CHAPTER 5: HUSBAND
The registry office was cold.
White walls. Fluorescent lights. A bored clerk behind a desk who'd done this same ceremony twelve times already today.
No flowers. No music. No guests.
Just me and Damian Sterling, standing in front of a government employee who read from a script in a monotone voice.
"Do you, Damian Alexander Sterling, take Elena Marie Ashford to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
"I do."
His voice was calm. Measured. Like he was signing off on a merger, not a marriage.
"Do you, Elena Marie Ashford, take Damian Alexander Sterling to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
I looked at him.
He was already looking at me.
Something flickered in those steel-gray eyes.
"I do."
The clerk stamped the papers. Slid them across the desk.
"Sign here. And here."
We signed.
Black ink on white paper.
The clerk produced two plain gold bands from a drawer. Standard issue. Government property.
Damian picked up the smaller one.
Reached for my left hand.
His fingers were warm as they closed around mine. He slid the ring onto my finger slowly. Deliberately.
It was too big.
He frowned.
"Wait here."
He left the office.
I stood there, confused, while the clerk looked at his watch like we were wasting his time.
Damian came back three minutes later.
With a different ring.
This one was delicate. Vintage. A thin gold band with an intricate pattern engraved around it.
He took my hand again.
This time, when he slid the ring on, it fit perfectly.
"Where did you—"
"My grandmother's," he said quietly. Then he picked up the government ring and handed it to me. "Your turn."
I took his left hand. Slid the plain gold band onto his ring finger.
It looked wrong on him. Too simple. Too ordinary.
But when I tried to pull my hand back, his fingers tightened.
He lifted my hand. Brought it close to his face like he was inspecting the ring.
But his eyes were on mine.
"Looks good on you, Mrs. Sterling."
Heat crept up my neck.
He smiled.
A slow, dangerous smile that made my pulse stutter.
Then he let go.
"Congratulations," the clerk droned. "You're married."
Damian picked up his copy of the certificate. Folded it once. Slid it into his jacket pocket.
"We should go," he said. "My driver's waiting."
We walked out of the registry office into the late afternoon sun.
A black car was parked at the curb. The driver opened the back door.
I slid in. Damian followed, so close our shoulders brushed.
The door closed.
Silence.
The car pulled away from the curb.
I looked down at the ring on my finger. Turned it slowly. The gold caught the light.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
Damian shifted beside me.
When I looked up, he was watching me with that same dangerous smile.
"Home."
"Home?"
He reached over. Picked up my left hand. Held it up between us so the ring caught the light.
"Our home, Mrs. Sterling."
The way he said it—low, deliberate, with that hint of amusement in his voice—made my breath catch.
I pulled my hand back. "Don't call me that."
"Why not?" He leaned back against the seat, completely relaxed. "It's your name now. Legally binding. I have the paperwork to prove it."
"It's just a contract."
"Contracts have names on them." His eyes glittered. "And yours is Sterling now. You signed it yourself. Twice."
I turned to look out the window, trying to ignore the way my heart was racing.
"You're enjoying this," I muttered.
"Enjoying what?"
"This. All of it."
"I just married a woman who walked into my office, predicted my company's downfall, and proposed to me within fifteen minutes." He paused. "I'd be a fool not to find it interesting."
"Interesting."
"Fascinating, actually."
I glanced at him. He was still watching me with that infuriating smirk.
"You're impossible," I said.
"And you're my wife." He said it like he was testing the word. Tasting it. "Strange how things work out."
The car pulled up in front of a sleek glass building.
The driver opened the door.
We took the elevator to the top floor. The ride was silent, but I could feel Damian's presence beside me. Taking up too much space. Making the air feel thick.
The doors opened.
The penthouse was exactly what I'd expected. Modern. Expensive. Minimalist. Floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the entire city. White walls. Dark furniture. Everything perfectly placed.
Beautiful.
Cold.
Like him.
"Guest room is down that hall," Damian said, shrugging off his jacket. He draped it over the back of a chair. "Second door on the left."
I nodded. Started walking.
"Elena."
I stopped. Turned.
He was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, that smirk still playing at his mouth.
"What's the matter, Mrs. Sterling?" His voice dropped lower. "Want to share a room with me?"
Heat flooded my face.
"In your dreams, Mr. Sterling."
He laughed.
A real laugh, low and rough, that did something strange to my stomach.
