The air in the corner office on the forty-fifth floor was thin, recycled, and freezing. Cassidy sat in a chair that cost more than her father's bail, her hands clasped tightly in her lap to stop them from trembling.

Kingsley hadn't looked at her for two hours.

He sat behind a desk made of black ebony, a fortress of silence. He signed documents, typed on his laptop, and took a call in fluent Mandarin, acting as if the woman he had kissed last night-the woman he hated-wasn't sitting ten feet away.

Cassidy's phone buzzed against her thigh. Another text from her father's lawyer. Payment due by 5 PM. Or they revoke the plea deal.

She felt nausea rise in her throat. She was out of time. Vargo was still hunting her, and her father was about to be fed to the wolves.

Kingsley closed a folder. The sound was like a gunshot in the quiet room.

He picked up a thick stack of papers and slid them across the polished surface. They stopped exactly at the edge, right in front of her.

"Open it," he commanded, not looking up.

Cassidy reached out, her fingers numb. She flipped the cover.

It wasn't a company file. It was her life.

Bank statements. Her father's indictment. The text messages from Vargo. The outstanding balance on her credit cards. He had dissected her existence and laid it out on bond paper.

"You're drowning," Kingsley said. His voice was flat, clinical. "Your father is going to prison for twenty years for a Ponzi scheme he was too stupid to orchestrate properly, and you owe a loan shark a quarter of a million dollars."

Cassidy felt the blood drain from her face. "I'm handling it."

"You're handling nothing," Kingsley stood up. He walked around the desk, leaning against the edge, towering over her. "You are a fixer who can't fix her own mess. It's pathetic."

"Did you bring me here to gloat?" Cassidy stood up, her pride the only thing keeping her upright. "Because if you want payment for the kiss, I don't have it."

"I don't want your money, Cassidy. I want your life."

The door opened. A man in a grey suit walked in-Mercer, the Osborn family lawyer. He placed a document on the desk next to the dossier.

Marriage Service Agreement.

Cassidy stared at the bold letters. "What is this?"

"An acquisition," Kingsley said. He moved closer, invading her personal space until she could smell that same cedar and whiskey scent. "I need a wife to stabilize the board before the shareholder meeting. My brother, Elmore, is trying to prove I'm unstable. A wife-a wife with a respectable, middle-class background. Your professional life is a disaster, but your roots are clean. That plays well with the demographics I need to court."

"You want me to marry you?" Cassidy laughed, a hysterical, jagged sound. "You hate me."

"Which makes it perfect," Kingsley said coldly. "No emotions. No expectations. Just business."

He tapped the document. "I pay off Vargo. I cover your father's legal fees. I ensure he gets a minimum security facility. In exchange, you belong to me for two years. You play the role. You smile for the cameras. You live in my house."

"And if I say no?"

Kingsley walked to the window and twisted the blinds open. Down below, news vans were already circling the building.

"Then I release the information I have about your father's offshore accounts. The ones the Feds missed. He won't just go to prison, Cassidy. He'll die there."

The cruelty of it took her breath away. He wasn't asking. He was cornering her.

Cassidy looked at the contract. Then she looked at the news vans. She thought of her father, old and terrified.

"Is there anything else?" she asked, her voice hollow.

"One condition," Kingsley said, his eyes darkening. "Absolute loyalty. If you betray me again... if you leak one word to my competitors... I will destroy you. Thoroughly."

"I didn't betray you six years ago," she whispered.

"Sign the paper."

Cassidy picked up the pen. The weight of it felt like lead. She signed her name, scratching the nib against the paper. With that ink, she sold her freedom.

Kingsley snatched the paper away before the ink was dry. He handed it to Mercer.

"File it. Get the car. We're going to City Hall."

"City Hall?" Cassidy blinked. "Today?"

"No wedding. Just a transaction." He pulled a black Amex card from his pocket and flicked it at her. It hit her chest and fell to the floor. "Pick it up. Buy some clothes. Mrs. Osborn doesn't dress like a corporate foot soldier trying to make rent. Lose the practical blazer."

Cassidy stared at the card on the carpet. The humiliation burned her cheeks. Slowly, she bent down and picked it up.

"Be at my apartment by seven," Kingsley said, turning his back to her to look at his emails. "Don't be late."

The helicopter blades sliced through the air, drowning out any possibility of conversation. Not that Kingsley was trying to talk. He had his noise-canceling headphones on, typing furiously on his tablet, ignoring the woman he had legally married two hours ago.

Cassidy looked out the window as the Manhattan skyline faded, replaced by the dark, churning Atlantic and the manicured estates of the Hamptons.

They landed on a private pad. The wind whipped Cassidy's hair across her face as she stepped out, dragging her small suitcase. Kingsley didn't offer to help. He strode across the lawn toward the massive house, his coat flapping behind him like a cape.

The house wasn't a home. It was a fortress of concrete and glass, stark against the dunes.

A line of staff waited at the entrance.

"Welcome home, sir," an older man said. The butler. He looked at Cassidy with polite confusion.

"This is Mrs. Steele," Kingsley said, not stopping. "Show her to her room."

Mrs. Steele. Not my wife. Not Cassidy. A label. A distinct separation.

Cassidy followed them inside. The interior was breathtakingly cold. White walls, grey furniture, abstract art that looked like violent slashes of paint. It felt like a museum where touching was forbidden.

"Your quarters are in the East Wing, madam," the butler said. "Mr. Osborn is in the West."

