Chapter 5: A Stranger in a Perfect Suit

I woke to the smell of coffee and the weight of a ring on my finger.

For a moment, I forgot. For one blessed second, I was just Sloane Cross, a woman waking up in a strange bed after a long night. Then I opened my eyes and saw the silk curtains, the marble floors, the golden ceiling. And I remembered everything.

The wedding. The stranger. The lie that became true.

I sat up slowly. My red dress was crumpled and uncomfortable. My hair was a disaster. My makeup had smeared across my cheek. I looked like a woman who had been crying. I had been crying. I just did not remember when.

On the nightstand, there was a tray. Coffee. Fruit. A single white rose in a crystal vase. And a card.

Come to the study when you are ready. We have much to discuss.

No signature. He did not need one. His handwriting was sharp and elegant, just like him.

I drank the coffee. I did not eat. My stomach was twisted into knots. I found a bathroom attached to the bedroom and washed my face. I tried to fix my hair. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw a stranger staring back.

"You can do this," I whispered. "You survived worse."

I did not believe it.

I found a robe in the closet. Dark blue silk. I wrapped it around myself and walked out of the room. The hallway was long and silent. The walls were covered in paintings. Portraits of men with cold eyes and women with sharp smiles. They all looked like they were watching me.

I followed the sound of voices. Down the stairs. Through a grand foyer. Into a study.

Rowan was there. He was standing by the window, looking out at the gardens. He was dressed in a dark suit, perfectly tailored, spotless. He looked like he had not slept either.

"You are late," he said without turning around.

"I did not know there was a schedule."

He turned. His eyes swept over me. The robe. My bare face. My messy hair.

"You look different," he said.

"I look like myself."

"No." He walked toward me. "You look like the woman who walked into that ballroom. Not the woman who was crying in the bathroom."

I felt my face flush. "How do you know I was crying?"

"Your eyes are swollen. Your cheeks are still red. And you have that look."

"What look?"

"The look of someone who has spent the night wondering if they made the right choice."

I said nothing.

He stopped in front of me. He was close. Too close. I could smell his cologne. Something dark and expensive.

"Did you?" he asked. "Make the right choice?"

"I do not know yet."

A small smile crossed his lips. "Honest. I like that."

He walked back to his desk and sat down. He gestured to the chair across from him. I sat.

"Your father owes me money," he said. "A lot of money. But it is not just money. He owes me a debt that cannot be repaid in cash."

"What kind of debt?"

"The kind that involves blood."

My heart stopped. "What are you talking about?"

"Your father is not a good man, Sloane. You know this. He has built his empire on the backs of people he destroyed. People he betrayed. People he killed."

"That is not true."

"It is true. And you know it."

I opened my mouth to argue. But the words would not come. Because he was right. I had always known. The late-night phone calls. The whispered conversations. The way my father looked at people like they were pawns on a chessboard.

"What do you want from me?" I whispered.

"I want you to help me destroy him."

The words hung in the air between us.

"And if I refuse?"

"Then you can walk out that door. Go back to your family. Go back to Devon. Go back to being the woman they all pity."

I hated him. In that moment, I hated him with every fiber of my being. Because he was not giving me a choice. He was giving me an ultimatum. And the worst part was that he knew I would not walk away.

I had spent my entire life being invisible. Being overlooked. Being the daughter who was not good enough, the girlfriend who was not enough, the sister who was not worth fighting for.

I was tired of being invisible.

"I will stay," I said.

His eyes flickered. Something passed through them. Surprise, maybe. Or respect.

"Good," he said. "Then we need to discuss the rules."

He stood up. He walked around the desk. He stood in front of me. His presence was overwhelming. His eyes were fixed on my face.

"Rule one. You do not leave this estate without my permission. Rule two. You do not speak to anyone I have not approved. Rule three. You do not ask questions about my work. Rule four. You will attend all public events with me and play the role of my loving wife. Rule five." He paused. He leaned down. His face was inches from mine. "You will not betray me. Not with your words. Not with your actions. Not with your heart."

I could not breathe. I could not think. His eyes were so dark, so intense, so completely focused on me.

"Do you understand?" he asked.

"I understand."

"Good."

He straightened. He walked back to his desk. He opened a drawer. He pulled out a small black box.

"What is that?" I asked.

He opened the box. Inside was a necklace. A thin gold chain with a single diamond pendant. It sparkled in the light.

"This belonged to my mother," he said. "She gave it to me before she died. She told me to give it to the woman I would spend my life with."

He walked toward me. He stopped behind my chair. I felt his hands on my neck. His fingers brushed my skin as he fastened the necklace.

"Now it belongs to you," he said.

I reached up and touched the pendant. It was cold against my skin.

"Why are you giving this to me?"

He leaned down. His mouth brushed my ear. His voice was low and dangerous.

"Because whether you like it or not, you are my wife now. And I protect what is mine."

He straightened. He walked toward the door.

"Get dressed," he said. "We have a meeting in an hour. Your father will be there."

He walked out. The door closed behind him.

I sat there, frozen. The necklace was heavy around my neck. The ring was heavy on my finger. The weight of everything was pressing down on me.

I was married to a man I did not know. I was helping him destroy my father. I was wearing his mother's necklace.

And I was terrified.

But beneath the fear, there was something else. Something I did not want to name.

I touched the pendant again. His mother's necklace. The woman he would spend his life with.

He had given it to me.

And I did not know if it was a promise or a warning.