The ink on our marriage license was still drying when Damian showed up at the courthouse steps, rain soaking through his Armani coat. "You don’t have to do this," he shouted over the crowd of paparazzi. I didn’t look back. Inside, Adrian waited—tall, silent, his eyes unreadable. "This is just a contract," he reminded me, sliding the ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly. Outside, sirens wailed. My phone buzzed: one message from Elise—"He told me he’d leave you, Viv. Why did you run?" I stared at Adrian. This wasn’t love. It was survival. But then why did his touch send fire down my spine?

The reception was a blur of champagne flutes and whispered rumors. I danced with my new husband, his hand low on my back like a claim. Then the news broke on every screen: Damian had canceled his foundation gala—because of me. Because of us. Adrian leaned in, voice dark. "They’ll tear you apart if you show weakness. So don’t." I nodded, but inside, I was breaking. Who was I now? The jilted bride? The vengeful sister? Or someone entirely new?