The wedding dress I wore was black.
Not some trendy, couture shit either—it was the color of mourning. A funeral. My own, maybe.
I didn't cry.
Didn't smile.
Didn't even blink when the priest asked if I'd take Killian Rhys as my lawfully wedded husband.
"I do," I said.
Lied through my fucking teeth.
He didn't look at me when he slid the ring onto my finger.
Didn't press a kiss to my lips.
Didn't even flinch when the priest declared us husband and wife.
Because this wasn't love.
It was business.
Cold, cruel, calculated business.
And I was the currency.
---
Twelve hours earlier, I was sitting in the lawyer's office, barely breathing as I stared down at the contract that would seal my fate.
Marriage Agreement.
"Sign it," Killian said, voice smooth as whiskey, sharp as a dagger. "Or walk out that door and straight into your grave."
I hated him already.
Not because he was cruel.
Not because he owned more weapons than emotions.
But because he reminded me too much of his brother.
The man who wrecked me.
The man I ran from.
The man who didn't know I took a piece of him when I left—one with his fucking eyes and my broken smile.
My son.
My secret.
"I need time," I whispered, fingers trembling on the pen.
Killian leaned back in the chair across from me, dark suit creased like sin itself, tie undone like he was daring me to imagine what he'd do without it.
He looked like the devil bored of his throne.
"You've had time, Noelle. Three months of hiding. Three months of silence. You show up on my radar and the only reason you're breathing is because I haven't given the order to stop it."
God, I hated him.
"Why me?" I asked. "Why do you want to marry me?"
He leaned forward, eyes meeting mine like he was staring into the hollowed-out ruins of my soul.
"Because it will destroy my brother," he said.
I froze.
"What?"
"Because he loved owning you. Because he's looking for you. Because marrying you means I get the last laugh. Because every time he blinks, he'll remember you're in my bed and not his."
A breath caught in my throat.
"You're sick."
Killian grinned. "Not sick, Noelle. Strategic."
He shoved the papers toward me again. "Marry me. You get protection, a new identity, a life your ex can't touch. You don't marry me… and I hand you over."
And that was the fucked-up thing about desperation.
You stop making choices.
You start making sacrifices.
So I signed.
---
Now, under the harsh lights of a cold church with no guests, no flowers, and no goddamn soul, I stood beside the devil's brother wearing a black dress and a mask of indifference.
His hand was warm as it gripped mine. Firm. Unforgiving.
He didn't smile for the cameras. Didn't pretend.
This wasn't a wedding.
It was a war declaration.
And I had no armor left.
"Take her to the car," he told his assistant after the ceremony, not even sparing me a glance.
I was escorted like cargo.
Escorted like I was fragile.
Like I might break.
If only they knew—I already did.
---
The penthouse was silent when I stepped inside.
Big, clean, and colder than the man who owned it.
Killian tossed his jacket on the couch, then turned to me slowly, like a predator sizing up prey that walked into its own cage.
"Here's how this works," he said, pulling a glass from the bar. "You'll stay out of my way. Smile when we're in public. Be quiet when we're not. You do not ask questions. You do not touch what's mine. And you do not—ever—run."
"Sounds like a dream," I muttered.
His eyes cut to me. "Sarcasm doesn't suit you."
"Neither does marriage," I snapped.
He smirked, slow and dangerous. "Then we're a perfect fucking match."
God. I hated him.
Almost as much as I hated myself… for not walking away.
But I couldn't.
Because if I did, I'd lose my son.
Because if I didn't play this game, I'd die in it.
Because if I wasn't smart, I'd fall for him… and that might be worse than death.
I turned away, heading for the guest room.
"You'll sleep in mine," he said behind me.
I froze.
"Excuse me?"
"This isn't a real marriage, but it's a real war, Noelle. And I don't trust you out of sight. You'll stay close. For your safety... and my convenience."
I turned slowly, biting the inside of my cheek.
"I'm not your fucking pet, Killian."
His smile was ice.
"No. You're my wife."
He walked past me like a storm in a suit, glass in hand, and whispered as he passed:
"Welcome to hell, Mrs. Rhys."