The courthouse was smaller than I imagined.
Grey walls. Grey floors. Grey faces.
A place where lives were changed without ceremony or care.
I stood in front of the judge wearing a borrowed dress that didn't fit quite right, my hands clasped so tightly together my fingers ached. There were no flowers. No guests. No smiles.
Just paperwork.
And Damien Cross standing beside me like this was another meeting squeezed into his schedule.
"Do you, Damien Cross, take Ivy Carter as your lawful wife?"
"Yes."
Immediate. Emotionless.
No hesitation.
My stomach twisted.
The judge turned to me. "And do you, Ivy Carter—"
"Yes."
The word left my mouth before my brain caught up.
Because if I hesitated, even for a second, I would run.
And running wasn't an option anymore.
"Then by the power vested in me—"
The gavel came down.
Just like that.
I was married.
Not loved.
Not chosen.
Purchased.
Damien signed the final document, slid it toward me, and waited.
I signed.
Again.
Every stroke of the pen felt like another door slamming shut.
The judge nodded politely. "You're free to go."
Free.
The irony almost made me laugh.
---
We didn't speak on the drive.
The car was silent except for the hum of the engine and the city rushing past outside the tinted windows. Damien sat beside me, scrolling through his phone like he hadn't just legally bound a woman to him.
I stared straight ahead.
My hands trembled in my lap.
"Stop that," he said without looking up.
"Stop what?"
"Shaking."
I clenched my fists harder. "You don't get to tell me what to do."
He finally turned his head.
Looked at me.
Really looked.
"You're my wife now," he said calmly. "I get to tell you many things."
I swallowed. "This doesn't make you my owner."
"No," he agreed. "It makes you my responsibility."
That was worse.
The car slowed.
Tall gates opened.
And then—
Blackwood Estate.
The house wasn't a home.
It was a fortress.
Glass. Steel. Cold precision.
Everything screamed power. Wealth. Control.
I stepped out of the car slowly, my chest tight as I took it all in.
"This is where I'm supposed to live?" I asked quietly.
"For the next year," Damien replied. "Yes."
A staff member appeared immediately. A woman in her forties, posture perfect, expression neutral.
"This is Mrs. Cross," Damien said.
The title hit me like a slap.
Mrs. Cross.
The woman inclined her head. "Welcome home, ma'am."
Home.
I followed Damien inside, my footsteps echoing against marble floors. The space was massive, immaculate—and completely soulless.
No warmth.
No laughter.
No signs of life.
"You'll have your own room," he said as we walked. "Opposite wing. We don't share a bedroom."
Good.
I didn't trust my voice to answer.
He stopped suddenly and turned to face me.
"This marriage has rules," he said. "You read them. Now you live by them."
I lifted my chin. "And if I don't?"
His eyes were cold.
"Then I remind you why you're here."
My jaw tightened. "You mean my father."
"Yes."
I hated him in that moment more than I thought possible.
"I'm not going to play the obedient wife," I said. "I won't smile for you."
"You'll smile in public," he replied. "You'll hold my arm. You'll let the world believe this is real."
"And in private?"
"In private," he said, stepping closer, "you stay out of my way."
Our eyes locked.
Two enemies bound by ink and threat.
"I will never love you," I said quietly.
Something unreadable crossed his face.
"That's fortunate," he replied. "Because I would never need it."
He turned and walked away.
Just like that.
Leaving me alone in a mansion that wasn't mine.
A marriage that wasn't real.
A life I didn't choose.
I stood there for a long time, my heart pounding, my throat burning.
This wasn't over.
This was only the beginning.
And if Damien Cross thought he'd won—
He had no idea what kind of woman he'd just married.