The interior of the limousine was a vacuum of silence, a stark contrast to the chaotic roar of the paparazzi we had just escaped. The tinted windows turned the city of New York into a muted, grey blur. Beside me, Silas was already back on his phone, his fingers flying across the screen as he responded to what I could only imagine were hundreds of panicked inquiries from his board of directors.
I sat as far away from him as the leather bench would allow, trying to tuck the endless yards of my lace train around my feet. The adrenaline that had carried me down the aisle was starting to ebb, leaving behind a cold, hollow tremor in my limbs.
I was married. I was a wife. And the man sitting next to me was a stranger who had kissed me like he owned my soul less than twenty minutes ago.
"You can stop shaking, Evelyn," Silas said without looking up from his device. "The hard part is over. Mark Miller is currently a social pariah, and your father's firm is being moved under the Vane umbrella as we speak. You won."
"I'm not shaking because I'm afraid of Mark," I snapped, my voice sounding thinner than I liked. I reached up and unpinned the heavy diamond tiara, setting it on the seat between us. It felt like a lead weight had been lifted from my skull. "I'm shaking because I just tied myself to a man who uses people like chess pieces. I'm wondering if I just traded a snake for a shark."
Silas finally turned his head. He looked at the tiara, then at me. His gaze was unreadable, but the intensity of it made the air in the car feel thick. "A shark is predictable. It only bites when it's hungry or threatened. A snake bites because it's in its nature. You're much safer with me, as long as you remember the rules of the tank."
"And what are the rules, Silas? You mentioned a grandfather. You mentioned an inheritance. I think it's time you stopped being the 'mysterious savior' and started being a partner. Even a fake one needs a briefing."
He locked his phone and tossed it aside. "My grandfather, Arthur Vane, is the reason I am the man I am today. He is also the reason I have spent the last decade fighting off my own relatives like they were a swarm of locusts. He built Vane International from nothing, and he is obsessed with legacy. He believes that a man cannot lead a global empire if he cannot maintain a stable home. To him, a wife is a sign of maturity, of 'settling.' Two years ago, he wrote a codicil into his trust: if I wasn't married by my thirtieth birthday, my voting shares would be distributed among my uncles."
"And your birthday is..."
"At midnight tonight," Silas said, his jaw tightening. "My uncles have been vetting 'suitable' brides for me for months, trying to plant a spy in my bed. I refused them all. I was going to let the deadline pass and fight them in court, but when you walked down that hallway... you were a variable I hadn't accounted for. A Vance. Clean pedigree, brilliant mind, and currently motivated by a very useful brand of rage."
"So I'm a 'clean' variable," I whispered, the reality of it stinging more than I expected. "A tactical advantage."
"You're a queen on the board, Evelyn. Don't underestimate how much power that gives you."
The limo pulled into the subterranean garage of a gleaming glass tower in Midtown. This wasn't just an apartment building; it was the Vane flagship. We were whisked up via a private elevator that moved so fast my ears popped. When the doors opened, we stepped directly into a penthouse that looked more like a museum than a home. It was all cold marble, minimalist art, and floor-to-ceiling glass that looked out over the sprawling canopy of Central Park.
Standing by the window, silhouetted against the dying afternoon sun, was an old man with a silver-headed cane. He didn't turn around immediately.
"You're late, Silas," the man barked. His voice sounded like gravel grinding together. "The news reports say you caused a riot at the Grand Pierre. They're calling it the 'Stolen Bride of the Century.'"
"I've never cared for the headlines, Arthur," Silas replied, his hand finding the small of my back and ushering me forward. The touch felt different now, less like a claim and more like a warning. "I've met the requirements. This is Evelyn Vance. My wife."
Arthur Vane turned slowly. He was a withered version of Silas, with the same hawk-like nose and those piercing, terrifying grey eyes. He looked me up and down, his gaze lingering on the wrinkled lace of my dress and the smudge of eyeliner I knew was under my left eye.
"Thomas Vance's girl," Arthur mused. He leaned on his cane and hobbled toward us. "I knew your father. A man of great talent and very little backbone. He let the Millers walk all over him for years. Tell me, girl, did my grandson pull you from that altar, or did you jump?"
I felt Silas stiffen beside me, but I stepped forward, slipping out from under his hand. I didn't want him to shield me. If I was going to survive this, I had to show the old man I wasn't a victim.
