Was she really going to marry a man who wouldn't even bother to push away the women that clung to him like decorations?

Sofia's stomach tightened painfully.

Naven turned his head toward her with slow restraint. His gray eyes locked onto hers, cold and unreadable. There was no flicker of surprise, no hint of irritation, not even the smallest trace of interest.

He simply stared.

Then he turned his gaze back to the racetrack, as if she had been nothing more than a passing interruption.

The woman at his side seemed to notice the change at once. She followed Naven's line of sight and then looked at Sofia with sharp curiosity. A mocking smile curled across her lips.

Sofia clenched her jaw and drew a steady breath. She stepped forward until she was close enough to be heard.

"Mr. Fort," she called out firmly, holding his gaze without wavering.

He did not answer right away. Instead, he turned fully toward her and studied her in silence. His eyes moved slowly, as though he were weighing her worth.

As though he were picking her apart without saying a word.

"Sofia, the savior," he said at last, his voice low and measured. "I expected you to hesitate longer."

"My mind is already made up," she replied, though her heartbeat thundered against her ribs.

The woman in the red dress let out a quiet laugh.

"Is this another one of your admirers, Naven? Aren't you going to introduce me?"

Naven didn't spare her a glance.

"You may go now, Isabelle."

The woman's mocking smile vanished in an instant. Sofia saw the controlled anger flicker across Naven's face, yet Isabelle did not dare add another word. She simply turned on her heel and walked away, leaving behind nothing but the sharp trace of expensive perfume.

Naven faced Sofia and moved toward her at an unhurried pace until only a small stretch of space remained between them. She forced herself not to look away, even as the silence between them felt heavy enough to press against her chest.

"I assume you already understand what I am willing to give," he replied flatly.

"I do," she responded. "And I came here because I am ready to agree to it."

The slightest lift of his eyebrow was the only reaction he gave.

"Do you really grasp what it means to become my wife, Sofia? I am not a gentle man. And I have never cared about making anyone happy."

"I am not asking for affection," she replied, her voice calm but unshaken. "I only want Catalina safe. And I will not make the mistake of letting myself get too close to you."

"Some mistakes are paid for dearly," Naven responded, and there was something sharp beneath the quiet tone, something unreadable and dangerous.

"A noble woman," he murmured softly. "A rare thing."

Then he turned away and walked back toward the railing, looking down at the track below as if she were no longer standing there.

"Then it is decided. Tomorrow, we will sign everything. A prenuptial agreement with no room for interpretation. Every condition will be mine. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she answered immediately, without the smallest trace of doubt.

While his eyes stayed on the track, even though he seemed miles away from it, Sofia understood the truth settling deep in her bones. She had just tied herself to the most unreadable and dangerous man she had ever encountered. Someone who might even hold more power than Dante Moretti, his brother-in-law.

And whatever awaited her next would never be as simple as ink on paper.

A shift in the atmosphere swept across the terrace as another presence arrived. It was the kind of entrance no one could ignore. The man was of average height, his skin browned from the Marbella sun, and several guards followed close enough to be noticed without making a scene. A crisp white suit clung to him like a statement of arrogance, matched perfectly by the smug curve of his smile. Hanging from his arm was a blond woman with dramatic curves, balancing in a tight dress and towering heels, gripping him as though letting go might send her crashing to the ground.

"Naven Fort!" the newcomer called out brightly, brimming with confidence. "So this is where you have been hiding. Madrid suits you. You have always been impossible to track down." The admiration in his voice was almost embarrassing, as though he would have bowed at Naven's feet if given the chance.

Naven offered nothing in return. No greeting. No expression. Only the faintest nod, so subtle it was easy to miss. His attention never left the horses below as they thundered through their final stretch.

The man did not seem discouraged. He stepped closer with easy comfort, and then his gaze slid toward Sofia.

"Well now," he said with exaggerated excitement. "And who is this?" He grinned wider. "I did not realize you were bringing pretty company around these days, Naven. Is she your newest prize?"

Sofia's eyes widened as heat rushed into her face. Her cheeks burned, not from flattery, but from humiliation. The way he spoke about her made her feel reduced to something bought and displayed.

"A paid companion, right?" he continued smoothly, his smile sharp and shameless. "Come on, sweetheart. Tell me your name."

