The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, spilling us into the dimly lit hallway of Leon's penthouse. The city sprawls behind the floor-to-ceiling windows, glittering like a thousand secrets waiting to be told. The moment is quiet—too quiet—like the air itself knows something is coming.
I step inside first, clutching the envelope Leon had given me moments ago, the one containing the full terms of our marriage contract. But that's not the reason my hands tremble.
I'm still replaying the scene from earlier—the confrontation in his office, the way he defended me at the luncheon, the way my ex looked like he'd swallowed glass when Leon called me his wife.
And underneath it all…
The way Leon touched my back like he couldn't help himself.
He didn't kiss me.
He didn't need to.
My entire body reacted as if he had.
Leon steps in behind me now, closing the penthouse door with a soft, decisive click. The sound vibrates down my spine.
"We need to talk," he says.
Of course we do.
"About what?" I ask, setting the contract envelope on the marble counter in the kitchen. "The board? The luncheon? My ex threatening to 'win me back'? Mia announcing to half the room that I'm a nobody? Your insane family drama—"
"No," Leon says, cutting me off gently. "About us."
My heartbeat stumbles.
Us.
The room feels smaller, the air thicker, and Leon—towering, sharp-jawed, impossibly steady—suddenly feels too close even though he's still several feet away.
"I told you before," I manage, "this is a contract marriage. A business arrangement. A—"
"Is that what you still believe?" he asks quietly.
I freeze.
Because it's not what I believe.
Not anymore.
Not after today.
Not after the way his hand trembled—just barely—when he touched me.
"I don't know what I believe," I whisper.
Leon crosses the room slowly, each step deliberate. He moves like a man aware of his own power—and aware that he's choosing to soften it for me.
He stops only a breath away.
"Then let me help you understand something, Amelia," he says, voice low, controlled but warm at the edges. "This contract… it may have started as an arrangement. But what I feel—what I've begun to feel—is not contractual."
My lips part. My lungs forget how to breathe.
"You feel something?" My voice sounds too fragile, too exposed.
"Yes."
He says it without hesitation.
"You're not obligated to say that," I reply. "Not for the sake of the contract. Not for—"
"This isn't an obligation," he interrupts firmly. "This is me telling you the truth."
My entire world seems to tilt, the ground shifting under my feet.
Leon—my cold CEO boss who barely spoke five words to anyone—was standing here telling me he felt something for me?
The universe must be malfunctioning.
"Leon…" I start, unsure where the sentence is even going.
But I don't get to finish, because the front door suddenly beeps.
Loud.
Sharp.
Wrong.
Leon's entire body snaps into alert mode.
"That's my home access code," he says, his voice dropping into something dangerous.
A cold spike shoots through my chest.
Someone is entering his penthouse.
The door swings open.
And in walks the last person I ever expected.
Leon's mother.
Elegant, poised, wrapped in a chic white coat and silk scarf, she is the embodiment of wealth and authority. Her eyes sweep over the room, landing on Leon first, then on me.
Perfect.
Wonderful.
This day just keeps getting better.
"Leon," she says sharply, her heels clicking like judgment on the marble floor. "We need to talk. Immediately."
Leon's jaw locks. "Mother."
"And who," she continues, her gaze flicking to me like I'm an unexpected smudge on her glass table, "is this?"
Leon moves instantly—sliding effortlessly between us, standing in front of me like a shield carved from stone.
"This is my wife," he says.
No hesitation.
No pause.
No room for doubt.
His mother's eyes widened. "Your what?"
"My wife," he repeats, voice unwavering. "We were married yesterday."
The shock on her face is almost comical—but it lasts only a millisecond before she regains her composure.
She turns to me again, this time slower, assessing, dissecting.
"Amelia," Leon says, turning slightly. "This is my mother, Margaret Hale."
I give a polite nod. "Mrs. Hale."
"Mrs. Volkov," she corrects with a cold smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "If you're truly married to my son."
The implication hangs in the air like smoke.
Leon bristles. "She is."
"We'll see," Margaret replies. "I want to talk. Now."
Leon's voice is ice. "No."
She blinks. "Excuse me?"
"No," he repeats. "We will talk later. Amelia is tired. She's been through enough today."
