Chapter 2: The Cold Limousine

The heavy door of the midnight-black limousine clicked shut, instantly sealing out the deafening roar of the paparazzi and the blinding blitz of their cameras. In a heartbeat, the chaotic world outside was replaced by a suffocating, dead silence.

Seraphina sat rigidly against the plush leather seat, her white silk train pooled around her ankles like spilled milk. Her heart was still hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs from the chilling words Alexander had whispered at the altar. A living hell. The phrase echoed in her mind, turning her blood to ice. She kept her hands clasped tightly in her lap, staring straight ahead and refusing to let her composure crack. She had spent a lifetime perfecting her mask; she wasn't about to let it slip now.

Across the spacious interior, her newly wedded husband looked nothing like a doting groom.

The moment the privacy glass rolled up, Alexander’s practiced public smile vanished, replaced by an expression of unadulterated disgust. He loosened his black tie with a harsh, impatient jerk, unbuttoning the top collar of his shirt as if the very air she breathed contaminated him. Leaning back, he crossed one long leg over the other and leveled a dark, piercing glare at her.

His eyes raked over her elegant posture, her pristine makeup, and the massive diamond ring glinting mockingly on her finger.

"You play the part well," Alexander said, his voice a low, dangerous purr that cut through the silence. "The innocent, dutiful bride. If I didn't know any better, I might actually believe that serene face of yours."

Seraphina swallowed the lump of anxiety rising in her throat, forcing her voice to remain smooth and level. She slowly turned her head, meeting his icy glare head-on. "I don't know what you mean, Mr. Sterling. I agreed to this marriage under the exact terms your lawyers presented. I intend to be a proper wife and uphold my end of the contract."

A dark, mocking chuckle escaped his lips, though his eyes remained entirely dead. "A proper wife? Is that what you call it? You can drop the act, Seraphina. There are no cameras here. No one to trick with that delicate, victim routine."

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a sleek, black leather folder, tossing it onto the seat between them. It landed with a heavy, ominous thud.

"Open it," he commanded.

Seraphina hesitated for a fraction of a second, her brows knitting together. She reached out and opened the folder. Her eyes scanned the pages, but the data swimming before her made no sense. Inside were detailed bank statements, wire transfer receipts, and digital printouts—all bearing her legal name, her forged signature, and her national ID number. Thousands upon thousands of dollars transferred from a source she had never heard of in her life.

"What is this?" she asked, genuinely bewildered as she looked up from the papers to meet his accusatory gaze. "I've never seen these accounts before. I don't own these."

Alexander’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek, a dangerous fire igniting in his eyes. He suddenly leaned forward, invading her personal space. His powerful, suffocating aura completely dominated the confined limousine, pinning her in place.

"Don't lie to me!" he snapped, his voice vibrating with a deep, repressed rage that made her flinch inwardly. "You ruined a man's life. You extorted him, bled him dry for your own greedy luxury, and then threw him away like trash when he had nothing left to give. Did you think you could just hide behind your family's prestigious name and pretend it never happened?"

Seraphina stared at him, her breath hitching. *Ruined a man's life? Extorted?* The sheer absurdity of the accusation left her dizzy.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she whispered, her voice shaking with a mix of fear and rising indignation, though she kept her eyes fierce and steady. "I have never extorted anyone. I don't even have access to this kind of money. There has been a massive mistake—"

"The only mistake was my brother ever crossing paths with a sociopath like you," Alexander snarled, violently pulling back into his seat. His face hardened right back into impassable ice. "But Julian is lying in a hospital bed right now because of you. And since you love money so much, I bought you. Your family's debt is paid, but you belong to me now."

Julian. The name meant absolutely nothing to her. She searched her memory frantically, but it was a total blank. She wanted to scream, to defend herself, to demand he look at the facts. But looking at the cold, unyielding wall that was Alexander Sterling, a sinking realization washed over her: he had already played judge, jury, and executioner. He wouldn't believe a single word she said.

"We are going to my penthouse," Alexander stated flatly, turning his head to look out the tinted window as the car sped through the city streets. "You will play the happy billionaire's wife in public to protect the Sterling name. But behind closed doors, you will have nothing. No freedom, no luxury, and absolutely no mercy. Welcome to your cage, Seraphina."

Seraphina looked down at the forged documents in her lap, her hands tightening into fists against her satin gown. She felt the hot sting of tears pricking the corners of her eyes, but she fiercely blinked them away. She would not cry. She closed the folder with a quiet, decisive snap and straightened her spine perfectly.

If he wanted to lock her in a cage for a crime she didn't commit, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her break. She would survive this, find out who framed her, and make him regret every single word of his wrong vow.