VIVI'S POV
The armed security guard follows me into the bathroom.
"I'm not letting you watch me pee," I say, slamming the door in his face.
"Ma'am, Mr. Cross's orders were clear—"
"I don't care. Wait outside."
I lock the door and lean against it, my heart pounding. I've been in Damien's penthouse for twelve hours and I already feel like a prisoner. There are guards at every door. Cameras in every hallway. I can't even look out a window without someone checking to make sure I'm safe.
My phone buzzes. Damien, of course.
"Stop fighting with security. They're there to protect you."
I text back: "They're there to watch me. There's a difference."
His response is immediate: "Same thing. Get dressed. The stylist arrives in twenty minutes."
I look at myself in the mirror. I barely slept. My eyes have dark circles. My hands still shake when I think about that photo last night. The threat. The names of Damien's ex-girlfriends who vanished.
What am I doing? Why am I still here?
Because you have nowhere else to go, a voice in my head answers. Because Damien is the only thing standing between you and total destruction.
A knock on the door makes me jump.
"Miss Laurent? I'm Claire, your wedding stylist. May I come in?"
I open the door to find a cheerful woman in her forties holding three massive garment bags. Behind her are two assistants carrying boxes and makeup cases.
"Oh honey, you look exhausted," Claire says, taking one look at my face. "Don't worry. We'll have you looking like a bride in no time."
For the next three hours, I'm poked and prodded. Claire shows me twelve different wedding dresses. Each one is more beautiful and more expensive than the last.
"This one," she says, holding up a dress that probably costs more than my college tuition. "It's perfect for you. Elegant. Sophisticated. It says 'I'm marrying a billionaire but I'm not just after his money.'"
"How does a dress say all that?" I mutter.
Claire laughs. "Trust me, honey. In your world, everything says something."
My world. Like I belong in Damien's world. Like I'm not just pretending.
I try on the dress. It fits perfectly, which shouldn't surprise me. Damien probably gave them my exact measurements along with my blood type and social security number.
"Gorgeous," Claire breathes. "Mr. Cross is going to lose his mind when he sees you."
"This marriage is just business," I say. "He won't care what I look like."
Claire gives me a look that says she doesn't believe me for a second. "Right. That's why he called me at 2 AM last night to make sure everything was perfect. That's why he sent me a list of your favorite colors and the flowers you like. That's why he—" She stops. "Never mind. You'll figure it out."
Before I can ask what she means, someone new walks into the penthouse.
A young woman with dark hair and bright eyes. She's wearing jeans and a sweater, so different from everyone else in Damien's perfect world.
"You must be Vivienne!" she says, rushing over with a huge smile. "I'm Isabelle. Damien's sister. He told me I wasn't allowed to meet you yet, but I couldn't wait any longer."
Isabelle Cross. Damien's only family. The person he actually cares about.
"It's nice to meet you," I say carefully.
"Oh, stop being so formal." Isabelle hugs me like we're old friends. "We're going to be sisters! This is so exciting. Damien never brings anyone around. I was starting to think he was going to die alone in this cold penthouse."
Claire and her assistants quietly leave, giving us privacy.
Isabelle sits on the couch, pulling me down next to her. "Tell me everything. How did you two meet? When did you know you loved him? What's he like when he's not being Mr. Cold Business CEO?"
"We met at a charity event," I say, repeating the story Damien told me. "Three months ago."
"And he kept you secret this whole time? That's so like him." Isabelle rolls her eyes. "My brother is terrible at emotions. He thinks showing feelings makes him weak. Our parents died when I was eleven, and he basically raised me while building his company. He never let himself need anyone."
There's sadness in her voice. Real pain.
"That must have been hard," I say. "For both of you."
"It was." Isabelle looks at me seriously. "But I think you'll be good for him. You're the first person he's ever brought into his life who isn't about business. He chose you because he wanted to, not because he had to."
Guilt twists in my stomach. She doesn't know the truth. She thinks this is real.
