By noon, I drag myself to my father's house, the weight of his midnight text burning in my chest.
"Be home for tomorrow. Don't be late".
He doesn't ask. He commands. And when my father commands, you obey.
The mansion is as cold as I remember,marble floors that echo every step, staff who bow but never smile, walls that never feel like home. I never belonged here.
I arrive at my father's mansion just before noon, the heavy doors closing behind me with a thud that feels final. The butler doesn't even bother with pleasantries,he simply says, "Your father is waiting in his study," before disappearing down the hall.
The study.
That word alone makes my stomach twist. My father never calls me there unless it's serious. A punishment. A deal. A warning.
I force my legs to move. The polished oak doors loom ahead of me, tall and imposing. For a moment, I hesitate, hand hovering over the brass handle. Then I push it open.
The study smells of leather, smoke, and power. My father sits behind his desk, posture sharp as a blade. In front of him is a folder—black, thick, too heavy for paper.
"Sit," he orders. I obey, because disobedience here is never without consequences.
He slides the folder toward me. "This contains everything you need to know about him—and the conditions of this marriage."
My hand trembles as I flip it open. The first thing I see is the heading:
MARRIAGE CONTRACT — STONE/ VOSS ALLIANCE.
And then—his name.
Groom: Alexander Voss.
My stomach lurches. A glossy photograph slips out, landing face-up on the desk.
Those eyes. That mouth. That face I saw last night, watching me across the party. The stranger whose voice still lingers in my head, whose touch still burns on my skin.
No.
It can't be him.
I swallow hard and force my eyes down to the words printed in neat, cruel clauses.
Clause 1: Residence. Bride will reside at the Voss estate as her primary home. No exceptions.
Clause 2: Public Image. Bride must maintain dignity and discretion at all times. Attendance at social functions, business events, and charity galas is compulsory.
Clause 3: Confidentiality. All matters relating to Alexander Voss, his businesses, or this marriage are strictly private. Breach of confidentiality results in annulment of financial support and legal action.
Clause 4: Heirs. Bride must bear at least one heir within the first three years of marriage. Failure to do so permits renegotiation of marital terms.
Clause 5: Financials. Bride will be provided with a fixed monthly allowance. All assets, properties, and finances remain under the authority of Alexander Voss.
Clause 6: Authority. In matters affecting the family's reputation, Alexander Voss's decision is final and binding.
Clause 7: Termination. Divorce without Alexander Voss's approval results in forfeiture of all entitlements. In the event of separation, custody of children remains with Alexander Voss.
The words blur in front of me. My chest feels tight, as though the paper itself has wrapped chains around me.
"This is slavery," I whisper, my voice breaking.
My father doesn't flinch. "This is stability. You're a woman, Amara. Your independence is a delusion I've tolerated long enough. This marriage will give you purpose."
"Purpose?" I snap, slamming the contract shut. "To live in his house like a prisoner? To be nothing more than a pretty shadow at his side? To bear him heirs like I'm livestock?"
His gaze cuts into me, cold, unyielding. "This family has sacrificed enough. You will marry Alexander Voss. The terms are not up for debate."
I can still see the man's eyes in my head, ocean blue and burning from across the club. I remember his voice in my ear, low and dangerous. I remember the heat of his touch, the reckless way I gave myself to him last night.
The secret claws at me, alive and raw, eating me from the inside.
I push back from the desk, the contract trembling in my hands. My voice is a broken whisper:
"No. It can't be him."