Sofia's green eyes dropped to the floor, her expression tightening with quiet embarrassment. Standing among people who treated money like a game and power like a weapon made her feel exposed, as if she did not have enough skin to shield herself. She wanted to answer sharply, but her voice refused to come.

None of this belonged to her.

She did not belong here either.

"I think you have the wrong idea, sir," she muttered at last, her tone soft, her gaze still turned away.

"The wrong idea?" the businessman asked, lifting his brows as though genuinely amused. "Well, that is unexpected. And honestly, even more intriguing."

The blond woman at his side let out a sharp, unpleasant laugh.

"Don't mind Naven, sweetheart," he murmured, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. "He gets bored easily. He likes anything new."

Sofia shifted back, uncertain of where to place herself. Her discomfort stood in stark contrast to the other woman's shameless confidence. She wanted to speak up, to insist they were mistaken, to tell them she was not something bought for entertainment or status. Yet the truth felt too complicated to spill out without tearing open parts of herself she could not bear to touch.

And Naven... still remained silent.

He was only a step away. Close enough that she could feel his presence, yet he offered nothing. He did not correct the assumption. He did not stop the man's gaze. He did not give her even the smallest defense.

Sofia glanced at him from the corner of her eye. His face looked carved from stone, flawless and cold, untouched by anything around him.

Did he truly not care what they thought of her? Or was this indifference something he took satisfaction in?

"I was thinking of traveling to Geneva next week, Naven," the businessman continued casually, pouring himself a drink as though he owned the terrace. His voice stayed light, almost playful. "Maybe you could pass along this young lady's contact information... if you are finished with her."

Sofia went completely still.

For a heartbeat, everything around them felt suspended, as though even the noise of the racetrack had faded. She knew it had been meant as a joke. Yet it was the kind that bruised more than it amused, sharp with humiliation.

"She is not something you can purchase. And she is not the kind of woman you are imagining," Naven said quietly. His voice did not rise, but the steadiness in it carried a warning that sliced straight through the air.

The businessman hesitated, blinking as discomfort crept across his face. Hearing Naven speak at all was rare. Hearing him correct someone in front of others was almost unheard of. He forced a careless shrug.

"Oh, please. You cannot expect me to believe that. She is obviously an escort. Everyone can see it."

"My humor does not come in that form," Naven replied, icy and precise.

A thick silence settled over them. The blond woman beside the businessman suddenly became fascinated with her manicure, acting as though she were not listening. Sofia could still feel heat crawling up her cheeks. Even with Naven's brief intervention, the sting of the moment refused to disappear.

The man let out an uneasy laugh and lifted his glass.

"Fine, fine. No need to sour the evening. To horses... and unexpected things." Without waiting for anyone to respond, he drained the drink and stepped away, retreating with his guards and his companion, dragging both embarrassment and arrogance behind him.

Sofia stayed silent, her eyes fixed somewhere far beyond the track, as though the open sky might offer her a breath she could not find here.

"Is it always this cruel?" she asked quietly, still trying to understand a world she had never stepped into before, a world her father had kept far away from her.

Naven did not answer right away. Instead, he walked to the railing and stopped beside her, close enough that his presence felt unavoidable. The view was beautiful, but Sofia could not bring herself to care.

"Out here, people think they can claim whatever they want," he said at last.

"That includes me."

His gaze shifted toward her. There was no warmth in it, no regret either. He studied her with the calm focus of someone weighing something valuable, something he did not fully explain even to himself.

"No one will approach you unless I allow it," he said evenly. "No one."

"That does not make any of this feel better," she answered, surprised by her own boldness.

For a moment, something flickered across his face. The faintest trace of amusement touched his mouth before it disappeared.

"You should go rest. I will come to you later. Or if you would rather wait for me in the suite where you were so fearless, you can do that as well."

Sofia gave a small nod, unable to summon anything else. She had reached her limit for one night.

By the time Sofia reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped outside, the last traces of dusk had disappeared. Darkness settled over Madrid slowly, like a weight dropping across the streets. Sitting in the back of the car on the way to the hotel, her thoughts refused to quiet. She kept seeing Naven's stare, hearing the emptiness in his silence, and feeling the reality of what she had just accepted tightening around her.

Without a signature or paper, she had still handed something away.

The small car carried her through the city until it finally stopped in front of the hotel.

