14

(Sloane’s POV)

I took a deep breath, stood up, and walked back toward the room where I slept.

Maxwell was already there, speaking quietly with the woman who had styled me earlier.

He turned the moment I stepped inside.

“Do you need anything?”

I shook my head. “No.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Then?”

“Let’s talk.”

He studied me for a second, then nodded. “Okay.”

He reached for my hand. The moment his fingers closed around mine, my heart gave an unexpected, traitorous thud.

His hand was warm. Steady. I didn’t understand why something as ordinary as holding hands made my pulse jump.

He led me through the house and into his study.

The room was large, elegant, and quietly intimidating. Bookshelves lined the walls. A heavy desk sat near the tall windows.

Everything was arranged with the same precise control he seemed to carry in every movement.

He pulled out a chair for me, then took the seat opposite.

“I’m listening.”

I swallowed. “I agree.”

His brows lifted. “To what?”

“The contract.” I kept my voice steady. “I’ll marry you, let’s sign the documents.”

He didn’t speak right away. He just looked at me, as if trying to decide whether I was choosing this or simply running out of places to run.

Eventually he reached for the pen and held it out.

I signed first.

Then he signed beside my name.

Just like that, “Done,” he said.

I stared at the signatures. Sloane Vex. The name looked strange next to his. I stretched my hand toward him.

“My name is Sloane Vex.”

His eyes dropped to my hand, then lifted to my face.

“Not Vex.”

My brows pulled together.

“Sloane Maxwell Smith,” he said firmly, as if the old surname offended him.

“My name is Maxwell Smith.”

I repeated it slowly. “Sloane Maxwell Smith.”

We shook hands. He released mine almost immediately.

“So,” I asked, “where do we start?”

Before I could react, Maxwell reached across the space between us and pulled my chair closer. I gasped when he lifted me onto his lap in one smooth motion.

My hands flew up and settled around his neck by instinct.

“What are you doing?”

Instead of answering, he pulled out his phone, raised it, and framed both of us in the camera.

“My mother needs evidence.”

“Evidence of what?”

“That you’re my wife.”

He took the first picture. “Smile.”

I stared at him in pure disbelief. “You’re serious?”

“Very serious.”

I forced a smile. He took another photo. Then, without warning, he pressed a brief kiss to my cheek and snapped a third one. My entire body went still.

“Good,” he murmured against my skin.

He lowered the phone and released me. I stood quickly and smoothed my dress, pretending my heart wasn’t still racing from the unexpected closeness.

We left the study together.

The rest of the day blurred.

He took me shopping. I quickly realized he had no intention of letting me choose anything ordinary. He selected dresses that were elegant but far more revealing than anything I would have picked for myself. When I held one up and raised an eyebrow, he only shrugged.

“Why are you choosing all these sexy dresses?” I asked him.

“Because my mother knows I’m attracted to baddies.”

I stared at him. “You’re unbelievable.”

He smiled, unrepentant. “It’s the only way she’ll believe this isn’t fake.”

I rolled my eyes, but a small smile still found its way onto my lips. He seemed to know exactly what would look good on me, what colors would sit well against my skin, which cuts would make me look like someone who belonged in his world.

By the time we were done, bags filled the back of the car.

Then he handed me several boxes. I opened the first one. An iPhone. Then another. And another. Three phones. An iPad. Two laptops.

I stared at the growing pile. “Why do I need all these?”

“Because you’re my wife now.”

“That doesn’t explain anything.”

“Tell me if you need more.”

I shook my head. “Thank you.”

He simply nodded.

Later, when my heels began to hurt, he crouched down without a word, unbuckled the straps, and slipped a pair of soft slippers onto my feet. It was such a small gesture.

I wasn’t used to anyone noticing when I was uncomfortable. So him doing that made my heart warm.

After we got back home, he showed me around the mansion.

Every room. The kitchen with its quiet luxury. The living room that overlooked the garden. The guest rooms. The security areas. The places I was allowed to go and the ones that remained closed to me.

By the time we finished the tour, the sky outside had already turned dark. It was past eight.

I was exhausted.

We said goodnight in the hallway outside our separate rooms.

For the first time since everything had fallen apart, I lay in bed without knowing what tomorrow would bring.

And somehow that uncertainty scared me more than the certainty of the life I had just left behind.

The next morning I woke before sunrise.

Today was the photoshoot. The evidence Maxwell’s mother needed.

I sat in front of the mirror for a long time before I finally got dressed.

I chose a simple sleeveless gown—nothing extravagant, nothing too revealing. Just something that still felt like me.

When I looked at my reflection, I barely recognized the woman staring back.

I took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped out into the quiet hallway.

Whatever came next, I would face it.

This time, at least, I had chosen it myself.