The black Rolls-Royce Phantom glided away from Trinity Church, leaving the screaming paparazzi eating dust.

Inside the cabin, the soundproof partition hummed as it rolled up, completely cutting off the driver. The back seat became an absolute vacuum of privacy.

Anissa let out a long, shaky breath. The adrenaline crashed. She reached up and pulled the heavy diamond tiara from her hair, dropping it onto the leather seat.

Harding loosened his silk tie. He poured two glasses of amber bourbon from the crystal decanter and handed one to her.

Anissa took the glass. The freezing condensation against her skin snapped her back to reality. "Thank you," she whispered.

Harding took a slow sip. His eyes dropped to the massive blue diamond on her left hand. "That ring stays on your finger for the next three years. Do not take it off."

Anissa rubbed her thumb over the cold stone. She nodded. "What are the exact terms of our contract?"

"Simple," Harding said, his voice flat and businesslike. "In public, we are a devoted couple. In private, we do not interfere with each other. You will have unlimited access to my Black Card, and I will guarantee your absolute safety."

The car descended into the underground garage of a hyper-luxury building on Billionaire's Row.

They stepped into a private, biometric elevator. It shot straight up to the Penthouse.

The elevator doors slid open. Eleanor Prentiss, the head butler, stood in the grand foyer with a line of uniformed staff.

"Welcome home, Madam," Eleanor bowed deeply. "Your custom walk-in closet and the master bedroom have been prepared."

Anissa caught the words. She turned her head and looked at Harding, her brow furrowed. "Master bedroom?"

Harding shrugged off his suit jacket and handed it to a maid. "The media pays well for leaks. To ensure the staff doesn't sell stories about a fake marriage, we share the primary suite."

Anissa's heart skipped a beat. Her stomach tightened, but she forced her face to remain blank. "Understood."

She followed Eleanor into the bedroom. She stopped dead in her tracks. A massive wall of floor-to-ceiling glass offered a breathtaking, unobstructed view of Central Park.

A sudden, piercing chill crawled up her spine, raising the fine hairs on her arms. Her eyes darted from a row of perfectly sized stilettos to a rack of coats tailored exactly to her shoulder width. How could he possibly know her precise measurements? Even the shoes were a specific half-size she only ever ordered privately from European boutiques. This wasn't a rush job. Harding had been preparing this space for her long before Connor ran away today. The realization hit her like a physical weight. This level of surveillance, this meticulous, silent observation... it was terrifying. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. The man she had just married was not just a shield; he was an apex predator who had been watching her from the shadows. She had walked willingly into the den of a man far more dangerous than she had ever anticipated.

She took a hot shower. She changed into a conservative, high-necked silk pajama set. When she walked out of the bathroom, Harding was sitting on the sofa, scrolling through a tablet.

He wore a dark gray bathrobe. The V-neck hung open, exposing the hard, muscular lines of his chest. The sterile, untouchable aura he had in the church was gone.

The air in the room was thick with the scent of his body wash-a sharp, intoxicating mix of cedarwood and dark tobacco.

Anissa stood frozen on the rug. She stared at the massive bed, unsure of where to go.

Harding didn't look up from his screen. He tapped the right side of the mattress. "That side is yours. I have mild insomnia. I won't touch you."

Anissa walked over stiffly. She pulled back the heavy duvet and lay down. Her muscles were coiled tight as springs.

Harding reached over and killed the main lights. Only a dim, amber reading lamp remained. He lay down on the far left side.

A massive gap of empty space separated them. But the room was so quiet she could hear the slow, rhythmic sound of his breathing.

She thought the anxiety would keep her awake. But the heavy scent of cedarwood wrapped around her like a heavy blanket. It grounded her.

She closed her eyes. The freezing memories of her past life melted away. Within ten minutes, her breathing deepened into sleep.

In the dark, Harding opened his eyes. He turned his head and stared at her sleeping face.

He lifted his hand. He traced the curve of her cheek in the empty air, inches from her skin.

"Welcome home, Anissa," he whispered to the shadows.

The morning sun poured through the massive windows, hitting Anissa's face. She woke up in the center of the king-size bed.

She reached her hand out. The sheets on the left side were perfectly smooth and completely cold. Harding had been up for hours.

She washed her face and walked into the closet. She pulled on a soft, cream-colored Loro Piana cashmere lounge set that fit her perfectly.

She walked out to the dining room. Harding sat at the head of the long marble table. He wore a crisp white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He was drinking black coffee while his assistant read the morning stock reports.

Harding saw her. He raised a finger, silencing his assistant. He pointed to the chair across from him.

A massive New York-style breakfast covered the table, but Anissa's eyes locked onto a thick stack of legal documents resting near her plate.

An older man in a tailored suit stood quietly in the corner, holding a briefcase. Harding gestured to him. "This is a senior Private Judge who handles confidential legal matters for top-tier estates. His seal carries the full weight of the state."

The judge smiled warmly. He slid the marriage registration papers across the marble. "Just your signature here, Madam. Everything else has been expedited."

Anissa stared at the dotted line. If she signed this, she was no longer the punching bag of the Roy family. She was the matriarch of the Snow empire.

She picked up the Montblanc pen. Without a single tremor in her hand, she signed her name.

Harding watched the smooth, aggressive stroke of her pen. A flash of deep approval sparked in his eyes.

The judge stamped the paper with a heavy metal seal. "By the power vested in me, you are legally husband and wife."

Harding reached into his shirt pocket. He pulled out a black Centurion Card and slid it across the table to her. "The pin is your birthday."

Anissa picked up the heavy metal card. Her fingertips tingled. In her past life, she had to beg her mother for coffee money. Now, she held the ultimate key to Wall Street.

