The Estate's tour car, a Jeep Wrangler, approached, driven by a middle-aged Asian man dressed neatly as a butler.

Rivera adjusted tensely. This was all starting to get real.

"I asked you a question." She turned toward Luke hoping to still get something out of him.

"That would be unnecessary." His tone was suddenly cold and distant.

Rivera's brow furrowed. "Unnecessary? I spent two years of my life with you. I think I deserve more than a one-word dismissal."

"My work here is done, Rivera," Luke replied, finally turning to look at her. "You will now meet your husband."

Before she could respond, he got back in the car, reversed it and sped away, the tires kicking up a fine mist of dust. She was now left to stand alone at the entrance of the vast estate.

Rivera stared after the disappearing car in disbelief. "How dare he? I lived with him for two years, and now he treats me like some virus."

Unknown to her, Reagan Royce stood upstairs in the study of the twin mansion, observing her through a telescope.

"She looks rather plain," he murmured, yet his gaze lingered longer than necessary.

A mischievous smile curved his lips as he handed the telescope back to the waiting servant beside him and returned to his seat.

"Tell Choi to take her to the garden lounge. Let's see if the plain girl has any fire in her bones."

The Jeep finally stopped in front of Rivera. "Mrs. Rivera Royce. Butler Choi at your service," the man said with a respectful bow.

Rivera bowed back awkwardly. Despite her once-prestigious upbringing, no one had ever bowed to her like this, certainly not a man old enough to be her father.

"Welcome to the Royce Estate, Madame."

"Thank you. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Choi."

"Where is your luggage?" Choi asked, glancing at the empty space behind her.

Rivera let out a short, nervous laugh, waving a hand dismissively. "Oh, no. I'm not staying. I'm only here to see Mr. Royce."

She found it amusing that anyone would expect her to move in with a conniving man she had never met.

She had deliberately left her main suitcases in a locker at the airport. She'd retrieve it later and travel back to her home in Arizona tomorrow morning.

If Luke had noticed her lack of bags, he hadn't said a word. He had been too preoccupied with his own guilt or perhaps his relief to be rid of her.

Mr. Choi didn't argue. He simply shrugged, and held the door open for her. "As you wish. Please, step inside."

As the Jeep began the long drive into the heart of the estate, Rivera stared in awe. This wasn't just a house, it was a kingdom.

The land stretched endlessly in every direction: manicured lawns, sculpted hedges, fountains, and private roads disappearing into the horizon.

There were three mansions on the land. Two were grand, classic structures, but the third, a twin mansion, stood apart. It was an architectural marvel. It was larger, more imposing, and sat on a slight rise like a crown.

Rivera had seen wealth before, but this was generational power. This was the kind of money that didn't just buy things; it bought silence, laws, and people.

"Does this entire estate belong to him?" she asked.

"It does indeed, Mrs. Royce."

"Please, call me Rivera," she sighed.

"I'm afraid I cannot. Mr. Royce would not approve of such familiarity with the staff.

That alone told her a lot.

"I barely know anything about the family," she admitted.

"The Royce family?"

She nodded. "You cannot blame me, I only arrived in the city today. This is all new to me."

Choi straightened his posture, a note of genuine pride entering his tone. "Mr. Royce is one of the highest-profile individuals in the country. He owns a chain of companies across multiple industries. While his wealth is generational, he has expanded the Royce reach immensely through his own brilliance and efforts."

Rivera listened closely. She expected to hear fear in the butler's voice. Instead, she heard a genuine, unwavering admiration and respect.

"That's... reassuring." He almost changed her opinion of Reagan who she had decided was evil, selfish and probably gained his wealth through illegal dealings, hence the prison sentence.

"If he were merely living off his father's legacy, he would not have spent the past two years working closely with the partner companies in Italy," Mr. Choi added.

"He was working in Italy?" The irony hit her all at once, and she burst into laughter.

Now it made sense. If the country believed Reagan Royce had been in Italy for business, then his imprisonment must have been kept a secret so that his return would be seamless; no scandal, no suspicion.

