THE PROXY BRIDE: His bride. Her Secret.
Between them, on a lacquered table inlaid with mother-of-pearl, lay the contract.
It wasn’t just paper. It was a surrender.
A marriage agreement binding Selene Veyron—the golden girl, the favored daughter—to Cassian Drevane, heir to a billion-dollar empire built on steel, surveillance, and a family legend so bizarre it bordered on myth: the Drevane heir must wed a blonde. Not just any blonde—a specific kind. Ice-blue eyes. Flawless skin. A woman who looks like she stepped out of a dynasty portrait.
It was absurd. Archaic. And to Marcella, salvation.