Clara stood in the sterile hallway of the hospital, watching through the glass as doctors swarmed around her mother. The machines beeped in a chaotic rhythm.

She needed the money. She needed to sign.

But first, she had a massive problem.

The Vanguard contract. The original copy with the wet signatures-the only copy that was legally binding for the merger-was missing. She had taken it home to proofread two nights ago.

She retraced her steps. The party. The hotel.

She must have left the file folder in Suite 1501.

If that contract was lost or leaked, the deal would collapse. Sterling Group would lose millions. Clara would be fired, sued, and possibly jailed for corporate negligence.

She couldn't call him. She had to go there.

She took a cab to the address listed on the company directory for Sebastian's private residence. It wasn't an apartment. It was an estate in the Hamptons. He had flown there by helicopter after work; she had to take a three-hour train ride and a cab.

It was raining when she arrived. The gate was massive, iron, and intimidating.

She pressed the buzzer. "Clara Miller. I... I left something."

The gate clicked open instantly.

She walked up the long driveway, soaked to the bone. The front door opened before she reached it. A butler ushered her into a library that smelled of old paper and scotch.

Sebastian was there. He was wearing a silk robe, deep navy, tied loosely at the waist. He held a glass of amber liquid in one hand and a blue folder in the other.

The Vanguard contract.

"Breaking and entering?" he asked, swirling his drink.

"I didn't break in. You let me in," Clara shivered. "That's company property. I need it."

"This?" He tapped the folder against his leg. "This is evidence of gross incompetence. You left confidential merger documents in a hotel room."

"I was distracted!"

"By what? My sheets?"

Clara flushed. "Please. Give it to me."

"Sign the marriage agreement," he said calmly. "And I'll forget this ever happened."

"I can't," Clara blurted out. Panic made her irrational. She couldn't be bought. She couldn't be the substitute. "I have a boyfriend."

The room temperature seemed to drop ten degrees.

Sebastian set the glass down. The sound echoed in the large room.

"A boyfriend," he repeated. His voice was dangerously soft.

"Yes," Clara lied, her heart hammering. "He... he teaches at a community college. Mark. His name is Mark. We're very happy. He wouldn't like this."

Sebastian moved. He was across the room in two strides. He grabbed her by the waist and slammed her back against the heavy oak desk.

"Mark?" He leaned in, his nose brushing hers. "Does Mark touch you?"

"Yes," Clara squeaked.

"Does he know you moan when your neck is kissed?"

Clara gasped.

"Liar," Sebastian hissed.

He crushed his mouth to hers. It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was a claiming. He bit her lower lip, forcing her mouth open, his tongue sweeping inside with an arrogance that made her knees buckle. He tasted of whiskey and rage.

Clara tried to push him away, but her hands just curled into the silk of his robe. Her body betrayed her; she melted against him.

He pulled back abruptly, breathing hard. His eyes were wild.

"Your body doesn't seem to remember Mark," he sneered.

He opened the desk drawer and pulled out a check. He slammed it into her hand.

"One million dollars," he said. "Take it. Pay for your mother. And get out."

Clara looked at the check. It was heavy in her hand.

"But the contract..."

"The contract stays," he said. "And if you don't sign the marriage papers by tomorrow, your Mark is going to find himself very unlucky."

The rain was coming down in sheets now. Clara stood outside the heavy oak doors of the manor, the check clutched in her wet hand.

It was enough money to save her mother. It was enough to walk away.

But she couldn't.

Her phone buzzed. It was a news alert. Vanguard Merger on Shaky Ground due to Rumored Data Breach.

He had leaked the rumor himself. He was sabotaging his own deal just to corner her. If she walked away now, she would be the scapegoat. He would destroy her reputation. She would never work in finance again.

She turned around and pounded on the door.

It opened. Sebastian was standing there, leaning against the doorframe, looking bored.

"Forget something else?"

Clara walked past him, dripping water onto the pristine marble foyer. She marched into the library, grabbed the pen from his desk, and signed the marriage contract.

She threw the pen down. "Done. I own you for a year."

Sebastian picked up the paper. He checked the signature. A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face. It didn't reach his eyes.

"Technically," he said, "I own you."

He pressed a button on the intercom. "Mrs. Higgins, show my wife to the guest suite. And burn those clothes. She looks like a drowned rat."

