Trapped by Vows

The cathedral doors opened and a thousand eyes turned toward Mireya.

She wasn't the bride. But she walked anyway. The gown was heavier now. The tiara cold against her scalp. Every step echoed.

"Hold your head high," Mrs. Sutton said sharply. "You are saving this family."

Saving. Or sacrificing?

Her father took her arm. His grip trembled. The music swelled. Mireya walked down the aisle toward the man who believed she betrayed him. Ronan Ashcroft stood waiting, still, composed, unreadable. When her father placed her hand in his, Ronan's fingers closed around hers with quiet authority.

"Let's be clear," he murmured, voice low enough for only her to hear. "You are my wife. Publicly. Legally. Until your sister's disappearance is resolved."

Her breath faltered. "So I'm collateral?"

"You're protected," he corrected. "If this turns into a scandal, you stand beside me. Not under suspicion."

The message was clear. She was not free.

The officiant spoke. Vows were exchanged. Rings slid into place. When Ronan placed the band on her finger, his touch lingered a second too long, firm, deliberate.

Cameras flashed. Applause rose. The illusion was perfect. The moment they stepped outside, his hand settled at her back, guiding her toward the limousine possessively.

Inside the car, the doors shut. Silence followed. Ronan reached into his pocket and unfolded a document.

"This isn't a marriage contract," he said calmly. "It's a temporary agreement."

She stared at it.

"Until Arabella is found, you remain with me. You do not speak to the press. You do not make independent statements. You do not disappear."

Her jaw tightened. "And if I refuse?"

His gaze shifted to her slowly. "You won't."

A beat of silence.

"If your sister resurfaces and this is proven to be manipulation," he continued evenly, "I will respond accordingly."

A chill moved through her. "Do you truly believe I planned this?"

"I believe," he said, "that you always benefit from her absence."

The words stung.

The limousine began to move. Outside, the city blurred past in streaks of light. Mireya stared at the ring on her finger. Married. Not for love. Not even for power. But for damage control.

"Stay close to me," Ronan said quietly. "If there is something beneath your sister's disappearance, I will uncover it. And if you are involved..."

He let the sentence die.

Her throat tightened. "I'm not."

His expression didn't change. "We'll see."

The car turned through iron gates. Ahead, the Ashcroft estate rose in cold silence. Mireya felt it then...not fear of Ronan.

But fear of what had truly happened.

Because Arabella would never give up the spotlight willingly.

And if she hadn't run, then someone had moved her.

The limousine rolled through iron gates. Mireya barely noticed the city fading behind her. Her fingers stayed locked around the wedding ring, cold against her skin.

Across from her, Ronan sat still. Controlled. Watching.

"Where are we going?" she asked quietly.

"To the estate," he replied. "Your room is prepared."

"My room?"

"Yes. I was clear the first time."

The word felt deliberate. "And if Arabella doesn't return?"

His gaze shifted to her slowly. "Then this arrangement continues."