*

A faint click echoed through the suite as the door shut behind Sofia. The gentle sweetness of her perfume lingered in the air, a softness that felt almost out of place in a room belonging to Naven Fort. Silence pressed down over everything, thick and unmoving.

For several long moments, he did not move. His gaze stayed fixed on the empty space where she had vanished, his steel colored eyes giving nothing away. No expression shifted across his face. No feeling surfaced.

And yet, beneath that cold stillness, something subtle had changed. A quiet fracture. A stir he would never allow himself to name.

Naven walked with measured calm toward the VIP lounge of the racetrack, where a polished leather chair waited beside an elegantly styled landline. He lowered himself into the tall black seat and punched in a number with effortless precision, not bothering to glance down.

"Fort," he said quietly when the call connected on the third ring.

"Well, well... Naven Fort. "What a pleasant surprise. I was starting to believe you had forgotten my existence," Harry Meyer's rough voice answered with drunken amusement. His tone made it obvious he had been drinking again, as he so often was.

"I am not calling to entertain you, Harry. I am finalizing something. A matter that might catch your attention."

A short silence followed.

"Let me guess. You have found another opportunity. Another failing empire for you to claim?" Harry asked with a sharp laugh. His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Although, knowing you, it is never that simple. You are Naven Fort."

"I wouldn't call myself a miracle worker, but I'm definitely not in the mood to debate fate tonight. This is about marriage," said Naven, his tone brisk and unwavering. "A few weeks back, I heard whispers that your associates in Berlin want you to project a picture-perfect life. They want stability—a family man image—so you can close that deal with the Swiss banks. Am I wrong?"

"Those bastards want nothing more than for me to look respectable. Having a decorative wife scores easy points. She should be quiet, pretty, and know her place. I've already lined one up."

Naven responded, almost as if he were talking about high-end cars. "Actually, I have someone better. Lorena Viera. She's young, sophisticated, well-educated. Her family's got strong ties in Latin America, which could be useful for your future ventures."

"Viera... the name rang a bell. Weren't they related to the Knights of Castilla? I've already been offered someone from the De La Cruz family, but they're not exactly wealthy, while the Vieras could open a lot more doors."

"You're right. But Lorena isn't helpless—she has a mind of her own, though she's obedient."

"Obedient, you say?"

"Yes." Naven's voice was ice cold. "But she's easy to shape. A man like you will know exactly how to handle a woman with nowhere else to go."

On the other end, Harry let out a laugh that was rough, almost like tearing fabric.

"You're a son of a bitch, Fort."

Naven kept his composure. "Takes one to know one."

"So, what are you getting from all this?"

"Let's just say you owe me a favor now. And I make it a point not to forget when someone's in my debt. But I'm after something else, too."

"Name it."

"Keep your distance from Catalina De La Cruz. Don't approach her. Don't talk to her. Don't even let her cross your mind."

A long silence followed. Harry was no fool—he knew Naven never made demands without a purpose.

A trace of dark amusement crept into Harry's reply. "Well, well... What's so fascinating about Miss Cruz?"

"Nothing in particular. But someone close to her is under my protection. That's all you need to know."

"I get it... Trading one woman for another, just like in the old days. The eternal game of leverage and alliances. I have to admit, I like how you play, Fort. The deal is on."

"Perfect. My lawyers will have the paperwork ready by tomorrow. Agree to the terms, show up for the ceremony, and act with class in public."

"And behind closed doors, I can do as I wish, right?"

"I'm not your conscience, Meyer. Just know this—if you mess this up, the losses will go far beyond money."

"You have my promise."

"Your promise doesn't matter to me," Naven replied, and he ended the call without so much as a farewell.

A heavy hush settled over the room, but this silence felt different—charged and tense, as if even the air was aware of what had just unfolded. Somewhere between those words, a life had been traded for another. One woman handed over for the sake of convenience, another cast aside for reasons no one dared name.

He stood and wandered to the window, staring out at Madrid as it shimmered beneath the night. From the Hippodrome's vantage point, the city glowed with restless energy, empty words, and hidden motives. Amid all that chaos, he had just rewritten the futures of two women.

Meanwhile, Sofia was shielded by someone who played by his own rules—a man whose gaze was starting to change when it landed on her.

Still, in Naven's cool, steel-gray eyes, there was no sign of regret. Only a calm, unwavering resolve.

On the chessboard of Sofia's life, a pivotal piece had moved. No one could say for sure whether she was the queen, but Naven had already made one thing certain: no other king would lay a hand on her.

