Friday came far too quickly.
All week, Serena had swung between certainty and panic, imagining every possible consequence of saying yes—or no. Nights were sleepless, mornings restless. She'd stared at the bakery's dwindling order book so many times she could see the empty pages when she closed her eyes.
By Friday morning, she knew. Not because the decision felt safe, but because it was the only choice left.
The black sedan pulled up outside her apartment right on time. Elias's driver, a tall man in a dark suit, stepped out and opened the door for her. She slid into the back seat, folder in hand, heart thudding so loudly she was sure it was audible.
When the elevator doors opened to Elias's office, he was already there—leaning against his desk in another impeccably tailored suit, tie loosened just enough to make him look dangerously approachable.
"You're early," he remarked, eyes flicking to the folder.
"I didn't see the point in dragging this out," she replied.
"Then let's not."
He gestured for her to sit at a sleek glass table where two pens lay side by side. The contract was already open to the signature page.
She stared at her name in neat black print above a blank line. Sign here, it seemed to whisper. And nothing will ever be the same.
Elias sat across from her, watching without a flicker of impatience. "You don't have to do this," he said, his voice even.
Serena met his gaze. "Yes, I do."
Her pen scratched across the paper, each letter sealing her fate. When she finished, she slid it toward him. His signature followed—quick, confident, final.
"Congratulations, Mrs. Moreau," he said, a hint of satisfaction in his tone.
The words made her chest tighten. "When's the wedding?"
"This afternoon."
Her head snapped up. "This afternoon?"
He nodded. "Small, discreet, and legal. My assistant has everything arranged. Dress, venue, paperwork."
Serena opened her mouth to protest, then stopped. What was the point? This was what she'd signed for—efficiency, control, and no room for her own plans.
By two o'clock, she was standing in a cream silk gown that fit like it had been sewn onto her. Her hair was swept into a soft chignon, a pair of pearl earrings catching the light.
Elias met her at the entrance of a private rooftop garden, the city skyline glittering beyond them. His suit was darker than the night sky, his tie the same pale shade as her dress.
The officiant's words blurred together, her mind racing, until she heard the part that mattered:
"Do you, Serena Blake, take Elias Moreau…"
Her voice was steady. "I do."
"Do you, Elias Moreau, take Serena Blake…"
"I do."
The exchange of rings was quick, the kiss even quicker—a brush of lips so brief it could have been accidental. And yet, something in that fleeting contact made her heart skip.
By the time the papers were signed and the witnesses dismissed, the sun was dipping low, painting the skyline gold. Elias turned to her, his expression unreadable.
"Welcome to the arrangement," he said.
Serena forced a small smile. "Let's hope we both survive it."