Suddenly, her phone vibrated violently against the marble table.

The screen lit up. Lorraine Roy.

The buzzing sound cut through the quiet room like a siren. Anissa stared at it. It rang again, and again, a relentless psychological assault.

Harding looked at the screen. He took a slow sip of his coffee. "Do you want me to have the telecom company permanently sever the Roy estate's cellular lines?"

Anissa took a deep breath. She shook her head. "Some tumors have to be cut out by hand."

She swiped the screen and hit the speaker button.

Lorraine's hysterical screaming instantly filled the penthouse. "You shameless little bitch! How dare you crawl into an old man's bed! You made us a laughingstock!"

"You get your ass back to the Long Island estate right now!" Lorraine shrieked. "You will explain this to the family, and you will sign over your trust fund shares to Ashlee to compensate for the trauma you caused her!"

Anissa listened to the venom. Her eyes were colder than the ice in Harding's glass.

"I'm coming back," Anissa said, her voice dead flat. "But not to explain. I'm coming to take what belongs to me."

She tapped the screen, ending the call. She immediately blocked the number.

Harding put his coffee cup down. He stood up, walked around the table, and stopped right behind her chair. He placed both hands on the back of her seat, leaning down.

His face was inches from her ear. His voice was a dark, violent whisper. "Do you want me to send a tactical team to level the estate?"

Anissa's breath hitched at the sheer brutality in his tone. But a rush of absolute power flooded her veins. Someone was finally standing behind her.

She turned her head, looking up into his eyes. "Using a sledgehammer to kill a roach is a waste of energy. I want to rip their masks off myself."

Harding stood up straight. He looked at his assistant. "Get the car ready."

He looked back down at Anissa. "Tear the house down if you want. No matter what mess you make, I will bury it."

The black Maybach pulled up to the massive wrought-iron gates of the Roy family's Long Island estate.

Anissa pushed the heavy car door open. She told Harding's bodyguards to stay in the vehicle. She walked up the marble steps alone, her heels clicking sharply against the stone.

The butler opened the front door. He couldn't meet her eyes. His usual arrogance was gone, replaced by nervous sweating. He had clearly seen the morning news.

Anissa walked into the grand living room. The entire Roy family was sitting on the sofas, arranged like a tribunal waiting to sentence a criminal.

Her father, Harold, sat in the center, puffing angrily on a cigar. Lorraine sat beside him, glaring daggers. Her three brothers flanked them.

Ashlee was curled up on the loveseat, wearing a pathetic white sweater. Her eyes were red and puffy. She leaned her head against Anissa's second brother, Brendan, looking like a shattered victim.

The moment Anissa stepped onto the rug, her eldest brother, Cameron, slammed his hand on the coffee table and stood up.

"You actually have the nerve to show your face!" Cameron roared. "To get back at Connor, you seduced a man old enough to be your uncle! You dragged our name through the mud!"

Anissa let out a dry, mocking laugh. "When Connor ran out of the church to go hold a D-list actress's hand, where was your concern for the family name, Cameron?"

Brendan immediately wrapped his arm around Ashlee. "Shut up! You didn't just ruin the wedding. You assaulted Ashlee in the church!"

Brendan grabbed Ashlee's hand and held it up. The red mark was completely gone, but he acted like her arm was broken. "You are a vicious, psychotic bitch!"

Ashlee squeezed her eyes shut, forcing two tears to fall. She grabbed Brendan's sleeve. "Don't yell at her, Brendan. She was just heartbroken. She needed someone to take it out on."

Her third brother, Dylan, sneered. "Ashlee stood in heels for hours apologizing to your guests, and you were busy whoring yourself out in the VIP room."

Hearing her three biological brothers viciously defend the adopted sister made Anissa's stomach churn. In her past life, this would have broken her heart. Now, it just made her want to vomit.

She walked over to a single armchair. She didn't wait for permission. She sat down, crossed her legs, and looked at them with pure boredom.

Harold took the cigar out of his mouth. He used his ultimate patriarch voice. "You will divorce Harding Snow today. You will release a statement saying it was a prank."

"I spoke to Connor," Harold continued, looking incredibly smug. "If you get on your knees and apologize, he is willing to take you back. We can redo the wedding next month."

Anissa stared at him. A laugh bubbled up in her throat. She threw her head back and laughed out loud.

The sound was sharp and grating in the tense room. Lorraine's face turned purple. "You ungrateful, classless brat!"

Lorraine pointed her finger at Anissa's nose. "If you don't do exactly as we say, we will disown you in the papers! I will cut off every single credit card in your name!"

In her past life, that threat was a death sentence. It was the leash they used to choke her into submission.

Anissa reached into her designer bag. She pulled out the heavy metal Centurion Card.

She flicked her wrist. The Black Card hit the glass coffee table with a loud, sharp clack.

The exclusive black metal gleamed under the chandelier. Harold's eyes bulged. The three brothers stared at the card, recognizing the ultimate symbol of limitless wealth.

Anissa looked dead into Lorraine's eyes. "I wouldn't wipe my shoes with your dirty money."

"I didn't come here to listen to your delusions," Anissa said, her voice echoing in the silent room. "I came to inform you that I am legally married to Harding Snow."

The room went dead silent. Harold's jaw dropped. His lit cigar slipped from his fingers and burned a hole straight through the Persian rug.

Cameron's eyes widened in horror. "That's impossible. Harding Snow doesn't marry cast-offs."

Ashlee's face drained of all color. The fragile victim mask cracked, revealing a flash of pure, venomous jealousy.

Anissa stood up. She looked down at the people who shared her blood. "I am no longer your puppet."

She ignored their sputtering gasps. She turned her back on them and walked toward the grand staircase, heading to the second floor to take back her life.