It was raining the day she signed away her freedom.
A slow, steady drizzle that blurred the glass of the car window and made the world feel like it was slipping just out of reach. Serena Vale sat in the back of a sleek black town car, the contract clutched in her lap like a loaded weapon. The ink had dried, but her hand still trembled faintly from where she'd signed it. Full name. Elegant cursive. As though she had meant it.
She hadn't.
But meaning didn't matter anymore. What mattered was that her father's debts were gone. Her brother's education was paid for. And the Vale name wouldn't be dragged through another scandal.
All in exchange for twelve months of her life.
Twelve months with him.
The driver stopped in front of a towering glass skyscraper that looked like something out of a dystopian novel—Wolfe Tower. A gleaming monument to Alaric's empire, cold and impersonal and unshakable.
She stepped out into the misting rain, head high, heels clicking defiantly on the pavement. The wind tugged at her coat, at her hair, but she didn't flinch. Not when the doors opened. Not even when Alaric's assistant—a woman in a steel-gray pencil skirt and blood-red lipstick—greeted her with a small, almost sympathetic smile.
"He's expecting you. Top floor."
The elevator was silent on the way up, except for the sound of her breathing—measured, even, rehearsed.
When the doors opened, he was there.
Alaric Wolfe stood behind a wall of glass, looking out over the city like a king surveying his dominion. He didn't turn when she entered. Didn't move when she approached.
Only when she laid the black folder on his desk did he speak.
"You signed."
"I didn't see the point in dragging it out."
He turned then. Slowly. Deliberately.
His gaze dropped to the folder, then rose again, settling on her like a weight. "You could have run."
"And gone where? My family would be ruined."
"Some things are worth ruining for."
Serena stepped closer. She wasn't afraid of him. Not exactly. But she wasn't naïve, either. Alaric Wolfe wasn't a man who let people close without reason. Or without consequence.
"What do you want from me?" she asked. "Really."
He studied her a moment, as if debating how much truth to give.
"You'll be my wife. In name, on paper, and in public. You'll attend events, sit beside me at board meetings, wear the rings and the dresses and smile for the cameras."
"And in private?"
"That's up to you."
A pause hung heavy between them.
"I don't force," he said quietly. "But I don't beg, either."
Something about the honesty in his tone unsettled her more than a threat would have. It was the promise of power held in check. The suggestion that he could break her, but chose not to. For now.
"And what do you get out of this?" she asked.
Alaric's mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"Control. Stability. A wife who won't embarrass me. And maybe—eventually—someone who understands the cost of loyalty."
She almost laughed. "Is that what you think this is? Loyalty?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he reached into a drawer and pulled out a ring box—velvet black, like the envelope that started it all. He opened it and held it out to her, silent.
Inside was a ring that didn't glitter—it burned. An oval sapphire surrounded by obsidian and gold. Dark and stunning. A promise made with steel, not sentiment.
"Put it on," he said.
Serena took the ring, slid it onto her finger, and looked up at him with fire in her eyes.
"This isn't love."
"No," Alaric murmured. "It's war. But sometimes the lines blur."