervised, and folded them. “Finally, the fake baby would be exposed.”

Her lashes lowered. “Isla, please. Not this morning. I’m still so hurt.”

“You're hurt? But you could catwalk so gracefully into this room.” I said.

“Enough,” Axel said.

Of course it was enough. It was always enough the moment I opened my mouth.

He peeled her arms off him with the patience of a man removing a coat and turned towards the door. “I’ll walk you back.”

“I’ll come,” I said.

“No.”

“It's my house too.”

“Then stay in it.” He didn’t even look at me. “And put something on.”

The door closed behind them with a soft click, which was far more insulting than a slam. Stay. What does he think I am…a dog?

I didn’t stay in the library. I didn’t return to my room either. Because it meant sitting on my bed and thinking, and that was the last thing I wanted. So, I wandered, because apparently that’s my personality now.

The hallways still pretty much looked the same. Dark wood. Pictures of dead Blackwoods with a red X across their face. Definitely not creepy at all.

 Floor polish and old candle smoke. I took two wrong turns and opened a door on two maids kissing against a shelf. “Oh, shit. Sorry.”

By the time I found the main staircase, I was sure I’d walked about five thousand steps. No wonder Axel is so fit. Halfway down the stairs, I realized that was the place Vanessa had clung to Axel’s sleeve, begging and crying him to find her poor missing baby.

Off the landing was a small receiving room I hadn’t noticed that night.

Two chairs sat pushed out of place, one still angled towards the door. On the table, a bottle of whiskey and a cigar sat by the side.

Somewhere behind the wall, a clock ticked. Loud.

I scanned the room again. Nothing was welcoming about it. No flowers. No comfortable seat, well, except the one facing the door.

 Then it all made sense: Axel hated visitors, so he made this place uncomfortable enough to conduct whatever business needed conducting, but cold and unpleasant enough to make them leave immediately. Smart.

I was about to give up and go to my room when a document caught my eye. It was the marriage contract. I knew it because it was written bold enough to catch anyone’s attention.

The paper was thick and smelled like ink and money. I was sure whoever had written this was paid by the word. I slowly opened it. The first three pages were about a water right I hadn’t heard of. I was convinced my eyes were deceiving me when I got to page six.

Clause Six. Title to Greyhaven Pass shall transfer in full to Alpha Axel Blackwood upon the twelve-month anniversary of this union. Till then, the title shall be fully held by the wife. No sale, lease, treaty, or agreement concerning Greyhaven shall be binding without the signature of the wife.

My eyes widened.

 Wife.

 That was me.

Greyhaven was my mother’s. The only thing of hers that hadn’t been packed and locked up in a storage room whose key I didn’t have.

 When I turned eighteen, I begged my father to let me work on it, even if it was only filling papers in the old office by the pass, just so I could be somewhere she’d been. He laughed at me; he mocked me. He called me a whore. Then he gave it to Cassandra, who was only sixteen.

My eyes stung, and I had no idea if I was about to cry or laugh, so I did a strange mix of both, alone in the most uncomfortable room in the house.

Maybe this was fate. A clumsy, unfortunate fate.

I turned the page over with a lot more respect than before.

Clause fourteen. Upon completion of the transfer described in Clause six, the Alphas may dissolve this union at their sole discretion, without contest from the wife or her family.

The little happiness drained from my face and left something cold.

Dissolve.

Not divorce. Dissolve, like I was some sugar in a tea. A little stir and it’s gone.

I sat on the nearest chair, because my legs were starting to hurt. Reality slowly started to win. it all made sense: why my father wanted Cassandra to marry Axel instead of me.

Suddenly I heard footsteps on the stairs, heavy and in absolutely no hurry. I already knew that walk. It was Axel. That was one thing I learnt in an abusive home, you tend to learn people’s footsteps fast.

He stopped at the doorway. His eyes went straight to the table, then the paper in my hands.

Oh. He came looking for it.

He’d changed his shirt. Dark grey, sleeves pushed to his elbow, the top button undone. His hair was damp. And pushed back with his finger.

“I told you to stay.”

“I am your wife, not your dog,” I replied.

“Give me that.”

“It has my name on it.”

“It has my signature in it.” He walked over and held out his hand over my shoulder. “Now.”

I didn’t move. And for a second the silence filled the room.

“Clause six,” I said. “Greyhaven is mine, not yours unless I sign it.”

For a second, he didn’t do anything; he lowered his hand. And like the fool that I am, I thought I’d won.

“You think a signature makes you untouchable.” He said it quietly. If he shouted at me, I’d have known what to do. I have been shouted at my whole life.

“No,” I said, and I was proud of how steady my voice was, because he was standing so close to me. Yes, closer than the library. “I think it makes me something you need,” I said, though he absolutely didn’t need me. If he did as little as kiss my neck, I would sign it immediately.

His eyes dropped to my mouth. Then they came back slowly to mine. My heart immediately did something undignified. “I know the kind of woman you are, Isla. What do you want?” he asked. “Money? Power? Your own wing? Name it.”

“I want to work.”

He stared at me like I’d spoken a different language.

“Greyhaven.” I continued. “The files, the meetings, the transactions, my name is going on all of it. For this one year, Axel, I own Greyhaven. I own you.”

“No,” he said immediately, stepping back.

I held his gaze. “Then you can explain to whoever you’re doing business with why your wife won’t pick up a pen.”

“Why do you care?”

Because it’s the only thing I have of my mother. I want to feel closer to her. Maybe, just maybe, I would be able to investigate her death.

“I’m just bored,” I said instead. “I have nothing to do with my phone. Your library...well…I mean, you were literally sleeping in it.”

He straightened slowly, and the chair creaked again as his weight left it.

“Seven o’clock,” he said. “My office. East wing, the door by the end of the hall. You knock before you enter. You speak when I permit you to; don’t touch anything on my desk. And dress appropriately.”

“That’s a lot of rules for your boss,” I said. “Shouldn’t I have my own office?”

“You are not my boss.” He said, walking to the door. “It’s a year.”

He stopped with his hand on the frame and didn’t turn around.

“And Isla.”

“What?”

“Clause fourteen.” A pause. “Read it again.”

Then he was gone.

I was alone again in that cold, ugly room.

I didn’t need to read clause fourteen again. Three hundred and sixty-five days. That was how long I had to make my husband remember a night he thought he had with my sister.