The champagne flute trembled in my hand as the helicopter touched down on the rooftop. Below us, the city pulsed like a living thing—cold, bright, indifferent.

"You don’t have to do this," he said, voice low, eyes hidden behind dark glasses even at midnight. "Walk away now, and no one will blame you."

I laughed, but it cracked. "And let them bulldoze Mom’s garage? Let my brother get shipped off to some juvie lockup because he defended it? No. I signed the papers. I’m your wife now, Mr. Vaelor."

He removed his glasses then. Storm-gray eyes locked onto mine. "Then don’t expect kindness from my family. Don’t expect fairness. And don’t…" He hesitated. "Don’t start believing any of this is real."

A door slid open behind him. Flashbulbs erupted. Smiles snapped into place.

As we stepped forward, his hand brushed mine—accidental? Or not?—and I felt it: a spark beneath the ice.

Now I had to decide: play the part perfectly… or start breaking all his rules.