The walk to the chapel felt like a march toward a battlefield, but for the first time in my life, I wasn't the one being led. I was the commanding officer.
Silas Vane walked beside me with a predatory grace that made the heavy silk of my wedding gown feel like armor rather than a cage. We had spent exactly three minutes with a bewildered notary in the hotel's business center, signing papers that effectively bound our lives together before the ink even had time to dry. Silas didn't flinch once. He didn't ask about a prenuptial agreement, and he didn't ask if I was sure. He simply signed his name in a jagged, aggressive script and handed me the pen.
Now, we stood before the massive oak doors of the Grand Pierre Chapel. On the other side, five hundred people were waiting for the "perfect" wedding. My heart was a drum in my chest, but my hands were steady.
"One thing, Evelyn," Silas murmured, his voice leaning close to my ear. The heat of his breath sent a jolt of electricity down my spine that had nothing to do with romance and everything to do with the danger he represented. "Once we walk through those doors, there is no going back. You aren't just marrying a man. You're marrying a target. My family isn't going to welcome you with open arms, and the press is going to dissect your life until they find a reason to hate you."
I turned my head slightly, meeting his stormy grey gaze. "The man I was supposed to marry is currently tasting my cousin's lipstick in the bridal suite, Silas. I think I can handle a few journalists and a disgruntled board of directors."
He chuckled, a dark, low sound that vibrated in the small space between us. "Fair enough. Shall we give them a heart attack?"
I nodded to the ushers.
The doors swung open.
The "Wedding March" began to swell from the organ, the triumphant notes echoing through the vaulted ceiling. The scent of a thousand white roses hit me like a physical wall. Heads turned in a synchronized wave of silk and tuxedoes. I saw my father, Thomas Vance, standing at the front row, leaning heavily on his cane, his eyes misty with pride. My heart twinged with a momentary pang of guilt, but I pushed it down. This was the only way to save him from the ruin Mark would have brought.
And then, I saw Mark.
He was standing at the altar, looking every bit the golden boy in his midnight blue tuxedo. He was smiling that practiced, shallow smile, likely still feeling the rush of his "quickie" with Sarah. He looked confident. He looked like a man who thought he had won.
Until his eyes moved from me to the man whose arm I was gripping.
The change in his expression was the most satisfying thing I had ever witnessed. The color drained from his face so fast I thought he might actually faint. His jaw literally dropped. He looked at Silas Vane, then at me, then back to Silas. He knew exactly who Silas was. Everyone in this room did. Silas wasn't just a businessman; he was the man who had crushed Mark's father in a hostile takeover three years ago.
A ripple of whispers began to spread through the pews like wildfire. It started at the back and raced toward the front.
Is that Silas Vane?
Where is the best man?
Why is she with him?
I didn't walk slowly. I didn't do the demure, bridal shuffle. I marched down that aisle with Silas at my side, our eyes locked on the altar. We reached the front, and the music died a ragged death as the organist realized something was very, very wrong.
"Evelyn?" Mark stammered, his voice cracking. He reached out a hand, his fingers trembling. "What is this? Who... why is he here?"
I stopped three feet from him. I didn't look at him with anger. I looked at him with nothing but cold, clinical disgust.
"Mark," I said, my voice carrying through the silent chapel. "I went to the suite to get my bouquet. I heard everything. I heard about the trust fund, I heard about the 'passionate bones,' and I certainly heard Sarah."
A gasp erupted from the front row. My father straightened up, his eyes widening as he looked at Mark.
Mark scrambled, his eyes darting toward the side door where Sarah was just now slipping in, her hair slightly tousled, her expression turning from smug to horrified as she realized the scene she had walked into. "Evie, wait, it's not what you think…."
"It never is, is it?" I interrupted. I turned to the priest, who looked like he wanted to vanish into the floorboards. "Father, there has been a change in the program. Mark Miller is no longer the groom. He has been... disqualified."