Sofia wandered the halls of the hotel, each step feeling weightless and unreal. Her body moved through the world, but her thoughts stayed anchored in that suite—with Naven, with the binding contract that was beginning to write itself beneath her skin.

Just hours before, she'd been sitting in a classroom, finishing an exam. Now she stood between two lives—one as a university student chasing normal dreams, the other as a bargaining chip in the highest circles of power.

She paused outside Catalina's suite, nerves prickling under her skin. For a moment, Sofia pressed her palm to the wood, steadying herself. Catalina couldn't find out—at least, not yet.

The door swung open at the first knock. Catalina appeared in a robe the color of spring violets, her face brightening the second she caught sight of Sofia.

"Sofi!" Catalina called out, arms open for an embrace. "You're still here!"

Sofia mustered her best smile.

"I wouldn't dream of leaving so soon." The words tasted hollow. She needed just a little more time to process everything.

Catalina didn't push for more. She caught a glimpse of something dark in Sofia's usually lively eyes, and simply slipped her hand into her friend's, leading her toward the sofa by the window.

"Can I get you anything? Maybe tea, or water? They brought up a plate of fresh raspberries." Her voice was gentle, almost hesitant.

Sofia shook her head. "I just want to sit with you for a while," she murmured, eyes fixed on her hands.

A quiet settled between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. Catalina, still unsure what had shaken her friend, pressed closer and laced their fingers together, as if anchoring Sofia to the moment.

"Sofi... are you really alright?"

Sofia nodded silently, her gaze distant, as though waiting for something she couldn't name.

The clock read five twenty-seven. Evening crept in, painting the sky outside with gentle amber streaks. That was when the phone on the bedside table rang, sharp and unexpected. Catalina straightened, puzzled by the interruption—she hadn't arranged to hear from anyone.

"Hello?"

Sofia glanced over, watching as Catalina listened closely.

"Excuse me? What do you mean, it's off?"

A long pause followed, the silence filling the room until Sofia's heart started to race.

"I see. Thank you," Catalina responded quietly, and ended the call.

She sank back onto the sofa, frowning, lost in thought. Her eyes met Sofia's, searching for answers.

"That was someone from Harry Meyer's circle," she said at last, disbelief threading through her words. "They said there won't be an engagement anymore. No wedding. It felt so final, as if the decision had been made somewhere far beyond my reach."

Sofia's breath caught. She knew this was coming. Secrets pressed at her chest—she couldn't carry them any longer.

"Cata..." Sofia whispered, gathering Catalina's hands in hers. "There's something I need to tell you."

Catalina's eyes locked onto her face, waiting.

"What happened?"

"I went to see him," Sofia admitted, gaze dropping. "I spoke with Naven Fort."

Surprise flashed across Catalina's face, her eyes going wide.

"Why would you do that?"

"Because I couldn't stand by and watch them back you into something you never wanted. You've always stood up for me. You're more than a friend—you're family. And sometimes, life forces us to make choices that hurt."

Catalina shook her head slowly, struggling to make sense of it all.

"What did you tell him?"

"I asked for his help. I begged him to shield you from that engagement. And he agreed."

A wave of dread washed over Catalina. She knew men like Naven Fort never offered favors out of goodwill. "What did he want in return?"

Fighting to keep her composure, Sofia inhaled shakily.

"I promised to marry him."

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Catalina's gaze stayed locked on Sofia, lips parted, her breath caught somewhere between disbelief and heartbreak.

"No. Please, no. Don't tell me you really did this. You traded yourself for me?"

Sofia lowered her head and nodded, silent tears threatening to fall.

"I couldn't let them throw you to Harry. He's dangerous, Cata. You wouldn't have lasted a month."

Catalina's hand flew to her mouth, eyes filling with tears that shimmered in the dim light.

"But, Sofi, you shouldn't have to suffer for me either!"

Sofia stopped her with a gentle look. "Don't. What's done is done. I'd make the same choice again, no regrets."

Catalina rose, pacing back and forth, wracked with worry.

"This is insanity. You know what they say about Naven Fort—he isn't like other men. He's ruthless, impossible to predict. Women chase after him, but none ever stay. He doesn't know how to love, Sofi. He won't treat you like a real wife!"