"Good to know you're thinking about my dreams already." He pushed off the counter. Walked toward me. "We've only been married three hours."
He passed me, heading down the hallway.
I stood there, frozen, face burning.
He stopped at a door. Opened it.
"Guest room. Bathroom's through there. I'll have clothes and anything else you need sent over tomorrow." He pulled something from inside the room. Came back.
A shirt.
White. Expensive. His.
He held it out.
I took it.
Our fingers brushed.
The contact lasted half a second.
It felt like lightning.
"You're still wearing your wedding dress," he said quietly. His eyes dropped to the ivory silk. Traveled slowly back up to my face. "The one from this morning."
I swallowed. "I don't have anything else."
"Now you do." He gestured to the shirt. Then his eyes met mine. Held. "Although I have to say, the dress makes quite a statement."
"What statement?"
"That you're a woman who doesn't look back." His voice was soft. Dangerous. "I respect that."
He turned and walked toward what I assumed was his bedroom.
Stopped at the door.
Looked back over his shoulder.
"Get some rest, Mrs. Sterling. We have a war to win."
The door closed behind him.
I stood in the hallway, holding his shirt, my heart pounding.
The guest room was beautiful in that same cold, impersonal way.
I walked to the bathroom. Stared at myself in the mirror.
The girl looking back was wearing an ivory wedding dress. Hair still perfect. Makeup still in place.
Like I'd just gotten married.
Which I had.
Just not to the man I'd planned to marry this morning.
I reached back and started on the buttons.
They were tiny. Impossible.
My hands were shaking.
After ten minutes of struggling, the dress finally pooled around my feet.
I kicked it into the corner.
Put on Damian's shirt.
It swallowed me whole. The hem hit mid-thigh. The sleeves went past my hands.
But it was soft. And it smelled like him.
I walked back into the bedroom and stopped.
My phone was buzzing on the nightstand.
Fifteen missed calls.
All from Marcus.
Three voicemails.
I deleted them without listening.
The phone rang again.
Different number.
My father.
I answered. "Dad?"
"Elena." His voice was strained. "Where are you?"
"I'm safe."
"Marcus's lawyers sent a letter." He paused. "They're claiming the wedding was a legally binding contract. That you caused financial damages by walking out. They're threatening to sue."
I closed my eyes.
Of course they were.
"Let them," I said calmly.
"Elena—"
"Dad, there was no contract. Just an agreement. And I'm allowed to change my mind." I took a breath. "Don't respond. If they contact you again, forward everything to Sterling's legal team."
Silence.
"You married him," my father said quietly. "Sterling."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because Marcus can't touch him."
Another pause.
"Are you safe?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure about this?"
I looked around the guest room. At the white walls. The cold perfection. The wedding dress crumpled in the corner.
"Completely."
We hung up.
I pulled out the folder from my purse. The one I'd been working on since I woke up in my past.
Spread the documents across the bed.
Started writing.
Timelines. Names. Dates. Every move Marcus would make.
Not all at once.
Piece by piece.
Strategic.
Surgical.
I was so focused I didn't hear the knock until it came again.
"Come in."
The door opened.
Damian stood there, still dressed except his tie was gone and his shirt was unbuttoned at the collar.
His eyes went to the bed.
To the documents spread everywhere.
To me, sitting cross-legged in the middle of them, drowning in his shirt, pen in my hand.
He went very still.
"You should sleep," he said finally.
"So should you."
He didn't move. Just stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame.
The silence stretched.
"What are you working on?" he asked.
"Your survival."
His mouth curved. "Just my survival?"
"For now." I gestured at the papers. "We take back what he stole piece by piece. Carefully. One move at a time."
"Calculated."
"Ruthless."
Something flashed in his eyes.
"I knew I married the right woman."
The words hung between us.
My pulse jumped.
"It's just a contract," I said, but my voice came out softer than I intended.
"Right." He pushed off the doorframe. "Just a contract."
But he didn't leave.
He stood there, looking at me in his shirt, surrounded by battle plans, and something in his expression shifted.
"Goodnight, Elena."
Not Mrs. Sterling.
Elena.
"Goodnight, Damian."
The door closed.
I sat there, staring at it.
My hand went to the ring on my finger.
Turned it slowly.
In three days, Marcus would make his first move.
And I was going to make sure he regretted it.