Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
I'll handle it with the lawyer tomorrow.
Ricci: Fine. We should get married as soon as possible. Before other people start getting ideas about how to make sure it doesn't happen.
Me: If you have a date in mind…
Ricci: Does Saturday work for you?
I'm shocked. This is just two days away. It's so soon it almost doesn't feel real, like I'm watching someone else's life unfold on a screen.
Me: Okay. I'll get my lawyer to have the contract ready before that.
He texts back immediately: You are not safe there. Pack a small suitcase. My men will pick you up tomorrow and take you to St. Regis. You can stay there until the wedding.
Me: Okay.
The phone goes silent. I can't believe it. I stare at the screen until it dims, the words blurring together. Underneath the heavy feeling in my chest, there's a tiny, terrifying spark of something that feels almost like hope. I set the phone down and breathe. Just breathe. Just breathe, Viola. Everything will be fine. Tomorrow is a new day.
Chapter Fourteen
Ricci
I walk down the long, hushed hallway of the St. Regis, and my footsteps are silent on the thick runner carpet that muffles every sound like a secret. The air carries the expensive scent of fresh lilies arranged in crystal vases along the walls.
Tomorrow, she becomes my wife at the Church on East 29th Street— quiet, almost hidden beauty tucked away from Manhattan’s noise. A historic Gothic sanctuary with soaring stone arches, jewel-like stained-glass windows that catch even the faintest light like captured fire. It feels right. Small enough to keep the world out. Sacred enough to bind her to me forever.
I stop in front of Suite 1428.
This is the last night she spends without my name attached to hers. The thought sends a possessive heat through my veins, slow and unrelenting.
A few moments later, the door opens.
Viola stands there in a delicate ivory silk nightgown with a matching robe tied loosely around her waist. The fabric is thin, luxurious, clinging softly to every curve of her body in a way that makes my mouth go dry. The deep V of the neckline reveals the elegant line of her collarbone and the gentle swell of her breasts, rising and falling with her quickened breath. Her blonde hair falls loose and slightly tousled over her shoulders, framing her face like pale gold. She looks surprised to see me, green eyes widening, lips parting on a soft, startled inhale that sends a jolt straight to my cock.
“Oh, I—I thought I was going to show you the contract tomorrow,” she says, voice a little breathless, a faint flush creeping up her neck.
“That’s too close,” I reply, my voice low and rough, as I step inside without waiting for an invitation. I close the door behind me with a quiet click. The space is softly lit and the air smells faintly of her—something clean and floral, jasmine perhaps, mixed with the warmth of her skin.
She moves gracefully to the small round table by the window, the silk of her robe whispering against her thighs as she crosses her legs. The city lights sparkle behind her like scattered jewels across black velvet, turning her into something almost ethereal. She picks up a thick manila envelope from the table and hands it to me.
“Here. My lawyer drafted it this afternoon.”
Our fingers brush. That small contact sends heat straight through me—sharp, immediate, electric. I feel the slight tremor in her hand before she pulls away. I sit across from her, the intimate space between us charged with tension thick enough to taste. I open the document. The paper is thick and formal under my fingers as I begin to read.
The first clause is amusing. During the entire duration of our marriage, I am not to take any other wife or mistress. If I do, I immediately lose all access to her body. No exceptions.
I glance up at her. She watches me carefully, chin lifted, guarded but determined. The thought of her denying me her body sends a dark, possessive thrill through my veins even as my cock twitches at the raw claim she’s staking. No one else. Ever. The idea roots itself deeply in my gut. I didn’t know that I needed her to demand this exclusivity.
The next stipulations are clear and firm: I will not coerce her into doing anything she doesn’t want. No pressure. No force. I will not restrict her freedom in any way when it doesn’t bring harm—public or private—to the image of our union.
And then the financial clause: She wants her own separate bank account, completely under her control. And she wants a fair settlement in the event our marriage breaks down.
Finally, she retains the absolute right to terminate our agreement at any time she wishes, without penalty.
I read every line twice, slowly, deliberately, letting each condition sink deep. She’s protecting herself in every way she can. Smart. Wary. But she’s still here. Still willing to sign her name beside mine.