"Isabelle, I should tell you—"
"That it's a contract marriage?" Isabelle interrupts with a small smile. "I know. Damien told me."
My mouth falls open. "He told you?"
"He tells me everything. Well, almost everything. He said you two have an arrangement. One year. Business deal. Blah blah blah." She waves her hand dismissively. "But I also saw the way he looked at you in the photos from Uncle Adrian's dinner party. That kiss wasn't fake, Vivi. I know my brother. And I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looked at you."
"It was just for show—"
"Keep telling yourself that." Isabelle grins. "But I'm betting that in six months, this 'contract' turns into something very real."
Before I can argue, my phone rings. An unknown number.
I almost don't answer. But something makes me pick up.
"Hello?"
"Miss Laurent?" A man's voice. Unfamiliar. "This is Detective Morrison with the NYPD. I need to speak with you about Sophia Winters."
My blood runs cold. Sophia Winters. One of Damien's ex-girlfriends who vanished.
"Why?" I ask carefully.
"Because her body was just found. And you're engaged to the last person who saw her alive."
The room spins. Isabelle grabs my arm, concerned.
"What are you saying?" I whisper into the phone.
"I'm saying Sophia Winters was murdered two years ago. And right now, Damien Cross is our prime suspect. I need you to come to the station. Today. We have questions about your relationship with Mr. Cross."
"I don't have to talk to you—"
"No, you don't. But Miss Laurent? Two other women who dated Damien Cross are also missing. If you want to avoid becoming number four, I suggest you cooperate."
He hangs up.
I stare at my phone, unable to breathe.
Isabelle's face has gone pale. "What did they say?"
Before I can answer, Damien walks into the penthouse. He takes one look at my face and knows something's wrong.
"What happened?" he demands.
"The police just called," I say, my voice shaking. "They found Sophia Winters' body. They think you killed her."
The room goes absolutely silent.
Damien's expression doesn't change. But something flashes in his eyes. Something dark and dangerous.
"Get out," he says to the security guards. To Claire and her assistants who just walked back in. "Everyone out. Now."
They scramble to leave. Only Isabelle stays.
"Damien—" she starts.
"You too, Belle."
"No. I'm not leaving Vivi alone with you when the police think you're a murderer."
"I didn't kill Sophia," Damien says, his voice deadly quiet. "But someone wants everyone to think I did. Someone who's been planning this for a very long time."
He pulls out his phone and makes a call. "Get me my lawyer. Now. And find out everything about Detective Morrison. Who he works for. Who's paying him. Everything."
He hangs up and looks at me.
"Vivienne, I need you to trust me. I did not kill Sophia. Or Rachel. Or Melissa. But someone is setting me up. And they're using you to do it."
"How?"
"Because you're my weakness now." His jaw tightens. "They know if they threaten you, I'll do anything to protect you. Which means they can control me."
"Unless I leave," I whisper. "Unless I walk away right now."
"You can't. The contract—"
"Forget the contract! The police think you're a serial killer!"
"I'm not!" For the first time, Damien's control cracks. "I'm not a killer. I'm just someone who's made a lot of enemies. Powerful enemies who want me destroyed."
My phone buzzes. A text from the detective:
"Your fiancé's lawyer is probably calling right now. Don't listen to him. Meet me alone. Tonight. 9 PM. Corner of 5th and Madison. Come alone or I can't protect you from what's coming."
I show the text to Damien.
His face goes dark. "That's not a real detective. That's a trap."
"How do you know?"
"Because I just had my team check. There is no Detective Morrison working for the NYPD. Someone is impersonating a cop to get you alone."
Isabelle gasps. "Oh my God."
"Which means," Damien continues, his voice like ice, "whoever threatened you last night is making their move. And they want you away from my protection."
"So what do I do?" I ask.
Damien's eyes meet mine. Intense. Burning.
"You go to the mee
ting. But I'm coming with you. And we're going to find out who's trying to destroy us both."