"I jumped, Mr. Vane," I said, meeting his gaze head-on. "And I chose the highest cliff I could find. Silas needed a wife who could hold her own in a room like this, and I needed a man who wouldn't crumble when things got complicated. I'd say we're a perfect match."
Arthur stared at me for a long, agonizing minute. Then, to my surprise, he let out a dry, hacking laugh. "Spite. I love it. It's a much more durable foundation for a marriage than love. Love makes people soft. Spite makes them sharp."
He turned his eyes to Silas. "She has fire. But fire burns things down, Silas. Can you control her?"
"I don't want to control her, Grandfather," Silas said, his voice dropping an octave. He walked over to me, and before I could react, he wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me back against him. "I want to use her to build something. Now, the papers are signed. My shares are secure. We've done what you asked."
"Not quite," Arthur said, his smile turning wicked. "The trust is secure once the marriage is deemed 'consummated and stable.' There will be a gala in three days to celebrate the merger of Vane and Vance. If the world and the board doesn't believe you are the most obsessed, lovestruck couple in New York, the challenge to your shares remains. You live here, together. No separate wings. No 'business trip' excuses. I want to see you inseparable."
My heart dropped. Live here? Together?
"That wasn't part of the deal," I whispered, looking up at Silas.
Silas didn't look at me. He was staring at his grandfather, a silent war of wills passing between them. "Fine," Silas said finally. "She stays here."
"Good," Arthur said, turning back to the window. "There is a bedroom prepared. Get out of those clothes. You look like you've been through a war."
Silas led me away, his grip on my arm tight enough to leave a mark. He didn't speak until we were inside a master suite that was larger than my entire childhood home. The bed was a sprawling island of charcoal silk, and the walls were lined with dark wood.
He closed the door and leaned against it, exhaling a long, weary breath. He looked at me, and for the first time, the "Vulture of Wall Street" looked human.
"I'm sorry," he said. The words seemed to cost him something.
"You're sorry?" I let out a sharp, hysterical laugh. "Silas, I have no clothes. My father is probably being grilled by the police or the press. My ex-fiancé is out there somewhere plotting his revenge, and I am trapped in a penthouse with a man I don't know!"
I started to pace, the heavy silk of the dress trailing behind me like a wounded animal. "I did this to save my dignity, but I feel like I just sold my life."
Silas moved then, crossing the room in three long strides. He grabbed my shoulders, stopping my frantic pacing. "Look at me, Evelyn."
I looked up, my eyes stinging with unshed tears.
"You saved your family," he said firmly. "Mark Miller was going to bleed your father's company dry and leave you with nothing. Now, you are the most protected woman in this city. Nobody can touch you. Not Mark, not the press, not even my grandfather. But you have to play the part. Three days. We just have to survive three days until the gala, and then we can figure out the long-term arrangements."
"And the 'living together' part?" I asked, my voice trembling. "The 'no separate wings'?"
Silas's gaze dropped to my lips, and for a second, the air in the room became electric again. He let go of my shoulders, his hands lingering for a moment too long.
"I have a lot of work to do," he said, his voice turning clinical again. "I'll be in the study most of the night. The closet is already stocked with clothes in your size, I had my assistant pull your measurements from the bridal boutique while we were in the limo. Take a bath. Eat something. We'll talk in the morning."
He turned to leave, but he stopped at the door. "And Evelyn? Lock the door if it makes you feel better. I don't take what isn't given."
He disappeared, leaving me alone in the silent, opulent room.
I walked over to the massive walk-in closet and pushed the door open. Row after row of designer clothes hung there, silk dresses, cashmere sweaters, power suits all in my favorite shades of cream, forest green, and navy. He had even replaced my jewelry.
He was right. I was protected. I was rich beyond my wildest dreams. But as I caught my reflection in the closet mirror, a bride in a ruined dress, standing in a stranger's house. I realized that the "Flash Marriage" wasn't the end of the story. It was the beginning of a hunt.
And I still wasn't sure if I was the hunter or the prey.
I stripped out of the wedding dress, leaving it in a heap of white lace on the floor. I stepped into the steaming water of the marble tub, sinking down until the heat masked the trembling in my bones.
I had three days to make Silas Vane's world believe I loved him. And I had three days to make sure I didn't actually start to.