Sera couldn't recall how she got home that evening.

Even the customary nod from the doorman to greet her felt unreal. Like a ghost caught in her own life, she passed the enormous orchid arrangement in the middle, the gold-veined marble of the lobby and entered the lift.

Her legs buckled as soon as the penthouse doors shut behind her.

In her high-end heels, she sank to the ground and gazed at nothing.

A year.

Two million.

Wolfe, Cassian.

It sounded like something out of a twisted fairy tale. This one, however, was merely a trap masquerading as salvation and lacked a glass slipper.

Artwork curated over decades of wealth and prestige lined the walls surrounding her. Suddenly, everything seemed like crime-scene evidence. She was going to be traded like an exhibit, and she was living in a museum that was founded on falsehoods.

She kicked off her heels, crawled to her feet, and headed for the kitchen. She filled a glass with water but did not touch it. She put down her trembling hand.

Yes, she had replied.

Something changed the instant she consented. It was deafening in the quiet of her house. The sky had already been taken by a storm that had not yet arrived.

Her cell rang.

Cassian.

Already.

Wolfe: “By 9 a.m., our solicitors will send the documents. Prepare to sign. By noon, I'll send a car.”

No “Hello.” No “Are you okay?” Just business.

She glanced through the message. After that, she opened it once more and read it three times.

What had she consented to?

A legal marriage. A deal. For survival, a year of being Cassian Wolfe's wife.

And in return, he would destroy the very empire she was attempting to preserve by using her name, reputation, and legacy.

Sera pulled herself over to the study. The study of her father.

She knew the location of the spare key, which was concealed behind the spine of an old business ethics textbook, even though it had been locked since his arrest. Irony stung.

The air inside smelled of regret and cedar. Contracts, news clippings, cufflinks, and the lingering aftershave odour were still all over his desk.

She touched the framed picture of her father and Leo on the shelf, when they still thought that hard work kept wolves away.

Leo.

She grabbed her phone.

His voice broke over the line, “Sera? Midnight has passed. Are you all right?”

She took a swallow. “I must speak with you.”

Leo was at her door in the morning.

His shirt was wrinkled and his tie was half-undone, giving the impression that he hadn't slept. He entered with the same aura of protection that he always possessed. Despite his youth, he was in big brother mode.

“What is this, Sera? I received your message; is it about a deal?”

She gave him the documents that Cassian's solicitors had emailed her. With each page, Leo's brow furrowed as he read them silently.

He looked up at last.

“You're not serious.”

“Yes, I am,” Sera retorted.

“You intend to wed Cassian Wolfe? The man who has detested Dad since 2018?”

Trying to maintain a steady voice, she crossed her arms. “For a year. That's all. It is a commercial transaction.”

The papers fell to the table. “No. He wants you to think that. However, Sera, you are not a business deal.”

“No,” she yelled, “I'm a bankrupt heiress with a toxic family name, a frozen inheritance, and a father incarcerated in federal prison. Leo, I no longer get to play noble. I get to live!”

He stopped talking.

She became softer. “I'm doing this for everyone. Time can be bought with the money. Perhaps even buy the press's silence.”

Leo clenched his jaw and shook his head. “How much will it cost you?”

Sera remained silent. She was unable to say anything, since she was unaware.

The car was sleek, black, and humming as if it knew all her secrets when it finally showed up the following day.

Once more, Sera wore black. She felt as though she was going to her own funeral, not because the dress code required it.

In the centre of Manhattan, the Wolfe Tower towered. 35 floors of glass, whispers, and polished steel. Without any buttons or stops, the lift opened directly into Cassian's penthouse.

She entered a world twice as sharp and cold as marble.

With a drink in one hand and a phone in the other, Cassian was already waiting.

He hardly raised his head.

“You're running two minutes late.”

“You have two million dollars.”

He grinned at that.

He pointed to the papers on the table, made of glass. “Start each page. Final signature.”

“No ritual?” Sera wondered.

He raised an eyebrow. “Want a piece of cake?”

She went silent.

As she repeatedly wrote her name, the pen felt heavier than it should have. Another part of herself was given away with every ink stroke.

She stopped at the bottom. The clause about marriage.

“For twelve (12) months, the parties consent to appear as a legally married couple.”

Her hand paused.

Behind her, Cassian spoke.

“A second opinion?”

She gave him a look.

She remarked, “You're not the man I would have married.”

He gave a small smile. “All right. Nobody marries me out of love.”

She put her signature on it.

It sounded like a door slamming when the pen lifted off the paper.

After scanning the papers, Cassian held out his hand: “To us,” he stated bluntly.

Sera refused to accept it.

Rather, she faced the floor-to-ceiling windows, observing the city below them blinking like a thousand tiny verdicts.

After observing her for a while, he went to the sideboard. “You're going to move in tomorrow. We'll pack your belongings for you.”

Sera responded bluntly, “Don't waste your time. I'll pack them myself.”

Another drink was poured for him. “In two days, there will be a press conference. I'll send you something to wear.”

Sera wondered, “Am I able to influence anything?”

His eyes were unreadable as he turned to face her. “You have a cost. Not a platform.”

She didn't want to acknowledge how painful the words were.

She nodded nonetheless.

Because when pawns are looking, queens don't flinch.

Without turning around, she walked out of the penthouse. Like the lid of a coffin, the lift doors closed behind her.

The girl who had once worn couture crowns was suddenly under contract to a man who viewed her name as a weapon and her love as unimportant.

Yes, she had replied.

She had to live it now.