A calm steadiness settled over Sofia. "I'm aware of who he is. But I can handle it. I've always been the strong one. At least you're safe—that's enough for me."

Catalina dropped to her knees before her, clutching Sofia's hands as if she could somehow pull her back from this fate.

"I don't even know how to thank you for this... Or how I can let it happen."

Sofia brushed a tear from Catalina's cheek, her touch gentle. "There's nothing you owe me, not ever. Just promise me you'll find happiness. Live your life and don't let this become your burden."

Tears spilled freely down Catalina's cheeks as she wrapped Sofia in a fierce embrace. Sofia held her close, just as she had countless times before—through late-night study sessions, heartbreaks, and the quiet victories that only true friends share.

They clung to each other in wordless understanding.

Outside, the city thrummed with distant life. In the towers where the powerful pulled invisible strings, one name kept circling through Naven's thoughts—Morgan. He hadn't counted on that surname. He hadn't expected a woman like her. Yet now, despite every effort, he couldn't bring himself to let her go.

Later that night, they slipped quietly from the hotel. Sofia knew she'd have to see Naven again soon—perhaps he'd send for her, or maybe she'd walk through those doors on her own. For now, she needed distance from that place and the decisions she could never take back.

Her own apartment felt like a sanctuary, always warm and scented faintly of lavender. Catalina knew every corner, every secret of the small space. Years of friendship had unfolded within these walls—nights spent sharing stories, laughter, and tears.

Catalina drifted off on the living room couch, bundled in a thin blanket. She'd insisted on staying, and Sofia was too tired to object. Truthfully, she was grateful for the company, even if her mind spun with worry she couldn't quite silence.

The kitchen clock ticked past two in the morning.

Sofia perched on the edge of her bed, knees tucked beneath her, swaddled in a thick wool sweater that barely eased the chill creeping through her.

Sleep refused to come.

Her mind spun with worries she could not silence.

She had turned off her phone—not because the battery had died, but out of dread. She feared her parents would call. Her mother, always uncannily perceptive, would surely hear the tremor in her voice. Her father, the formidable Alessandro Morgan, would press for answers with that unyielding authority that made executives and rivals alike fall silent. If he did, if he asked her directly, she doubted she'd be able to hide the truth.

How could she tell them? How could she ever explain that she'd promised herself to a man she hardly knew, all to spare a friend from misery? And how could she admit that this man was Naven Fort—the most formidable, cold-hearted power broker in all of Spain?

Everyone in Madrid whispered about him. Now she was tangled in those rumors.

A man who could move mountains with a single call, who struck deals without blinking, who would destroy reputations or entire fortunes just to tip the scales in his favor. Naven Fort was a king without need for a crown; respect and fear already paved his way.

Now, Sofia found herself swept up in his intricate game.

She pressed her hands to her face, trying to steady her breath.

Her heart thundered in her chest, the pressure almost unbearable. Just thinking of his name—Fort—brought a tangle of awe, anxiety, and something else she couldn't quite name. It wasn't simply the power he held. It was the way he watched her, that frost in his eyes, the measured words that made her feel as if she were only a piece in some elaborate strategy.

New doubts crept in. Did Naven already know her family's reputation? Did the Morgan family and the Fort family share any history? Sofia longed for answers she could pull from a forgotten letter or a digital file—anything but a face-to-face confrontation. She was not naive about the weight her last name carried.

Soon, the world would hear about her engagement. She could already imagine her father's fury, her brothers' barrage of questions.

Drawing her arms around herself, she tried to keep the chill at bay, though it was uncertainty that truly made her shiver.

What if she wished she could undo it all? What if turning back was no longer possible?

Her eyes drifted toward the sofa, where Catalina lay sleeping, finally free from the burden that had haunted her for so long. That fragile peace was what kept Sofia's own tears in check.

She rose from the bed and padded quietly to the kitchen, pouring a glass of water with unsteady hands. The glass rattled as she set it down, echoing softly in the stillness.

"You're alright, Sofia," she whispered, hoping the words might steady her nerves.

But she knew it was a lie.

Each time she closed her eyes, she saw him—Naven, in a sharply cut suit, his face impossible to read, his voice resonant with quiet authority that brooked no argument.

What did he really want from her? Was she just a convenient pawn, a beautiful ornament to display? Did he draw boundaries, or was she expected to pay whatever price he set?

