The limousine's taillights disappeared around the corner, leaving me alone on the quiet street with his final words echoing through my skull:
"Because you're mine now."
I stood frozen outside my apartment building, the warm night suddenly too thick, too tight around my ribs. My hand shook as I punched in the keypad. I didn't know whether I wanted to scream, cry, or laugh at the absolute insanity of my life.
Twelve hours ago, I had a wedding.
A family.
A future.
Now I had none of the above.
Instead, I had a cold-blooded CEO claiming to me like some kind of… acquisition.
The elevator doors slid open with a ding, and the moment I stepped inside, everything hit me all at once.
A choked sob clawed up my throat.
I slapped my hand over my mouth to stifle it, but the pain was too big, too sharp. I'd been holding myself together like a cracked vase glued with denial.
The truth finally broke through:
I said yes.
I agreed to marry Leon Hale.
The elevator doors opened again, and I stumbled into the hallway, fumbling with my keys. My apartment felt hollow the second I stepped inside—cold, empty, unfamiliar. Like I'd already left this life behind.
I sank onto the couch, dropping my purse beside me.
Tomorrow I'd be Mrs. Hale.
Tomorrow I'd walk down an aisle with a man whose soul was made of frost and boardroom power.
Tomorrow my ex and my sister would watch me stand beside someone who could destroy them with a single phone call.
Tomorrow everything changed.
Tonight, I fell apart.
I curled up on the couch, arms wrapped around my knees, squeezing tight enough to hurt. The tears came silently at first, then all at once—hot, humiliating, unstoppable.
I cried until my head ached, until my eyes burned, until the storm emptied itself.
At some point, exhaustion dragged me into a restless sleep.
When the doorbell rang, sunlight was slicing through my blinds.
I jolted awake, still in my dress from the rehearsal dinner, makeup smudged, hair tangled, emotions raw.
The doorbell rang again.
I forced myself up, stumbling to the door.
The moment I opened it, I froze.
A woman stood there—tall, elegant, wearing a charcoal-gray blazer and heels sharp enough to kill someone. Her posture was straight, intimidating, and efficient. She looked like a secretary for the devil—but the expensive version.
"Good morning, Miss Hart," she said.
"My name is—"
"Miss Hart," she repeated, tone even. "Mr. Hale sent me."
My stomach dropped.
Of course he did.
She gave a crisp nod. "I am Ms. Porter. Personal assistant to Mr. Hale. I'm here to escort you to your bridal preparation suite."
"I—I haven't even showered."
"There is a full team waiting for you. Stylists, makeup artists, wardrobe specialists, and a floral consultant. Mr. Hale spared no expense."
I blinked hard. "It's eight in the morning."
"The wedding is at noon. Mr. Hale instructed us to ensure everything is flawless."
I swallowed.
Flawless.
Leon didn't do anything messy.
He wasn't emotional.
He didn't do anything unplanned.
He definitely didn't do brides who cried themselves to sleep.
Ms. Porter stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. "Pack lightly. You will not return here after the ceremony."
"What?"
"Your residence will be the Hale penthouse."
I stumbled back, staring at her. "He never said—"
"It is a standard arrangement for public marriages among high-profile executives. Cohabitation ensures credibility."
"But—"
"Do you object?"
Yes.
I objected to everything.
I objected to my ex cheating.
I objected to getting married in twelve hours.
I objected to being absorbed into Leon Hale's world like a pawn on his chessboard.
But I also didn't have the luxury of saying that.
"No," I murmured. "I… I don't object."
"Good." Her tone softened half a degree. "You're doing very well, Miss Hart."
I wasn't.
I was unraveling by the minute.
But Ms. Porter guided me through the motions:
Packing essentials.
Changing out of my dress.
Stepping into a waiting luxury car.
The ride was silent, but not uncomfortable. Ms. Porter wasn't cold—just efficient. She had a calming energy that felt like order in the middle of a hurricane.
We drove to a private bridal suite inside a five-star hotel. The second I stepped inside, a flurry of stylists surrounded me.
Hair. Makeup. Nails. Skincare. A bridal consultant measured my waist before I could breathe.
For two hours, I was spun in circles like a doll.
Finally someone placed a garment bag in front of me.
"This is the dress Mr. Hale selected."
"He picked it?"
