I dropped the pen, a heaviness in my chest threatening to suffocate me.

“What next?” I asked.

He turned to his secretary. “Tell the valet to get my car ready.” Then he looked at me. “We’re going to the registrar to get the marriage license. But first, we’re going to change what you’re wearing. You’re my wife now, and you can’t walk with me looking like that.” His tone dripped with disgust as his gaze raked me from head to toe.

“Follow me,” he commanded, and I trailed behind him as we walked out of the building. The stares and whispers from the bank staff made my skin crawl, and I kept my head down while he spoke to me like a mere servant.

We reached the basement garage. His car was a black, polished Maybach. He entered and slammed the door shut. I remained outside, forgetting this wasn’t my glamorous lifestyle where bodyguards were eager to open doors for me. He rolled down the window.

“What are you still doing outside?” he yelled. I jumped and opened the car door.

“What is wrong with you?!”

“I’m so sorry, Enzo,” I said, my voice wet with tears. I was usually the one doing the shouting—not the other way around.

“Don’t ever call me Enzo. Even by mistake.”

“What should I call you then?”

“It’s either sir, master, or savior. And I mean it.”

I meekly folded my hands in my lap. “Okay, sir.”

The car screeched to a stop in front of the boutique. He moved toward it like he owned the space. I followed like the silent mouse that I was.

When we entered, I moved toward a line of clothing.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he snarled.

I kept mute. I didn’t know what to say.

“I brought you here, and I’m going to pay for your clothes. So you don’t get to pick. I do.” A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Maybe you didn’t really understand the contract you signed, so let me break it down for you.” He stepped closer. “I own you now. Down to your day-to-day choices. You signed over your rights, your freedom, your independence.”

“Let me go,” I said, trying to tug my wrist from his grasp, but he only clamped down harder.

“We’re in public. Everybody is watching,” I whispered, my will to fight and curse him draining from me.

“Let them watch while I claim you.”

My shoulders slumped as I stood in the corner, watching him pick through outfits. Why was he so petty? We broke up five years ago. He should have moved on. He was at the managerial position of Italy’s top bank. With his good looks and bastard money, hordes of women should be vying for his attention.

Just thirty minutes into this marriage, I was already deeply uncomfortable.

What would six months be like? Would I hang myself at the end of it all? And to think we were going to court to license this madness.

After a while, he came toward me with two gowns draped over his arms. “Try these two on. Now.”

I humbly nodded and moved toward the changing area when he called me back.

“I mean here. We don’t have time for any delays.”

I looked up at him, confused. “I don’t understand… I need my privacy.”

I swallowed the thick hatred I had for him and stripped, leaving myself in only my underwear. His gaze felt slimy as it skimmed over me, disapproval etched into his features.

Mom, the things I do for you.

The first attire made me look like a servant. The second clung to my body like a second skin.

His voice was cold as his eyes skittered over me. “The first is for the court marriage. The second is for the gala we’ll attend this evening.”

“Gala? What gala?”

“It’s an elite gala hosted by the Fabonacci board. The perfect opportunity to show you off, and claim you as mine.”

“It’s a bit too revealing,” I started to argue, but the menacing look he gave me cut me off.

He was going to objectify me, make me look like a bimbo, nothing more than arm candy. And there was nothing I could do about it.

When we reached the court, I began to plead.

“Please. The contract marriage can still work without a license. We don't have to do this.”

We were still in the car. He turned off the engine, his expression hardening as his knuckles tightened on the steering wheel.

“Do you want to save your mother or not?”

I badly wanted to. But one look at the imposing court building reminded me just how hellish Enzo would make the next six months.

He tugged the key out of the ignition and grabbed his suitcase. “Besides, it’s too late to change your mind. You already signed the preliminary papers. We’re just here to legalize it.”

He opened his door. I clung tighter to my seat.

“Get out, Nerry. Now!”

Again, shouting at me like I was a goddamn child.

Inside, the courtier slid over a thick binder for me to sign. I read through the clauses: No romantic emotions between the two parties. No public scandals. I would be obedient to Mr. Caprero’s schedules and rules. It is not an open marriage; I am not allowed any romantic involvements outside the marriage.

My stomach tightened. I looked up at him. This was too much, but what choice did I have?

“Good,” the courtier purred when I was done signing and stamped the document.

He nodded with satisfaction. “I’ve called the hospital where your mom is admitted. I’ve instructed them to commence her surgery.”

---

I tugged the short hem of my gown down my thighs as Enzo and I alighted the limousine. As soon as we stepped out, paparazzi swooped in, camera flashes lighting up the night.

