Victoria didn't remember sitting down, but suddenly she was in the leather chair across from Nyangtsi Andesunn Tom, her fingers numb around the pen.
The marriage contract lay open between them.
The words blurred together at first—legal language, clauses, restrictions—but one thing was painfully clear.
This wasn't a marriage.
It was ownership with a prettier name.
"One year," she said hoarsely, forcing herself to focus. "You get one year of my life."
Nyangtsi leaned back slightly, his gaze never leaving her face. "Correct."
"And after that?"
"You walk away," he replied smoothly. "Free. Untouched. Unbothered."
She laughed bitterly. "You expect me to believe that?"
"I don't expect belief," he said. "Only compliance."
Victoria clenched her jaw and flipped through the pages faster. Her eyes snagged on a clause halfway down.
"Public appearances. Shared residence. No romantic involvement with third parties." She looked up sharply. "You want me isolated."
"I want you convincing," he corrected. "A fake marriage only works if it looks real."
Her heart thudded painfully. "Why me?"
For the first time since she'd walked in, something flickered in his eyes.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
"You fit," he said after a pause. "And you have nothing left to lose."
The truth of it hit harder than any insult.
She thought of Daniel. Alone. Afraid.
"If I sign this," she said slowly, "you guarantee my brother's safety. In writing."
Nyangtsi nodded once. "Already included."
"And my father's name?" she pressed. "You'll clear it."
A silence fell.
Then he said, "As much as the public allows."
Not fully.
But enough.
Victoria stared at the contract, at the space waiting for her signature.
This was the moment her life divided into before and after.
She signed.
The pen scratched loudly in the quiet office.
When she finished, Nyangtsi closed the folder with a soft, final sound.
"Welcome, Mrs. Tom," he said.
Her stomach twisted.
Victoria's fingers curled instinctively into her palm.
Mrs. Tom.
The title slid over her skin like silk wrapped around steel—soft, elegant, suffocating.
"I haven't agreed to use that name yet," she said quietly.
Nyangtsi's gaze lifted, sharp and assessing. "The contract says otherwise."
She pushed back from the desk and stood, the leather chair scraping softly against the floor. "A signature doesn't erase who I am."
"No," he agreed calmly. "But it decides who you'll become."
The words settled heavily between them.
She turned away, pacing toward the window, needing space, air—something that felt like choice. The city stretched beneath them, glittering and indifferent, a thousand lives moving forward while hers stood balanced on the edge of a decision she could never undo.
"You planned this far in advance," she said, not turning back. "Didn't you?"
"Yes."
The honesty startled her.
"How long?" she asked.
"Long enough to know you'd come."
She spun around. "You're arrogant."
"I'm prepared," he corrected. "There's a difference."
She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, as if that could shield her from the weight of his presence. "You didn't even ask if I wanted this."
His eyes darkened, something unreadable passing through them. "Want has nothing to do with survival."
She hated that he was right.
The silence stretched again, thick and intimate. Nyangtsi rose from his chair, closing the distance between them with unhurried steps. Victoria forced herself not to retreat.
"You should understand something now," he said, stopping a careful distance away. "I don't coerce what I can control."
"And what exactly do you control?" she asked.
He lifted a hand—not touching her, but close enough that she felt the warmth of his skin. "The chaos around you."
Her breath hitched traitorously.
"You're calm," he observed. "Even now."
"That's because I'm exhausted," she snapped.
A faint smile touched his lips. "Exhaustion makes honesty easier."
He turned back toward the desk and pressed a button. Almost immediately, the door opened and Lira stepped inside.
"Bring the addendum," Nyangtsi said.
Victoria frowned. "Addendum?"
Lira placed another thin folder on the desk and stepped back.
"This wasn't mentioned," Victoria said sharply.
"It wasn't finalized," Nyangtsi replied. "Until you signed."
She flipped it open warily.
MEDIA PROTOCOLS. PUBLIC CONDUCT. INTIMACY CLAUSE.
Her pulse spiked. "Intimacy?"
"Appearances," he said smoothly. "Nothing more unless mutually agreed."
She looked up, eyes blazing. "You expect people to believe we're married without—"
"Affection," he finished. "Yes."
Her mouth went dry.
"How far does that go?" she demanded.
His gaze dipped briefly—to her lips, her throat—before returning to her eyes. "As far as necessary."
Heat crawled up her spine, unwelcome and confusing.
"You're enjoying this," she accused.
"Enjoyment implies indulgence," he replied. "I don't indulge."
She closed the folder with a sharp snap. "You're asking me to lie to the entire world."
"I'm asking you to survive in it," he said quietly. "There's a difference."
She hesitated, then signed again—short, angry strokes of ink.
When she finished, Nyangtsi nodded once, satisfied.
"Good," he said. "We'll announce the marriage tonight."
Her head snapped up. "Tonight?"
"The press has already been alerted."
Her stomach dropped. "You didn't give me time."
"I gave you protection," he said. "Time is a luxury you no longer have."
She laughed bitterly. "You really don't think I'll leave after a year, do you?"
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "I think after a year, you won't want to."
The certainty in his tone unsettled her more than the words themselves.
The penthouse transformed as the evening approached.
Staff moved in and out with quiet efficiency. Stylists, assistants, security—everyone operated as if Victoria had always been there, as if she belonged.
She stood in the bedroom Lira had prepared, staring at her reflection as the final touches were made. The woman in the mirror looked composed. Elegant.
Powerful.
She didn't recognize herself.
"You're shaking," Lira murmured softly, adjusting a delicate clasp at the back of her dress.
"I don't feel powerful," Victoria admitted.
Lira met her eyes in the mirror. "Power rarely feels comfortable at first."
A knock sounded at the door.
"He's ready," Lira said.
Victoria inhaled slowly, steadying herself, then nodded.
When she stepped into the living room, Nyangtsi was waiting.
He looked at her the way a general might look at a weapon—measuring, appreciating, aware of its potential.
"You'll do," he said.
"That's the nicest thing you've said all day."
His lips curved faintly. "I'm not in the habit of lying."
He offered his arm again.
This time, she didn't hesitate.
The doors opened, flashes erupted, voices rose—but Nyangtsi's hand tightened just slightly over hers, grounding her.
"Remember," he murmured without moving his lips. "You're not alone."
She glanced up at him, searching his face.
For a split second, something almost human flickered in his eyes.
Then the cameras surged forward, and the moment vanished.
As they stepped into the spotlight together, Victoria realized something with a chill that settled deep in her bones.
The contract hadn't just bound her life.
It had bound her to the one man who could either destroy her completely—
Or teach her how to rule the world that once crushed her.