The consultant nodded. "He was very specific."
My heart did something inconvenient.
The bag unzipped.
I gasped.
The dress was breathtaking—silk that shimmered like liquid moonlight, delicate lace tracing the neckline, and a fitted silhouette that looked like it would turn me into someone powerful, elegant, untouchable.
Someone Leon Hale would stand beside.
My throat tightened. "It's beautiful."
"It will be perfect," the consultant said, helping me into it. "And so will you."
When she finished lacing the back, she whispered, almost conspiratorially:
"No woman has ever made Mr. Hale go this far."
My heart tripped.
"What do you mean?"
"He personally reviewed every detail of this wedding. The venue. The guest list. The flowers. Even your shoes. Mr. Hale is usually… distant. Delegates everything. But for this? He's involved."
My pulse skipped in a way I did not approve of.
This wasn't real.
It couldn't be.
We weren't in love.
We weren't anything.
This was convenient. Strategy. Mutual benefit.
Right?
Before I could dwell, Ms. Porter reappeared. "It's time."
My breath caught.
Time.
Time to become a wife to a man who didn't do love but did power very, very well.
The elevator took us down to the private garden of the hotel, transformed overnight into a dreamscape—white roses, soft music, a carpeted aisle leading to a marble arch draped in silk.
A few dozen guests stood in quiet clusters—all powerful people from Leon's world, all perfectly dressed, all watching with curious eyes.
My knees wobbled.
Then I saw him.
Leon Hale.
Standing at the altar in a tailored suit that fit him like it had been sculpted around him. His dark hair was neatly styled, his jaw clean-shaven, his posture immaculate.
But his eyes—
His eyes were on me.
Sharp.
Dark.
Focused.
The world faded around the edges.
Ms. Porter touched my back lightly. "Breathe."
I tried.
Leon didn't smile, but something in his gaze warmed—barely, but enough to send a strange flutter through my chest.
The music shifted.
My steps were steady, but my heart was chaotic.
Halfway down the aisle, I saw them.
My sister.
My ex.
They were standing at the far left, mouths open in shock, probably dragged here by curiosity or horror.
A bolt of vicious satisfaction shot through me.
Good.
Let them watch.
Let them choke on it.
When I reached the altar, Leon extended his hand.
His fingers brushed mine—warm, steady, grounding.
"Amelia," he said quietly, the faintest rasp in his voice, "you look exquisite."
My breath caught.
His compliment wasn't warm.
It wasn't soft.
It was precise.
Deliberate.
A man staking his claim with absolute certainty.
The officiant began speaking, but I barely heard anything except the thundering of my own pulse.
Leon didn't look away from me—eyes locked on mine, unwavering.
When it was time for vows, the officiant nodded to me first.
I swallowed. I didn't have personal vows—this wasn't that kind of marriage. So I repeated the traditional words softly, voice trembling.
Then Leon spoke.
And everything stopped.
His voice was deep, steady, controlled—cut from the same steel as the rest of him. But the moment he said my name, something shifted.
"I, Leon Hale, take you, Amelia Hart, to be my wife."
His jaw tightened slightly on the word wife.
Not possessive.
Not emotional.
Final.
A vow like a contract sealed in blood.
The officiant smiled. "You may exchange rings."
Leon lifted my hand gently, sliding the ring onto my finger with a slow, deliberate movement, his thumb brushing my skin.
Heat shot up my arm.
When it was my turn, my hand shook. Leon noticed, covering my fingers with his larger, steadier ones to guide the ring into place.
"Easy," he murmured. "I've got you."
I nearly forgot how to breathe.
The officiant raised his voice.
"By the authority vested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife."
Gasps rippled through the guests.
Leon didn't move for a moment—just watched me like he was memorizing something important.
Then he leaned in.
His hand slid to my waist.
And he kissed me.
Not gentle.
Not sweet.
Full.
Claiming.
Final.
Unmistakable.
My knees buckled, and his arm tightened around me, pulling me closer.
The world vanished.
When he finally pulled back, his voice was low enough only I could hear.
"You're mine now, Amelia," he whispered, with a certainty that shook me to my core.
"And I take care of what's mine."
The applause thundered around us.
But all I could feel was him.
My husband.
The cold CEO with the dangerous eyes.
And the man who had just rewritten my entire life.