The chaos was absolute.

Reporters had breached the security line.

Flashes were popping like strobes in a nightclub.

Elmore was trying to grab the microphone, but the sound guy-Basile's plant-had cut the feed.

Celeste walked back to Basile.

She placed a hand on his arm.

"Let him up," she said. "He's not worth dirtying your shoes."

Basile looked at her.

He slowly removed his foot from Bryce's chest.

Bryce scrambled backward, crab-walking away from them, gasping for air.

Celeste turned to the crowd.

She didn't need a microphone anymore.

The acoustics of the church carried her voice.

"Since we're all here," she said. "I have one more announcement."

She signaled the booth again.

The screen changed one last time.

A PDF document appeared.

It was stark. Official.

The Seal of the City of New York.

Certificate of Marriage.

Groom: Basile Delgado.

Bride: Celeste Franco.

Date: September 12th.

The gasp this time was louder than the one for the affair.

This wasn't just scandal.

This was business.

This was war.

Elmore stared at the screen.

His eyes bulged.

He did the math instantly.

The trust fund.

The grandmother's clause.

Upon marriage, Celeste Franco gains full control of her 15% stake.

"You..." Elmore pointed a shaking finger at her. "You gave him the shares?"

"I kept my shares, Father," Celeste said coldly. "But I merged my voting rights."

She leaned into Basile.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

It was a protective, possessive weight.

"Meet the new majority shareholder block of Franco Group," Celeste said.

A lawyer in a dark suit walked out from the sacristy.

It was Vance, Basile's head counsel.

He handed a stack of papers to Elmore.

"You've been served, Mr. Franco," Vance said cheerfully. "Audit starts Monday morning."

Elmore clutched his chest.

Ophelia was fanning herself, looking like she might faint for real this time.

Daniela was sobbing on the floor, her white dress stained with dirt.

Bryce was still on the ground, staring at the marriage certificate like it was his death warrant.

It was.

Celeste looked at the tableau of destruction.

She felt... light.

The crushing weight that had been on her chest since she woke up in the sanitarium was gone.

"I think we're done here," she said to Basile.

"Agreed," he said.

He took off his suit jacket.

He draped it over her shoulders.

It was warm.

It smelled like him.

"Let's go home, wife," he said.

He emphasized the word.

Wife.

They turned and walked back down the aisle.

The guests parted like the Red Sea.

No one dared to stop them.

No one dared to speak.

They walked out into the sunlight.

The air was fresh.

Celeste took a deep breath.

She had burned her life to the ground.

And from the ashes, she was going to build an empire.

The door of the car slammed shut, sealing them in silence once more.

The adrenaline crash was instant.

Celeste slumped against the leather seat.

Her hands started to shake again.

She clasped them together in her lap to stop it.

Basile watched her.

He reached into the console again.

This time, he pulled out a packet of wet wipes.

He handed one to her.

"Wipe your hands," he said. "You touched the microphone. It was filthy."

Celeste took the wipe.

She scrubbed her palms.

"Thank you," she said. "For... everything."

Basile poured himself a drink from the crystal decanter. Amber liquid swirled in the glass.

"Don't thank me," he said sharply. "We made a deal. I upheld my end."

He took a sip.

"Now for yours."

Celeste straightened up.

The softness vanished from her face.

"I transferred the proxy voting rights to you electronically while we were in the church," she said. "Check your phone."

Basile didn't check his phone.

"I know," he said. "But that's not what I'm talking about."

He turned to face her.

"You're moving in."

Celeste blinked.

"Excuse me?"

"The Delgado Estate," he said. "Long Island. You're moving in tonight."

"That wasn't part of the deal," Celeste argued. "We said marriage. We didn't say cohabitation."

"Look at your phone," Basile said.

Celeste pulled her phone out.

It was exploding with notifications.

Twitter. Instagram. CNBC.

The Merger of the Century?

Franco Stock Plummets as Daughter Marries Rival.

Is it Real? Body Language Experts Weigh In.

"If we live apart," Basile said, swirling his drink, "the market will smell blood. They'll think it's a sham. The stock will tank, and your fifteen percent will be worthless."

He leaned forward.

"I need the stock stable so I can gut the company properly. To do that, we need to look like a happy, domestic couple."

Celeste gritted her teeth.

He was right.

Damn him. He was right.

"Fine," she said. "But I have conditions."

"I'm listening."

"Separate bedrooms," she said.

Basile's eyes glittered.

"Done."

"No questions about my schedule," she added. "I have things to do."

"As long as you're home for dinner when we have guests," he said.

"And," she hesitated. "I want a key to my own room. A lock."

Basile paused.

He looked at her, his expression unreadable.

"You really think you need a lock to keep me out?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know what I need yet," she admitted.

"You'll get your lock," he said.

The car turned off the highway.

They drove through massive iron gates.

A long, winding driveway led up to a sprawling stone mansion.

It looked like a fortress.

Dark stone. High turrets.

Surrounded by dense forest.

It was beautiful.

And terrifying.

The car stopped in front of the main entrance.

Alfredo was standing there, flanked by two maids.

Basile got out.

He came around to her side and opened the door.

He held out his hand.

Celeste looked at the house.

It was a cage.

A gilded, expensive cage.

But it was better than the sanitarium.

She took his hand.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Delgado," Basile murmured.

He pulled her out of the car.

He didn't let go of her hand as they walked up the steps.

The heavy front doors groaned open.

They stepped into the foyer.

It was massive, with a double staircase and marble floors.

The door boomed shut behind them.

The sound echoed like a prison cell closing.

Celeste looked at Basile.

He was watching her.

"Your room is the entire east wing," he said. "Mine is the west. We meet in the middle for meals."

He turned to walk away.

"Basile," she called out.

He stopped.

"Why?" she asked. "Why did you really agree to this? You could have hostilely taken over the company without me. It would have just taken longer."

Basile didn't turn around.

"Maybe I just wanted to see Elmore's face," he said. But as he turned to ascend the staircase, the harsh light from the grand foyer caught a flicker of something else in his eyes-something far older and more complex than simple revenge-before it was gone.

He walked up the stairs, leaving her standing alone in the center of his castle.

Celeste shivered.

She had escaped the wolves who pretended to be family. But she had willingly walked into the den of the monster who had never pretended to be anything else. And as the heavy doors boomed shut, she knew that surviving the monster would require a different kind of strength entirely.