Relief washed over her. Separation. She could do separation.

"No," Kingsley's voice cut through the hall from the staircase. He turned, looking down at them. "Move her things to the master suite."

The butler blinked. "Sir?"

"We are newlyweds," Kingsley said, his voice void of warmth. "Separate rooms would invite gossip. The staff talks. I can't have Elmore hearing we sleep apart."

Cassidy gripped the handle of her suitcase. "Kingsley, I can't-"

"You signed the contract," he interrupted. "Bring her bag."

Dinner was a silent war.

The dining table was long enough to seat twenty. Kingsley sat at the head; Cassidy sat at the foot, miles away. The only sound was the clinking of silver against china.

"How is the appeal going?" Kingsley asked suddenly, not looking up from his steak.

Cassidy started. "My father's? The lawyers are hopeful."

"Your father is a greedy fool," Kingsley said casually. "He stole from pensioners. He deserves to rot."

Cassidy dropped her fork. It clattered loudly against the plate. "He made mistakes. But he never utilized someone's desperation to trap them in a legal bind."

Kingsley stopped chewing. He dabbed his mouth with a linen napkin and stood up.

He walked the length of the table, his footsteps heavy and deliberate. He stopped behind her chair. He placed his hands on the arms of her chair, boxing her in, leaning down until his lips were by her ear.

"Desperation?" he whispered. "You think this is about desperation? You shattered my trust six years ago. You sold me out. This isn't a trap, Cassidy. It's penance."

Cassidy pressed herself against the back of the chair, trying to put inches between them. "I didn't sell you out."

"Save the lies for the press."

He pushed off the chair. "I have a video conference. Don't disturb me."

He walked out, leaving her alone in the cavernous room with a half-eaten meal and a heart that felt like it was being squeezed by a cold hand.

Later, she walked into the master bedroom. It smelled like him-sandalwood and starch. The bed was enormous, a vast expanse of white sheets.

She walked to the balcony door and looked out at the black ocean. A flash of light from the dunes caught her eye.

A camera.

Even here, in this prison, the world was watching.

Cassidy stood by the side of the bed, feeling ridiculous. She was wearing a pair of cotton pajamas that buttoned up to her chin-armor against the man who was currently in the bathroom.

The door opened. Kingsley walked out.

He was wearing nothing but a towel low on his hips. Water droplets clung to the dark hair on his chest, trailing down his abdomen.

Cassidy jerked her gaze away, staring fixedly at a painting on the wall. Her pulse jumped in her throat.

Kingsley scoffed. "Don't act like a virgin, Cassidy. We both know you aren't."

He dropped the towel and pulled on a pair of boxers. Cassidy kept her eyes averted until she heard the rustle of sheets.

She grabbed a pillow and marched toward the chaise lounge in the corner. "The contract didn't specify I had to sleep in the same bed."

"The lounge is bugged," Kingsley said from the bed. He was lying on his back, hands behind his head.

Cassidy froze. "What?"

"Elmore planted bugs. If he hears you sleeping on the sofa, he'll know the marriage is a sham. Get in the bed."

"You're lying," she said, though her voice wavered.

"Am I? Do you want to risk your father's plea deal on a gamble?"

Cassidy gritted her teeth. She walked back to the bed and climbed in, staying as close to the edge as physics allowed. She turned her back to him, curling into a tight ball.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

Hours later, the nightmare came.

She was back in the courtroom. The judge was screaming. Her father was crying. Vargo was laughing.

Cassidy thrashed in her sleep, her arm flinging out blindly.

Smash.

The sound of breaking glass shattered the night.

Cassidy woke with a gasp, sitting bolt upright. Kingsley was already moving, snapping on the bedside lamp.

On the floor, next to the marble nightstand, lay a watch. A vintage Patek Philippe. The crystal face was pulverized.

Kingsley stared at it. His face went completely white, then a dark, terrifying red.

"No," he whispered.

Cassidy scrambled out of bed, falling to her knees. "I'm so sorry, I was dreaming, I didn't mean to-" She reached for the pieces.

"Don't touch it!" Kingsley roared.

He grabbed her wrist, his grip like an iron shackle. He squeezed so hard her bones ground together.

"That was my grandfather's," he hissed, his eyes wild. "It survived two wars. It didn't survive one night with you."

"I'll pay for it," Cassidy cried, tears springing to her eyes from the pain in her wrist. "I'll fix it."

"You can't afford the air inside the case," Kingsley snarled. He flung her hand away.

Cassidy stumbled back, her elbow cracking against the bedpost. She cried out, clutching her arm. A bruise was already forming.

Kingsley saw it. For a second, his eyes flickered. Something like regret flashed behind the rage, but he crushed it instantly.

He stood up, breathing hard. "Add it to the debt. The interest just doubled."

He walked over and picked up the broken watch with trembling hands. "And since you like destroying my assets, you can work for them. The shareholder gala is in five months. You will handle the board members' widows. You will charm them. You will make them love you. If you fail, I sell your father's debt to a collection agency in Russia."

"I understand," Cassidy whispered, cradling her arm.

Kingsley turned off the light. "Go to sleep. And don't move."

He lay back down in the dark, clutching the broken watch to his chest. Cassidy lay on the edge of the mattress, tears leaking silently onto the pillow. She bit her lip to keep from sobbing.

Kingsley put in earplugs, but he didn't sleep.