You said you'll take care of me.
The driver of the cab kept glancing at us through the rearview mirror. Even soaked from the rain, my clothes were obviously high-end designer wear. Sitting next to Sloane—the woman I had just proposed to in an alleyway—in her grease-stained mechanic's shirt, we looked entirely out of place together.
Sloane.This woman, without any further words, simply sat beside me. My pulse was quickening. I had just proposed marriage. Not that I cared who I married, but it had all happened so quickly.
As the adrenaline of the storm faded, my logical brain started catching up. Still, I had made this choice based on pure survival and a backup plan.
I was sitting next to a woman who swore she didn't betray people, even if her smile said she was dangerous. This was what I was going to do.
I turned to look at her. "You can still back out."
She turned her head slowly, looking directly into my eyes, and a slow, lazy smile spread across her lips.
"I never back down, and I don't break promises. My best friend, Henry, wants to see me settle down. He gave me an offer—if I come home with a wife, he'll let his place be our home."
I chuckled lightly. Nice way to put it, I thought.
Minutes later, we were standing inside the marriage registry office. It was packed with couples, probably just as crazy as us.
We walked up to the counter. The clerk, without even offering the grace of a glance, held out a hand.
"Names?"
"Sienna... Vane."
"And you?" The clerk still didn't look up.
"Sloane," she said, her voice smooth and low. "Cross."
"ID?" the clerk asked, her tone dripping with impatience.
Great, I thought, digging into my wet pockets. Nothing. I must have left it at the estate in my rush to leave.
"I... I don't have it," I admitted. "I left it behind."
"Rejected. No ID, no license, no marriage. Next!" She didn't even bother waiting for an explanation, waving a hand to dismiss us.
I definitely shouldn't be missing an ID right now. My mind raced for a solution, but before I could speak, Sloane stepped closer to the glass.
"I'll handle this."
She pulled a sleek, heavy black card from her worn-out pocket and slid it across the counter. "Check the card. Use the override code on the back."
The clerk looked bored and annoyed, but the second her eyes landed on the metal card, they went wide. Her entire posture snapped to attention. "Ms. Cross? I... I didn't recognize you. I will process this for you right away."
I frowned, looking between the two of them. "Do you know each other?"
Sloane shrugged lazily, leaning against the counter. "I'm a mechanic, remember? A useful one. I fixed her car once. She owes me a favor."
My exhausted brain refused to process the logic. Life wasn't a drama series; I didn't just accidentally marry a secret billionaire. Just as she said, she was a useful mechanic. That had to be it. I'd overthink it later.
With the override code, the paperwork moved at lightning speed. Then the clerk looked up softly.
"Rings?
"I bought this ring, like I said about Henry's deal," my soon-to-be wife murmured, pulling a small silver band from her pocket.
She took my left hand. Her fingers were warm and calloused. She slid the ring onto my finger, and it fit perfectly.
"With this ring," Sloane said, her lazy voice suddenly dropping into something incredibly gentle and serious. "I thee wed."
I looked up at her handsome, striking face, then down at the ring. "I do."
"I do," she echoed softly.
We walked out of the office as Mrs. and Mrs. Cross. The weather had cleared; the rain was completely gone.
"Well, Mrs. Cross," Sloane said, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. "Done deal."
"We are, Mrs. Vane," I replied, holding her gaze as she passed the lighter to me.
She paused, the silver lighter still hovering in her hand.
"Mrs. Vane?" she echoed, genuine amusement dancing in her dark eyes.
"I'm taking your name, you're taking my name. I'm a Cross now, you're a Vane now. Does that sound scary to you?"
Sloane, this mysterious woman I had just bound my life to, didn't look offended in the slightest. She looked deep into my eyes and smiled smoothly.
"Not even a little bit. But I thought you just escaped from that place and didn't want to get involved with it, so I attached my name to yours. But now that we are married, it doesn't matter whether we use mine or yours. It's all fine even with no surname. You said you'll take care of me."
She sounded completely unbothered. Hearing that much from her was a first, and honestly, it sounded almost too good to be true.
"Lead the way, wife," My newly wedded wife added.
Good, I thought. I needed flexibility. I needed someone who operated in the gray areas.
Sloane stopped walking. "By the way... who is this uncle of yours?"
"Vane," I said. "Marcus Vane."
Her sharp eyebrows pulled together. "Marcus Vane?"
"Was. I fired him. Why? Do you know him?"
A flash of absolute, cold hatred gleamed in Sloane's eyes for a fraction of a second before she masked it. "I know a little. But I hate him."
"That's great, then. So be it," I said, feeling a surge of satisfaction. "Now we need to go home. Let's go."
"House?" I raised a brow. "Remember I'm currently searching for one, too?"
She smirked, a dangerous, attractive look. "Not quite. Henry is in Europe. Asked me to house-sit. It's not a palace, but it's dry. And like I told you, if I come unannounced with a wife, I can call his home officially our home."
House-sitting. That was quite something.
"Hot water?" I asked. Honestly, I wouldn't even mind if there wasn't any.
"I can promise that."
She stepped to the curb and raised a hand. Almost instantly, a sleek black sedan—not a yellow cab, but a luxury town car with heavy tinted windows—glided over and parked right in front of us.
I frowned. "We can't afford an Uber Black, Sloane."
"It's... the owner's car," she said quickly, opening the heavy door. "Part of the gig. Gotta keep the battery charged."
I slid inside. The interior smelled like expensive leather and cedarwood. My god. This was better than Marcus's corporate limo. Sloane slid into the seat next to me and tapped the privacy glass dividing us from the front. "Drive."
"Where to, ma'am—" the driver started to ask.
Sloane shot him a look that could have frozen helium. "The apartment. The small one. In Brooklyn."
The driver opened his mouth to speak again.
"Just drive," Sloane ordered, her tone leaving no room for debate.
I looked at her, tilting my head. "Bossy for a house-sitter."
She leaned back against the leather, closing her dark eyes. "I take the job seriously, Sienna."
As the luxury car rolled into the neon-lit night, I twisted the silver ring on my finger.
Married. Homeless. Free.
A part of me wanted to crash Marcus's dinner right now and shove this ring right in his purple, furious face. But we were both soaked rats, and catching pneumonia wasn't on my agenda.
I glanced at Sloane's sharp profile illuminated by the passing streetlights, and a weird, prickling feeling settled in the back of my mind.
My new wife was definitely lying about something.