"You can't do this!" Mark yelled, his face turning a blotchy red. "The contracts! The merger! Your father's firm is dead without us!"
Silas stepped forward then, moving with the slow, deliberate grace of a panther. He didn't shout. He didn't have to. The mere presence of him seemed to suck the air out of the room. He draped an arm around my waist, pulling me flush against his side. The contact was possessive, a silent declaration of war.
"Mr. Miller," Silas said, his voice like velvet-wrapped steel. "I suggest you leave this chapel before I have my security detail escort you out in front of the cameras waiting outside. As for the Vance Architects merger, I'll be taking over the financing myself. Consider the debt settled."
The silence that followed was absolute. You could have heard a pin drop on the marble.
Mark looked like he'd been slapped. He looked at the guests, at his own father who was now standing up with a look of pure rage, and finally at me. He saw the coldness in my eyes and the power in the man standing next to me. With a muffled curse, he turned and fled through the vestry door, Sarah hot on his heels.
I felt a weight lift off my shoulders, but it was immediately replaced by the crushing reality of what I had just done. I turned to my father. He was staring at me, his face pale.
"Evelyn," he whispered. "What have you done?"
"I saved us, Dad," I said softly.
Then, I turned to Silas. The man I had known for all of fifteen minutes. The man who was now, legally, my husband.
The priest cleared his throat, looking between us. "I... I don't have the paperwork for this. I cannot perform a ceremony for…"
"The paperwork is already filed," Silas said, producing a folded document from his inner pocket. It was the marriage certificate we had just signed, stamped and witnessed. "The legal union is complete. We are here for the blessing and the announcement. Unless, of course, you have an objection to marrying the most powerful man in the state?"
The priest swallowed hard. "No. No objection."
The ceremony was a blur. Silas and I stood before the altar, hands joined. His skin was warm, his grip firm. When the priest asked for the vows, Silas didn't hesitate. He looked me dead in the eye and spoke the words with a conviction that would have fooled anyone in the world. He promised to protect me, to honor me, and to keep me. For a second, I almost forgot it was a business deal.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the priest said, his voice shaky. "You may kiss the bride."
The room held its breath. This was the moment. If Silas gave me a chaste peck on the cheek, the illusion would shatter. People would know it was a sham.
Silas didn't hesitate. He reached out, his hand cupping the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in the hair beneath my veil. He pulled me toward him, and his lips met mine in a kiss that was anything but fake. It was deep, demanding, and tasted of sandalwood and arrogance. It was a claim.
My heart stalled. My toes curled in my silk shoes. For a moment, the chapel, the guests, and my cheating ex-fiancé disappeared. There was only the heat of Silas Vane and the terrifying realization that I had just jumped out of the frying pan and into a very beautiful, very expensive fire.
When he pulled away, his grey eyes were dark with something I couldn't quite read. He leaned down, whispering against my lips so only I could hear.
"Welcome to the lions' den, Mrs. Vane. Try not to get eaten."
He turned us toward the crowd, and the applause that followed was hesitant at first, then thunderous as the sheer scale of the scandal and the power move sank in. We walked back down the aisle, but as we reached the doors, Silas's phone buzzed in his pocket.
He pulled it out, glancing at the screen. His jaw tightened.
"Is there a problem?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper as we stepped out into the foyer, away from the prying eyes.
"My grandfather," Silas said, his voice cold again. "He's at the penthouse. He saw the news blast. He wants to see the woman who managed to catch me in ten minutes."
I smoothed my dress, my spine stiffening. the honeymoon was over before it had even begun. "Then let's go. I've already ruined one man today. I'm starting to get the hang of it."
Silas looked at me, a genuine spark of amusement and perhaps something like respect flickering in his eyes. "I think we're going to get along just fine, Evelyn."
As the limousine pulled up to the curb, surrounded by a swarm of paparazzi, I realized my life as Evelyn Vance was over. I was a Vane now. And in this world, love was a luxury, but survival was a masterpiece.