She pressed her forehead against the refrigerator door, drawing strength from the cool metal. Her gaze drifted to the photos of Alexander, Alessio, and Abigail, their bright smiles a fragile anchor.

Fear weighed heavy on her shoulders. Still, something inside her—small, stubborn, and unyielding—refused to collapse. She was a Morgan. Her father's words echoed in her mind: "Sofia, always remember your name. When the world presses in, it's not your promises but your resolve that will set you apart."

That was what she clung to now.

She made her way back to the bedroom, dropped to the floor, and hugged a pillow close. At last, she let herself cry in the dark. These tears were not for regret, but for pure exhaustion, tangled thoughts, and the rawness of being human.

By four o'clock, she lifted her head and looked toward the window. Night had begun to fade. A pale light was stealing into the sky.

Morning was on its way.

Morning light slipped through the apartment windows, washing the rooms in a quiet gold. Sofia had barely slept, but something in her expression had shifted. Her resolve was fragile, yet it held firm, like glass that refused to crack.

Catalina remained curled up on the sofa, still lost in sleep, and Sofia could not bring herself to disturb her. Before everything changed, there was one conversation she could no longer postpone.

She retreated into her bedroom, closed the door, and inhaled slowly. Then she dialed the number she had memorized since childhood.

The line rang longer than she expected. Finally, her father's deep, steady voice came through.

"Sofia? What's going on, sweetheart?"

Her throat tightened as she gripped the phone with both hands.

"Dad... Mom... I need to tell you something. It's important."

Almost immediately, her mother's voice joined, sharp with concern.

"Sofia? Are you alright? Did something happen?" Alicia asked, her instinct always too accurate.

"I'm okay," Sofia replied, though tension threaded her words. "Nothing has happened to me. But I need you both to listen carefully. And I need you to promise you won't stop me halfway."

Silence settled across the call.

"Alright," Alessandro answered, calm but alert.

"I've made a choice. I know it might sound sudden, even confusing, but I didn't do this blindly. I need you to trust me for now. I can't explain everything yet, but I need you to understand one thing clearly. No one forced me into this. This is something I decided on my own."

She could hear a faint shuffle from her father's end, the sound of someone weighing words he wasn't quite ready to say.

"I'm getting married," Sofia remarked, the words spilling out stronger than she expected. "And I'm asking you—no, I'm begging you—not to stand in my way. Don't try to stop it, don't reach out to anyone, don't dig for details. I just need your support."

Silence stretched on the line, heavy and bottomless.

Her mother spoke first, her voice soft and uncertain, as if she couldn't quite believe what she'd heard. "What do you mean, you're getting married?"

"It's what I want, Mom."

"Who is he?" Alessandro asked, his tone edged with authority he couldn't quite hide.

Sofia squeezed her eyes shut.

"I can't say yet—not now. Just know it's someone you never would have guessed. I only need you to trust me. You always taught me to stand on my own, to choose for myself. This... this is my choice. Please."

A muted conversation carried over the line—her parents murmuring to each other, maybe exchanging a look that said everything they couldn't say out loud.

At last, Alessandro's voice came through, low and careful.

"Are you certain about this?"

"Yes." Sofia's answer came out clear and sure.

"Alright then. We'll step back. But if you ever want out... if you ever need anything, all you have to do is ask. We'll be here, no questions."

Emotion tightened in Sofia's chest.

"Thank you," she murmured. That's all I want. Just have faith in me. Please wait for me. I know I can handle this.

Alicia's voice trembled as she spoke up. "We believe in you, Sofia. Even if this makes no sense to us, our love won't change."

When the call ended, Sofia slumped onto the bed, still clutching the phone. One tear slipped down her cheek—not for sorrow, but for the weight that had lifted from her heart.

She'd made it through the first trial.

The apartment buzzer sounded, jarring her back to reality.

A cold prickle of anxiety ran through her as she opened the door.

A tall man dressed all in black waited outside. He wore dark sunglasses and a tailored suit, a single earpiece marking him as security. His face revealed nothing as he spoke, each word clipped and firm.

"Miss Sofia Morgan. I have been sent by Mr. Naven Fort. You are to accompany me to the hotel, where Mr. Fort awaits. Afterward, we will proceed directly to the Civil Registry."

There were no questions, no drawn-out explanations. Only the bare essentials were given.

