Leon doesn't follow me into the bridal suite.
He stands at the doorway—a tall, immovable shadow of dark wool and colder intentions—while the wedding coordinator flutters around me like she's dressing an unwilling porcelain doll.
The silk gown feels heavy across my skin. Not because of the fabric.
Because of everything it means.
Because in less than twenty minutes, I am walking down an aisle toward a man I barely understand.
A man who claimed me before I even realized I was something to claim.
"Stop fidgeting," the coordinator scolds gently as she adjusts the bodice. "Your husband-to-be is waiting downstairs."
Husband-to-be.
The word hits my chest like a thrown stone.
Leon waits.
Leon chose this. Choose me.
He's downstairs right now—perfect, composed, lethal—telling the world that the woman he hired as a secretary yesterday will become his wife today.
I don't know what that says about him.
I don't know what it says about me.
"All done," the coordinator chirps.
I inhale slowly, trying to calm my pulse.
This is a contract marriage. A business arrangement. A mutually beneficial transaction wrapped in lace and vows.
Not a real wedding.
Not a real future.
But when I look at myself in the mirror, I don't see the broken girl who ran crying through the streets twenty hours ago.
I see something else.
Someone else.
Someone dangerous.
Someone who refuses to be stepped on again.
Maybe marrying Leon Hale isn't scary. Maybe it's power.
A knock sounds.
One of Leon's security men leans in. "Miss Rivera, it's time."
My stomach twists.
Time.
Time to walk into a life I never imagined.
I descend the marble staircase, gripping the bouquet so tightly the stems creak. The hallway leading to the ceremony room is lined with white roses—hundreds, maybe thousands—each one impossibly lush, impossibly perfect.
His money did this.
His power did this.
But the hush that falls over the room when the doors open?
That's me.
A low murmur ripples across the gathered guests—elite families, CEOs, politicians, socialites. Half of them are here because of Leon's status.
The other half are here to witness the scandal.
My ex-fiancé is somewhere in that crowd. My sister too.
Good.
Let them watch.
Let them choke on it.
The pianist begins to play. Soft. Slow. Haunting.
And then—
I see him.
Leon stands at the end of the aisle, straight-backed and perfectly still, dressed in a tailored black suit that fits him like sin and structure. His eyes lock onto mine instantly, fiercely, like there is no one else in the room.
Heat crawls up my spine.
He isn't smiling.
But there's something in his gaze—something dark and claiming—that makes my knees weaken.
As I walk, people whisper.
"That's his secretary."
"She's nobody."
"She must have something on him."
"Or under him."
My jaw clenches. My steps do not falter.
If they think their words can break me now, they're wrong.
When I reach Leon, he extends a hand.
I hesitate for half a second—only half—but he notices. His eyes flicker with something unreadable.
Then I place my hand in his.
And he closes around it with a grip that feels like a vow.
Possessive.
Final.
Alive.
The officiant begins.
"Dearly beloved—"
Leon's thumb brushes my knuckle.
Barely there.
But enough to steal my breath.
The ceremony is short—the way Leon insisted—but every moment feels sharp-edged, weighted.
Until—
"If anyone here has reason why these two should not be joined in matrimony, speak now or forever hold your—"
A voice cuts through the hall like a blade.
"I object."
Everything freezes.
Every head whips toward the back of the room.
And there he is.
My ex.
Daniel.
His tie is crooked. His eyes are bloodshot. He looks like he hasn't slept.
But his voice is steady.
"You can't marry him, Amelia."
Leon doesn't move.
Not a muscle.
But I feel the shift in the air. A drop in temperature so cold it burns.
Daniel takes a step forward.
"I love you," he declares. "I made a mistake, I know that now. But this—this marriage—this is insane. You barely know this man!"
My heart slams against my ribs.
Whispers explode around us.
Someone gasps.
Someone else mutters, "This is unprecedented—!"
Daniel pushes through the crowd, eyes wild. "You don't have to do this. Not to get revenge on me. Not to punish your sister. Not to—"
"Enough." Leon's voice is calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that means something very, very bad is about to happen.
Daniel rounds on him. "Stay out of this."
Leon steps forward once. Just once.
The entire room recoils as if gravity shifted.
"I warned you yesterday," Leon says quietly. "Do not speak to her."
Daniel laughs bitterly. "You think you can control her? Control me? You think you can buy her?"
Leon's eyes turn lethal. "I didn't buy her. I offered her a future. Something you never had the spine to provide."
A murmur goes through the guests.
Daniel points a shaking finger at me. "Amelia, you're scared. I can see it. This isn't you. You're not cold enough to marry a man like him."
The words hit a tender, raw place in my chest.
Because he's wrong.
And he's right.
I'm not cold.
I'm frozen.
Frozen by betrayal. Frozen by necessity. Frozen by the terrifying possibility that Leon Hale might thaw me in ways I'm not ready for.
I open my mouth—
But Leon speaks first.
"Security," he says without raising his voice.
Two guards immediately move in.
Daniel's face twists. "So that's it? You're going to throw me out like trash?"
Leon's expression doesn't change. "Trash belongs outside."
A collective gasp echoes.
Daniel lunges—
Not at Leon.
At me.
"Amelia—!"
He grabs my wrist.
The room erupts.
Leon's hand shoots out, closing around Daniel's throat before anyone even comprehends movement. He slams him back, one-handed, against a pillar, his jaw clenched with terrifying restraint.
"You touched her," Leon says, voice low, vibrating with violence. "That was your last mistake."
"Leon," I breathe.
He doesn't look at me.
Daniel wheezes, face paling. "You… can't… own her…"
Leon releases him abruptly.
Daniel collapses to the floor, coughing.
Leon steps back, straightening his cuffs with chilling precision.
"Remove him," he orders.
Security drags Daniel out of the hall.
Silence smothers the room.
Every eye is on us.
Then Leon turns to me.
"Amelia."
His voice is softer now. Controlled. But his eyes—God—his eyes are burning.
"Do you wish to continue?"
The officiant stares at me. The guests stare at me. The entire future I didn't ask for stares at me.
But it's Leon's gaze that roots me to the earth.
Not cold.
Not empty.
Not unfeeling.
But fierce.
Protective.
Possessive.
Alive.
He didn't react because of the contract.
He reacted because it was me.
My throat tightens.
I inhale.
And I nod.
"Yes."
A muscle in Leon's jaw loosens. Only slightly. But enough to betray something I wasn't supposed to see—
Relief.
Real relief.
The ceremony resumes.
This time, no one interrupts.
When the officiant says, "You may kiss the bride," my breath catches.
We agreed on rules.
No unnecessary intimacy. No public displays unless required.
This?
This counts.
Leon lifts a hand to my jaw. Slow. Reverent. His thumb grazes my cheekbone, sending a tremor through me.
The room watches, breathless.
I forget the crowd.
I forget the murmurs.
I forget Daniel's desperate face.
There is only Leon.
He leans in.
His lips hover over mine.
A whisper of warmth.
A promise of danger.
He pauses—giving me the chance to pull away.
I don't.
His mouth meets mine.
And the world stops.
His lips are firm, controlled, but there is heat beneath the restraint. A storm behind the ice. My fingers curl into his suit jacket as something electric tears through me—sharp, consuming, terrifying.
This isn't a contractual kiss.
This is a claim.
When he pulls back, my breath is unsteady.
He looks at me like he's memorizing the moment.
Then he turns to the crowd and says, "My wife."
The room erupts into applause.
But his eyes never leave mine.
Not once.
And in that moment, I realize something terrifying:
Leon Hale may have married me for convenience.
But he is not pretending anymore.
And neither am I.