“Smile,” he whispered into my ear as we walked the red carpet into the grand building.

Applause followed each elite invitee through the door. When Enzo stepped in with me in tow, murmurs broke out.

“She looks familiar, oh yes, that broke CEO of Fontane Industries.”

“Fontane’s been Fabonacci’s rival for years. What’s she doing with him?”

“Is she his mistress? Sex toy?”

“What on earth is she wearing?”

Humiliation burned my skin. Enzo made me wear this gown for one purpose: to humiliate me. And it was working.

“Are we going now?” I whispered.

“I want to introduce you to the board members.”

There were six of them; five elderly men and one elderly woman, with a girl my age beside her. They stared at me curiously.

“This is a high-profile event, Enzo,” a man in a polished grey suit said, irritation in his tone. “Not a place to parade your mistress or whichever cheap sleaze you’re sleeping with.”

Enzo grinned. “No, Uncle. This is my wife. Joined together by purely business association.”

The circle of elites perked up.

“I don’t know if you recognize her.” He pushed me closer. “She’s the CEO of Fontane; our tech competition.”

His uncle frowned, his gaze drifting over my dress. “So what do you plan to achieve by this?”

Enzo gave a subtle, malevolent wink. “You’ll soon see, Uncle.”

A foreboding dread clung to my skin as we took our seats. Was I more than just revenge to Enzo? What more did he plan?

The young woman stepped onto the stage.

“Welcome, everyone, to the 11th edition of the FAB Gala,” she said. Her voice was melodic. The lights dimmed, and the air shifted with tension.

“My name is Verena Gonzales, heir to Gonzales Industries. As you know, the Fabonacci Dynasty comprises eight conglomerates: Vellano Investments, the Investor Guild; DeLuca Group of Banks PLC; Argento Circle, the real estate chain; Casa Manufacturing Industries; Romano Luxe Casinos and Hotels; and Sandales Food Hub and Veldena fashion brand.”

Enzo’s grip on my arm tightened. Excitement danced in his eyes. The ache in my chest deepened.

“The M.D. of the dynasty is recently deceased—may his soul rest in peace—and a new successor is needed. Typically, the seven CEOs undergo screening, and the most qualified is appointed M.D. But this time, five failed. Two passed. And the board couldn’t reach a decision.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Enzo scowled.

“I knew they wouldn’t play fair,” he muttered. “Who’s my competition now?”

“Board votes are never equal,” I whispered. I knew a little of board politics. “They’re provoking you on purpose.”

“…so the board has decided,” Verena continued. “Each candidate will head equal parts of the dynasty for six months. The one with the highest performance, innovation, and success will be appointed M.D.”

Six months. The same duration as our contract marriage.

Zayn, the CEO of Veldena brand; the other CEO that was chosen alongside Enzo was called to give a speech. I gasped; Zayn, Enzo’s cousin. The one I kissed to spite Enzo. How did these two rise so far in five years?

After his speech, Enzo was called. He tugged me up.

“Sir, this is unnecessary,” I whispered. “It’s your speech, not mine.”

“You should know better than to disobey me, little wife.”

I burned with fury under the gaze of six hundred eyes. Enzo’s cruel grin as he tapped the mic made my blood run cold.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” his voice boomed, “allow me to introduce the newest addition to the dynasty: Nerissa Alvarez, founder of Fontane Tech Systems. Once independent, fierce, and untouchable. Now, mine. When her company crumbled, I did what any investor would. I bought it. And when she had nowhere to run, I married her.”

The applause hit like a slap. Tears blurred my vision.

I whispered, “Enzo! Take this back. You didn’t buy my company.”

“I did. It was part of the contract you signed in my office,” he said smugly.

“Her tech. Her patents. Her brilliance. Her name,” he continued, facing the crown. “All now belong to the Fabonacci Empire. Legally bound and Contractually owned. A wife, yes—but more importantly, an asset.”

Rage bubbled inside me, but I had to smile for the cameras. Stand beside the man who reduced me to property.

“I’ll never forgive you, Enzo!” I yelled later in the car park.

He stepped toward me, calm as ever. “You will, Nerissa. Because by the end of six months, I’ll restore Fontane to its glory and sign it back to you. Expanding Fontane will get me that MD position. It’s a win-win.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear—not gently. I fought the urge to push him away.

“Did you have to do it that way?”

“Yes, Nerissa. I had to. You humiliated me five years ago in front of an even larger crowd.”

I climbed into the car, defeated.

Now he owned me. Claimed me.

What next?

How would I survive six months as his pawn… his contract wife?