At exactly two o'clock, the dark gray Ford pulled up to the curb outside the shop.

Kittie stood on the sidewalk. She wore a simple navy-blue dress, the best thing she owned. The autumn wind bit through the thin fabric, making her shiver violently.

The passenger window rolled down. Connor sat in the driver's seat, wearing dark sunglasses. He gave her a single nod.

Kittie opened the door and slid into the car. The interior was spotless. There was no trash, no personal items, just the smell of leather and a faint hint of cedarwood.

"Is this car new?" Kittie asked, rubbing her cold arms. "It looks retro."

Connor kept his eyes on the road.

"Used lot," he lied effortlessly. "Boston parking is a nightmare. No point in ruining a good car. Plus, I am still paying off my student loans."

Kittie's shoulders dropped. The tight knot of anxiety in her chest loosened. Student loans. He was just a normal guy drowning in debt, just like her.

"I get it," she said softly, a wave of genuine affection washing over her.

Connor turned the steering wheel, taking a sharp left. Kittie frowned, looking out the window.

"This is not the way to the main entrance of City Hall," she pointed out.

"We are using the underground VIP parking," Connor said.

He drove down a concrete ramp, bypassing the public lot, and pulled into a secluded, brightly lit section.

"VIP?" Kittie asked, her heart rate picking up. "How?"

"A college buddy is a lawyer," Connor explained smoothly. "I paid him to grease the wheels. We skip the line. No chance of running into anyone we know."

Kittie looked at him, her chest aching with sympathy. He was already in debt, and he was spending extra cash just to protect her from her mother's spies.

They got out of the car. Connor walked around the hood and stopped in front of her. He reached out and wrapped his large, warm hand around hers.

Kittie gasped softly. The heat of his skin sent a shockwave up her arm.

"Getting into character," Connor murmured, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.

He led her to a private elevator. When the doors opened, a man in a sharp suit was waiting for them. He bowed his head slightly.

"Right this way, sir," the man said, his voice dripping with extreme deference.

Connor reached into his pocket and handed the man a thick white envelope.

Kittie's eyes widened. She squeezed Connor's hand, leaning in close.

"Connor," she hissed, her stomach twisting not with gratitude, but with a sudden, sharp spike of dread. "You do not have to tip him that much. Save your money."

Connor looked down at her. His blue eyes softened.

"Efficiency costs money, Kittie," he said quietly.

The man opened a heavy oak door. They stepped into a room that looked nothing like a government office. It had plush carpets, leather chairs, and a massive mahogany desk covered in white roses.

Kittie stopped breathing. The sheer luxury of the room made her head spin. She looked at Connor, her pulse hammering in her throat. None of this added up. The story about the 'used Ford' and 'student loans' suddenly felt like a flimsy, paper-thin excuse stretched over a terrifyingly opulent reality. Who was this man, really?

The door behind the desk opened. A tall man in a tailored suit walked in, holding a leather binder.

"Connor," the man said, grinning.

"Kittie," Connor said, his hand tightening around hers. "This is Clarence Dover. Our witness."

Kittie forced a smile, completely unaware she was shaking hands with one of the most powerful corporate fixers in the state.

Clarence Dover stood behind the mahogany desk. He looked at Kittie, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

"I never thought I would see the day Connor settled down," Clarence joked, opening the leather binder.

Kittie offered a polite, strained smile. Her stomach felt like it was full of acid. The reality of what she was doing crashed down on her.

Clarence cleared his throat. The room fell silent. He began to read the standard vows.

The sunlight poured through the large windows, hitting the floor in bright, warm patches.

Connor turned his body to face her. He took both of her hands in his. His grip was firm, grounding her shaking fingers.

Kittie looked up. Connor's eyes were locked onto hers. The icy blue color was gone, replaced by a dark, burning intensity that made her breath catch in her throat.

"Do you, Connor, take this woman..." Clarence's voice faded into the background.

Connor did not wait for Clarence to finish.

"I do," Connor said. His voice was a low, raw scrape that vibrated through Kittie's bones. He stared at her like she was the only oxygen left in the room.

Kittie's face flushed hot. A bead of sweat rolled down her spine. She looked down at his chest, unable to hold his gaze.

When it was her turn, her throat closed up. She forced the words out, her voice trembling.

"I do."

Connor reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small velvet box and snapped it open. Inside sat two platinum bands. They were completely unadorned, but the heavy, flawless gleam of the metal screamed wealth.

Kittie stared at the rings. Her heart pounded.

Connor took the smaller ring. He held her left hand. His cool fingertips brushed against her skin, sending a jolt of electricity up her arm. He slid the metal band onto her ring finger.

It slid over her knuckle and settled perfectly at the base.

Kittie's eyes widened. She looked at her hand, then at him.

"How did you know my size?" she whispered, her pulse racing.

Connor did not blink.

"I estimated," he lied, his face an unreadable mask. "Math degree."

Kittie swallowed the lump in her throat. She picked up the larger ring and pushed it onto his finger. His hand was so large, so steady.

"By the power vested in me," Clarence announced, slamming a heavy steel stamp onto a piece of paper, "you are married."

Clarence walked over to a side table and popped the cork on a bottle of champagne. The loud pop made Kittie jump.

Clarence handed them crystal flutes.

"To the frat days," Clarence laughed, raising his glass. He took a sip and looked at Connor. "Man, I thought you were going to have 'lifelong bachelor' carved into your tombstone."

Before Connor could reply, a sharp, vibrating buzz echoed from his jacket pocket. Connor pulled out his phone. The screen lit up bright in the sunlit room, displaying a single name in bold letters: Blair Covington.

Kittie froze. The champagne glass in her hand suddenly felt ten times heavier. She didn't know who Blair was, but the elegant, aristocratic ring of the name hit her chest like a physical blow. A sharp, ugly twist of anxiety coiled in her gut.

Connor's jaw tightened. Without a second of hesitation, his thumb swiped aggressively across the screen, rejecting the call. He shoved the phone back into his pocket, his expression turning to absolute ice.

"Just an overly persistent recruiter," Connor said. His voice was completely flat, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

Kittie looked at the perfect platinum ring on her finger. Her throat felt tight. She realized, with a sickening drop in her stomach, that she had just bound her life to a man whose past was a complete, terrifying mystery.