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?"