Tired?
Enough?
Is he—
Protecting me?
Margaret laughs once. Sharp. Unamused.
"Leon, darling, you don't get to tell your mother 'no.' Certainly not over a woman you married in a day."
"The reason I married her is none of your concern," he says.
"It becomes my concern when the board calls me asking why my son has made a reckless decision that threatens the family trust."
My stomach drops.
The trust?
Is that what he meant last night? That he "required a spouse?"
Margaret crosses her arms. "You know the rules. You cannot inherit the controlling shares unless you marry someone vetted and approved by the family. That was the condition your father set."
"Father is gone," Leon says, voice cracking like thunder. "And the company is mine to run."
"It won't be if the board decides you're unstable," she fires back. "A rushed marriage? To your secretary? Who is she, Leon? What is her background? What family does she come from? What connections does she offer?"
Leon doesn't hesitate.
"She offers me loyalty."
The breath catches in my throat.
Margaret scoffs. "Loyalty? You married this girl because she's loyal? You could get loyalty from a dog—"
"Enough," Leon snaps.
The room freezes.
I have never heard that tone from him. Not directed at anyone. Not even at the ex he fired on my behalf.
Margaret goes still, her expression flickering with something like shock.
Leon steps closer to me, not touching but close enough that the warmth radiates between us.
"Amelia is my wife," he says. "And she will remain so."
The way he says it…
Not as a line from a contract.
As a vow.
Margaret's eyes narrow. "If you insist on this… hasty union, then the least you can do is demonstrate that it's real."
"How?" Leon asks tightly.
"A dinner," she says. "Tomorrow. At the family estate. With the board. With the old shareholders. With your cousins."
My entire body goes cold.
"I will not parade Amelia in front of those people," Leon says.
"Yes," Margaret replies, "you will."
She gives me one last dissecting gaze.
"Show them you're truly husband and wife," she says. "Or the board will assume you're hiding something."
Her heels click toward the door.
She pauses.
Looks back at me with a razor-sharp smile.
"I do hope, Amelia, that you're prepared for what tomorrow brings. The Hales are not known for being… forgiving."
The door shuts behind her.
A silence heavier than stone settles over the room.
I exhale shakily. "Leon…"
He turns to me, eyes darker than I've ever seen.
"Tell me," he says quietly, "this isn't too much for you."
He's asking—really asking—if I'm okay.
"What do we do?" I whisper.
His jaw tightens. "We face them."
"Together?"
His gaze locks on mine.
"Always."
My chest squeezes painfully.
"Leon… this dinner—is it important?"
"Yes."
"You need your family trust shares secured, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Then we can do it," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "We can convince them."
He steps toward me slowly, as if afraid I'll disappear.
"You would do that?" he asks.
"For you?"
I swallow hard. "For us."
The word slips out before I can stop it.
Us.
Leon inhales sharply, as if the word hits something tender inside him.
"Amelia." His voice cracks the slightest bit. "You don't know what that means to me."
I lift my chin. "Then show me."
He closes the distance between us until we are a breath apart.
His hand raises slowly, as though he's asking permission without words.
But he doesn't touch me.
I can feel his breath, warm against my skin, see the conflict in his eyes—want and restraint battling hard.
"I want to kiss you," he murmurs.
My heart slams violently.
"You can," I whisper.
But he doesn't.
Instead, he pulls back a fraction, exhaling shakily as though gathering control.
"Tomorrow," he says softly. "Let me earn it tomorrow."
A promise.
A vow.
A slow burn igniting.
I nod, my pulse in my throat.
"Okay."
Leon steps away—only slightly—but it feels like an entire universe shifting.
"We'll need to prepare," he says. "For dinner. For the questions. For my mother."
"And for the board?"
"Yes."
I take a deep breath. "Then let's start."
He looks at me like I'm not a contract bride.
Like I'm not a pawn.
Like I'm something… more.
"Thank you," he says softly. "For choosing to stay."
A warmth blooms in my chest—terrifying, unexpected, unstoppable.
"This is just the beginning, Leon."
He nods faintly, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Yes," he murmurs.
"It is."
And for the first time…
The ice around Leon Hale fractures.
And something real begins to break through.