But her role in all of this still made no sense. Why would a man like that pay five hundred million dollars to clear her father's debt just to marry a girl he had never met?

The Jeep stopped in front of the twin mansion. A line of the mansion's servers stood at the entrance.

"Welcome to the twin mansion, Mrs. Royce," they chorused, bowing in unison.

She offered a polite smile and bowed back, her mind raced as she struggled to keep up with the names they recited as they introduced themselves. By the time the third maid had finished, Rivera's brain was a fog of "Yes, thank you" and "Nice to meet you."

Everything felt overwhelming and surreal. Still, there was something oddly comforting about it.

Inside, the mansion was breathtaking: classic, refined and sophisticated.

"He has good taste. He's probably old-fashioned too, like Dad," she whispered to herself. She found that strangely charming.

"This way, Madame," Choi said, leading her toward the rear of the house to a stunning garden porch.

"Please, wait here. Mr. Royce will be with you shortly."

She was served tea while she waited. Minutes passed, then she faintly heard footsteps from inside. The maids stiffened. A heavy door opened somewhere in the mansion.

Rivera set the teacup down slowly, her fingers trembling.

Her husband was finally coming.

"Why is Mr. Reagan not here yet?" Rivera asked one of her attendants a while later when her host failed to show up.

"Impatient?" a deep baritone voice teased from behind her.

She turned around sharply. The man standing behind her was the most gorgeous man she had ever seen.

It was him indeed, the man whose face had dominated the billboards all over the city, only now, standing before her in flesh and blood. She realized how poorly those digital images had captured him. They were a pale, flat imitation of the man in the flesh.

He had god-like features; sharp cheekbones, perfectly sculpted lips and cold grey eyes that seemed to see straight through her. He was dressed in tailored trousers and a black silk shirt with the top buttons undone.

His skin had a bronzed, healthy glow that seemed impossible for a man who had supposedly spent two years in a cell. His tall, broad frame screamed power and dominance. Rivera found herself momentarily frozen and staring at him.

"Reagan Royce?" she asked breathlessly.

He nodded slowly, A lazy, arrogant smirk tugged at the corner of his perfectly sculpted lips.

This man... is my husband?

She felt an involuntary shiver race down her spine, a confusing cocktail of pure, unadulterated fear and a sudden, violent spark of attraction that she absolutely loathed herself for feeling.

She hadn't expected this. She had imagined wealth, yes, cold money, influence, status, but not this. Not a man whose presence alone made it difficult to breathe.

Reagan smiled inwardly in triumph. This reaction was familiar. He always had this effect on people, especially women. Still, there was something oddly satisfying about seeing it work on her.

And now that he was closer, he realized she wasn't plain at all. On the contrary, Rivera Royce was strikingly beautiful. She was what people described as an exotic beauty with her long wavy hair and expressive green eyes.

Her beauty was a sharp contrast to the polished, plastic socialites he usually dealt with. He's got a pretty wife and that would look good on his social status, but beyond that, he would have no more use for a wife.

He dismissed the attendants with a subtle wave of his hand, then casually took the seat beside her, crossing one leg over the other.

"You look like you have a thousand questions," he remarked.

"You bet! I think we should start with proper introductions. It's our first time meeting, despite the fact that we've been married for two years." She didn't try to hide the sarcasm in her voice.

"That won't be necessary." He sounded flat, and her ego took a hit. It was almost insulting how he dismissed her before even hearing her point. How could he show so little interest in his own wife?

Nonchalance seemed to be one thing he had in common with his best friend, but he was obviously more obnoxious than Luke. Luke had been distant, Reagan was outright dismissive.

"I'm curious about something," Rivera stubbornly maintained, as she straightened her posture.

"Luke mentioned you were in prison in Italy during the two years of our marriage. I figured that not many people knew that. I won't ask how you ended up there, but I want to know why you chose me."

She leaned forward, searching his eyes. "You don't seem like the type to do things randomly. There had to be a catch."

Reagan studied her quietly before responding.