The guest suite was larger than her entire childhood home. A hot bath was drawn. On the bed lay a silk nightgown that looked like it cost more than a car.

Clara scrubbed herself in the tub, trying to wash away the feeling of his kiss. It still lingered on her lips, a phantom burn.

She put on the nightgown. It fit perfectly. Too perfectly.

She stepped out into the bedroom. Sebastian was sitting in the armchair in the corner, watching her.

Clara crossed her arms over her chest. "The contract... it didn't specify... conjugal duties."

Sebastian stood up. He walked toward her. Clara backed up until her legs hit the edge of the bed.

"Relax, Clara," he said dryly. "I don't force women."

He reached out. Clara flinched.

He simply took her shoulders and turned her around. His cold fingers brushed her spine as he pulled her hair out from under the collar of the gown.

"I have patience," he whispered to the back of her head. "Sleep. We have a press conference at 9:00 AM."

He walked to the door. Before he left, his phone rang. He answered it on speaker.

"Seb, you crazy bastard," a male voice laughed. It was Julian, his lawyer and best friend. "Did you actually catch the little sparrow?"

Sebastian looked at Clara, his eyes dark.

"She's not a sparrow, Julian," he said. "She's my wife. And if anyone looks at her wrong, I'll bury them."

He slammed the door shut.

The next week was a blur of flashes and fake smiles.

Clara Miller was gone. Mrs. Clara Sterling was born.

The office was a minefield. She was promoted to Senior Lead on the Vanguard project. The whispers followed her everywhere. Gold digger. Sleeping her way to the top. The Substitute.

She was in the breakroom, making coffee, when Julian walked in. He was handsome in a slimy way, always smiling like he knew a secret.

"Congrats on the promotion, Clara," he said, leaning against the counter. "Sebastian seems... satisfied."

"I'm qualified for the job, Julian," Clara said stiffly.

"Oh, I know. But let's be honest. It helps that you have the look." He tapped his own chest. "The 0825 look."

Clara's hand shook, spilling hot coffee on her wrist. "What do you know about the tattoo?"

"I know it's not for you," Julian winked. "Vivienne is coming back next week, you know. Just a heads up. Don't get too comfortable in the big house."

Clara felt the familiar sting of insecurity.

"Julian."

Sebastian's voice cracked like a whip. He was standing in the doorway. He didn't look at Julian. He looked at Clara's red, scalded wrist.

He walked over, took her hand, and thrust it under the cold water tap.

"Get out, Julian," Sebastian said calmly.

"Just chatting, boss." Julian raised his hands and left.

Sebastian dried her hand with a paper towel. His touch was gentle, at odds with his angry face.

"Come to my office."

In the office, he sat her down. "I have a new NDA for you. Regarding Julian. You are not to speak to him without me present."

"You can't control who I talk to!" Clara snapped. "I have a life outside of you. I have friends. I have..."

"Mark Evans?" Sebastian interrupted. He pulled a file out of his drawer.

It was a dossier. Surveillance photos of Clara's college graduation. And a recent report on Mark Evans, Adjunct Professor.

"I had my team run a background check on everyone in your social circle the moment you signed the contract," Sebastian said, tossing a photo of Mark onto the desk. "Mark Evans. Currently under investigation for plagiarism as of this morning."

Clara stood up. "You did that? He's innocent! He's just a friend!"

"You said he was your lover," Sebastian said, his voice hard. "So I removed the competition."

"You're a monster," Clara whispered.

The door opened.

An older woman walked in. She wore Chanel and a look of permanent disapproval. Eleanor Sterling. Sebastian's mother.

She looked at Clara like she was a piece of gum on her shoe.

"So," Eleanor said, dropping her purse on the sofa. "This is the girl?"

Clara felt the air leave her lungs.

Sebastian stood up. He walked around the desk and put his hand on the small of Clara's back.

"Mother," he said, his voice firm but controlled. "This is Clara. My wife. I expect you to treat her with the same respect you expect from others."

Eleanor laughed, a brittle sound. "Oh, Sebastian. Stop playing house. Vivienne lands on Tuesday. We all know how this ends."

Clara felt Sebastian's grip on her back tighten. Not in anger, but... in tension.

"Vivienne is history," Sebastian said.

"Is she?" Eleanor raised an eyebrow. "Then why haven't you covered the tattoo?"