Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Sera 

The words 'I'm getting married again' shouldn't have been able to break a heart that had already shattered two years ago.

When your husband tells you he’s getting married again the best thing you can do for yourself isn’t to cry. But I stooped lower than that. 

Julian walked in without looking at me. He set a thick folder down on the table hard enough. Then he dropped a glossy press sheet right on top of it. 

“Sign it,” he said. “Now.”

I looked at the folder. Then I looked at him. His tie was perfect. His shirt was the kind of white that never wrinkled. His face was the same closed-off mask he had worn every day for three years. 

“I see,” I said.

He waited. I could feel him waiting for the tears or the shouting or the usual desperate questions. I did not give him any of them. I reached for the folder, opened it, and flipped through the pages. 

Divorce decree. Settlement offer. Non-disclosure. Everything already filled in with my name in neat black print. At the bottom of the settlement page there was a number that would have made most people sit down hard. Multi-million. Enough to buy a quiet life somewhere far from this house and his mother and all the people who still called me the temporary wife behind my back.

I closed the folder again and set it aside.

Julian’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not going to argue?”

“No.”

“You’re not going to…”

“No.”

He leaned back in the chair and studied me like I had grown a second head. “Three years and this is how you react. I expected more of a show, Seraphina. You always were good at playing the quiet little victim.”

I picked up my coffee and took a sip. It had gone cold. “You made it clear from the start that my permission was never required for anything. Including this.”

He almost smiled. Almost. “Finally something we agree on. I married you because the old man left me no choice because you were his best friend's daughter. You knew that. Everyone knew that. You got the name and the house and the status. I got the company. Fair trade. Now the trade is over. Evelyn and I have waited long enough.”

I set the cup down carefully. My hands stayed steady. Inside my chest something tight and cold shifted but I did not let it reach my face. He believed I had married him for the money and the last name. He had believed it every day since the wedding. I had never bothered correcting him. What was the point? He would not have listened. He still would not listen.

“I’m not taking the settlement,” I said.

The silence that followed was thick. Julian’s fingers tapped once against the table. “Say that again.”

“I’m not taking the money. I don’t want it.”

He laughed. It was short and sharp and completely without humor. “You’re refusing eight figures because you’re sentimental? Or because you think you can still play some angle?”

“Neither.”

“Then what exactly do you want, Seraphina? Because this…” he flicked the press sheet with one finger “ is happening. The engagement party is already booked. The press release goes out this afternoon whether you sign or not. Your signature is a formality. Nothing more.”

I met his eyes. They were the same dark color they had always been. Cold. Distant. Certain he already knew every move I might make.

“Thirty days,” I said.

He blinked. “What?”

“Give me thirty days as your real wife. Not the woman who lives in the east wing and eats breakfast alone. Not the stranger you ignore at parties. Thirty days of an actual marriage. You come home every night. You take me to the public events. You let me stand next to you as your wife instead of pretending I do not exist. You stop treating me like an unwanted piece of furniture someone left in the corner. You give this one genuine chance. After the thirty days are up I will sign every paper you put in front of me and I will not fight you. I will disappear. Clean and quietly. No scenes.”

Julian stared at me for a long moment. Then he laughed again, louder this time. He pushed his chair back and stood, walking a slow circle around the table like he needed the movement to process what he had just heard.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he said. “This is the desperate little plan? Thirty days of playing house so you can somehow make me fall for you? Seraphina, I have spent three years not caring. Another month will not change that.”

“I am not asking you to fall for me.”

“Then what are you asking?”

“Exactly what I said. Come home at night. Attend the events with me. Treat me like I belong in the same room as you for once. That is all.”

He stopped behind my chair. I could feel him standing there. I did not turn around.

“You want me in your bed too?” His voice dropped lower. “Is that part of the genuine chance? You think if I sleep with you a few times the money will suddenly matter less and I will call off the engagement?”

I kept my eyes on the table. “If that is what a real marriage includes then yes. One month. One month of you actually being present.”

He moved back into my line of sight and leaned both hands on the table. “You are serious.”

“I am.”

“And if I say no and just force the divorce through anyway?”

“Then I walk out today with nothing and you still get your engagement. But you have a name for yourself and you don’t want to ruin it.”

“How dare you…?!”

He watched me. The cold stare was back in his face. He was trying to figure out the angle. He was certain there was one. In his mind I was still the girl who had married up and was now scrambling to keep the lifestyle. He had never once considered that I might have a reason that had nothing to do with him or his money.

“Thirty days, Seraphina. But if you fail to make me care, you leave with nothing.”

I took the pen. My hand did not shake. I signed my name under his and dated it. Then I set the pen down and looked up at him.

“Deal.”