"You're right, I had my reservations about marriage. I didn't want to marry at the time, but the situation required it and I trusted my father to find me someone suitable who is capable of keeping my secret."

He didn't sound too evasive this time and Rivera was relieved that perhaps they're getting somewhere.

"If you trusted me to keep your jail time a secret from the public, then you should have told me the whole truth. Instead, you deceived me. You handed me to your best friend and both of you mocked me by lying to my face every day for two years," she snapped.

"I doubt telling you would have changed anything." His arrogant tone had returned and Rivera's eyes blazed with anger.

"Are you saying you assumed you had completely bought my willpower with your money?"

He leaned forward suddenly, invading her space, his face inches from hers. The scent of him, something expensive and masculine, swirled around her, making her heart skip.

"Well, have I not?" he said softly, dangerously.

Their eyes locked. For a heartbeat too long, Rivera forgot her anger. His gaze was intense and she felt herself slipping. She felt this dangerous pull towards him.

That was when she realized he wasn't just using his money to sweep things under the carpet, he was using his charm and for a moment there, it almost worked.

She snapped out of it abruptly, standing up and stepping back. She needed space to breathe, to think.

"No, you haven't. I married you because you saved my family, and I'll always be grateful for that. But you had no right to strip me of my choice. You should have told me the conditions of this marriage, so I'd decide for myself if I wanted this."

Rivera knew that some powerful men prefer wives whose silence could be bought, who wouldn't have the social standing to cause a scandal, and who would be grateful enough to stay exactly where they put them.

But she was simply not that kind of girl. Her background may be humble, but she wasn't, if only he knew.

Reagan didn't speak. He just watched her with a cold, steady interest. He liked the way her eyes lit up when she was angry. The anger was a contrast to his expectations of her reactions when they would meet. He had expected his wealth, looks and charm to intimidate her into surrender. But she wasn't that easy.

After a long moment, he stood up and walked toward her.

"I found myself in a situation where marriage was the only thing that could protect my reputation."

"You're still only talking about how it benefited you. What about me?" she pointed out.

It didn't look like she'd get any apologies out of him, especially since he thinks that he had bought her with his money.

"Trust me, it had more to do with you than you know," he told her.

"What are you talking about?"

"You wanted the truth but trust me, you won't be able to handle it."

"Try me," she challenged, her chin lifting. "I think I've earned the right to know what I'm actually involved in."

"Once you know it, there will be no going back. You won't just be my wife, you'll become my accomplice. He leaned in, his lips hovering just an inch from hers, the tension between them stretched to a breaking point. "Do you still want to know?"

"I hate suspense. I still want my answers," Rivera insisted. To her, satisfying her curiosity was more important than whatever consequences the answers she sought bore.

"But I live for suspense." He stepped closer and reached out, his fingers catching a stray lock of her hair. It was a slow, deliberate gesture. Rivera wanted to flinch, and swat his hand away, but her body wouldn't obey.

She hated that this man, this cruel, arrogant stranger knew exactly what he was doing to her. His words were cruel but his touch was gentle, calculated and mesmerizing.

'He's bad for you,' a voice screamed in the back of her mind.

"Have you ever considered that maybe you've trusted my discretion too much?"

"Hmm," he hummed softly as his fingers slid from her hair to her cheeks.

"I could easily go out there and tell my side of this story. Imagine how bad that'd look for you. It makes me wonder if you're not really as thorough as you think you are," she pushed, even though her heart hammering against her ribs.

She didn't know where she found the courage to threaten a man like him, but if it's what would lead her to get her answers, then she didn't mind.

She needed to scare him into surrender, and she expected anger, but he didn't seem threatened. He seemed captivated. Slowly, he withdrew his hand, only to trail his knuckles down the line of her jaw with a light, maddening touch.

"You're a daring darling, aren't you?" he said instead. "I actually love that."

Rivera didn't understand why a threat like this would amuse him. He obviously looked down on her.

"You think I wouldn't do it?" Rivera frowned, her skin still buzzing where he'd touched her.

"No. I think you simply haven't read the marriage contract you signed two years ago."