Sofia steadied herself with a slow breath. She grabbed a notepad, scribbling a hurried message, her hand barely steady, and passed it to Catalina, who had woken and was watching with anxious eyes.

"I'm going to the Civil Registry. Don't worry about me. I'll contact you as soon as I can. Thank you for always being there."

With that, Sofia turned away, refusing to look back. She followed the silent bodyguard down to the black car waiting at the curb.

This was it—the point of no return for the life she'd always known.

There would be no wedding procession, no flowers, no music, no family gathered around.

Only paperwork, two signatures, and the inescapable reality of the Fort name, echoing in her mind as the car sped through the city.

The presidential suite where they brought her was silent and cavernous. Luxury was everywhere—sleek black marble, golden edges, artwork set just so. But Sofia saw none of it. She perched on a chair by the window, hands knotted in her lap, posture tense. More than two hours ticked by as she waited.

They had told her Mr. Fort would arrive soon.

Mr. Fort. Naven. The words twisted together in her thoughts.

A weary sigh escaped her lips.

Her eyes flicked to the door again and again, nerves jangling. The silence inside the suite pressed in, the low drone of the air conditioning sounding impossibly loud. She rose from the sofa, pacing in a tight circle. Pausing before the vanity mirror, she smoothed her hair and drew in a long, steadying breath. Then she returned to her seat, hands clenched in her lap.

Time crawled by, each minute stretching painfully. At last, the doorknob turned with a soft click.

To Sofia, the sound was deafening.

To Sofia, the gentle swing of the door roared through the suite like distant thunder.

Naven stepped in, each movement calm and certain, dressed in a charcoal suit with no tie, the top button of his shirt casually undone. Though he had no coat, the crisp bite of Madrid's morning seemed to follow him inside. He shut the door behind him with practiced ease.

Sofia rose from the sofa at once.

"Good morning," she whispered, her greeting barely above a whisper.

He gave no reply. Instead, he made his way to the minibar, poured himself a glass of whiskey—neat—and took a drink, not once meeting her gaze. Only after a moment, his back still half-turned, did he speak, his voice low and distant, sending a shiver through her.

"Are you aware of everything this agreement requires? Do you understand what today means for both of us?"

Uncertainty clouded Sofia's face as she searched for the right words.

"I think... it means we'll be living together. Showing ourselves as a couple in public. Acting like husband and wife, at least where people can see us," she replied, her voice wavering.

There was no anger in his face. Only a glacial distance, as if he had built walls no one could breach.

"This isn't a game, Sofia. It isn't for show, or some romantic story. Every clause in this agreement will be binding."

Sofia gave a slow, measured nod.

"I understand."

Naven set his glass down with practiced care, stepped closer, and produced a sleek black folder from his jacket. He placed it on the table, flipping it open to reveal a stack of meticulously organized documents. Sofia's throat tightened as she looked them over.

"These are the terms," he said. "A full medical check is required. There will be no obligation for physical intimacy. You are not permitted to access my finances, except where specified. You may not leave Madrid without my approval. You may not leave Madrid without my approval. Our arrangement must remain confidential. And you are not to become pregnant."

The last stipulation made Sofia's eyes widen.

"That's included here?" she asked, disbelief coloring her voice.

"It's all written here," Naven responded evenly. "Break any of these terms, and the agreement dissolves. You'll owe a penalty."

"What sort of penalty?"

"A million euros."

Sofia felt her breath catch in her throat.

"And if you break the contract?"

"I won't," he responded flatly, leaving no room for discussion.

It was as if there were no other outcome, no possibility he would ever be the one at fault.

Her eyes dropped to the documents on the table. Each page was immaculate, the terms spelled out in perfect detail. Her own name was already typed into several places, needing only her signature and a few personal details.

"I have to fill in my information," she muttered quietly.

Naven produced a pen from his pocket and placed it before her. She took it, feeling her hand tremble as she wrote out her name.

Sofia Morgan.

The room fell into silence again. Naven watched her, unmoving. But as her pen paused on the page and the surname came into focus, something flickered across his

face—a moment's recognition.

Morgan. The name carried weight. Only now, hearing it spoken, did he truly pay attention.

He mentally repeated the surname. Of course he knew it. Anyone operating at his level did. But he hadn't expected it here, tied to this woman—someone who seemed so out of place in his world.

"Morgan?" His voice was flat. "Tell me—who are your parents? What family do you come from?"