"What marriage contract?"

"The one stating that as long as you're married to me, you are obligated to obey my directives, protect my secrets and uphold my reputation." Her eyes widened. Reagan's voice went cold, the playfulness vanishing. "If you breach that contract, you are required to repay every cent I've ever given your family, plus damages. Immediately."

"What?" Rivera felt the blood drain from her face. She stumbled back, her heels clicking sharply against the stone.

That document was the paper she signed on her wedding day. She had thought it was just a marriage certificate. She wished she had listened when her gut screamed at her then to back out of this marriage.

With no means to pay back such an amount, she'd become nothing but a mere slave to this stranger.

"I've been a complete fool to expect decency from a man like you," was her bitter response.

"A man like me?"

"Yes. A man who hands his wife to his best friend and expects that nothing will happen between them for two years."

His expression darkened instantly.

"I guess your reputation is the only thing you care about. It makes me wonder what exactly you did to end up in prison," Rivera added.

"What do you mean by 'expect nothing to happen between them'?" he demanded sharply. He stepped toward her again, but this time, there was no gentle touch.

She paused, then smiled. That smile unsettled him. Finally, it seemed she had found some sort of weakness to poke at.

"You can never be entirely sure, can you? What if I told you that while you were away, Luke and I were together in every way a husband and wife should be?"

Reagan stiffened. "That's impossible."

"Is it? You may not trust me, but do you trust him that much? Two years is a long time to live with a woman and keep your hands off her."

"Of course, I trust Luke." Reagan knew that Luke would never betray him, but something wavered beneath his certainty.

She clicked her tongue mockingly. "You know, you're more naive than you look."

That did it. In one swift movement, Reagan grabbed her, pulling her against his chest. His grip was firm and possessive. She could feel the hard line of his body, the heat radiating off him, and the sheer, suppressed violence in his grip.

"What happened between you and Luke?"

Rivera struggled, but he was like a wall of granite. She realized fighting was useless, so she went still, meeting his stormy gaze with a coldness of her own. "What do you think? If you're so worried, go ask him."

He released her. She straightened her dress and lifted her chin. She was ready to make her demands now.

"If you divorce me, you won't have to worry about any of that. And I'd never tell a soul about your secret or that I was ever your wife. None of this will matter. I'll go back to Arizona. You keep your secrets, I keep my freedom."

The suggestion stunned him. Women had always begged to stay, never to leave. She was different.

"I'll never divorce you. Divorce would damage my reputation." His voice had a time of finality. Her heart sank. "And you won't be leaving this estate without my consent. You are my wife. Public sentiment matters. I cannot have you roaming freely."

She stared at him in disbelief. "So I'm just property?"

"You will obey my terms. Unless you have a way of repaying me in a month's time."

"A month! That's outrageous," she protested. She wouldn't be able to pay that amount of money back even if she put everything she had for sale and worked tirelessly for the rest of her life.

"That's what the contract says. You know, you don't strike me as a dull one. You should have read through that paper before you signed it. Even a child knows that much."

"Well, unlike manipulative men like you, I didn't expect a contract to be hidden in an innocent wedding certificate," she shot back.

"Fair point, but life's unfair Rivera. I hope you'll always remember that, because you'd need some real grit to get through it." He then summoned one of the live-in staff who was about Rivera's age.

"Isabel. You'll be in charge of Mrs. Royce. Help her settle in. Take her shopping tomorrow. She won't need her old belongings any longer."

"I'm not your prisoner," Rivera said with a shaky, defeated voice as Reagan turned to leave.

He paused, then, without looking back, said, "You are now."

Rivera could see it now that Reagan is nothing like Luke. He's a cruel man with no empathy, and she was not doubtful that he would make her life a living hell.

Upstairs, Reagan restlessly paced his bedroom. He stopped by the window and looked down at her small figure below.

Was I too hard on her? How could she not remember me? After everything.

Then his thoughts drifted back to her words about Luke. Luke hadn't called or come to see him. That wasn't like him. It was suspicious.

Could something have really happened between them?