"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?

The news of Reagan Royce's return had ignited the city like wildfire. But what fascinated the public even more than his return was his marriage. A wife no one knew about. She had become a subject of interest in the entire country's media.

'A mystery bride.'

'The woman who stole the most unattainable bachelor in the country.'

'Who is she?'

Rivera sat in the breakfast nook, a cup of coffee cooling between her hands, while the television on the wall dissected her life. The anchor's voice buzzed with forced excitement.

"Sources say Mrs. Royce arrived just yesterday. Insiders claim she is young, stunning, and completely unknown to the social elite circle. Everyone is eager to finally meet the woman who finally took the world's most unattainable bachelor off the market. And find out why she has been kept in the shadows for two years?"

Rivera muted the screen. Her stomach churned anxiously. She hadn't asked for this attention. She hadn't even wanted the marriage. Yet somehow, overnight, she had become an object of curiosity, envy, and speculation.

But while the world was looking at her, she was looking for someone else: her father. Her father, Robert Banks, had been missing. She hadn't seen or heard from him since her marriage. When she was in Italy, her intel told her that he hadn't been at their home either. She had searched for him for two years with no success.

Robert had always been fragile, always in need of care. After his business collapsed, he turned to drinking and gambling. Rivera had been responsible for his care.

Now that she was back in the States, she realized Reagan was her only real chance. He had the resources and the power. And, as his wife, she felt she had the right to ask.

She found him in his study, buried deep in work. When she walked in, he barely noticed her presence, or so she thought.

"I'm afraid you'll stare a hole in my head if you keep that up," he spoke without looking up. She blushed in embarrassment.

"And it would appear you have another pair of eyes on your forehead," she retorted, crossing her arms.

He finally looked up, leaning back on his leather chair. "Feisty, huh? Has anyone told you, you have a way of amusing people?"

Rivera wasn't sure if that was a compliment or sarcasm, since he didn't look amused, he looked tired.

"I need to ask you for something," she said.

"Yes? What is it?"

"I want permission and a little support to find my father. He's gone completely off the grid."

The effect was immediate. Reagan's expression changed so fast it startled her. The calm vanished, replaced by something dark and violent.

"What did you just say?" His voice felt like a warning.

"My father," Rivera repeated, confused by the sudden tension. "I haven't heard from him in years. He's not well and I need to find out where he is."

"Stop. I don't want to hear his name again. Not in this house, not anywhere."

"What? Why? He's my father. I'm only asking you to..."

"You will not look for him," he cut in sharply. "You will not ask about him. You will not mention him. Did I make myself clear?" He slammed his fist on the table. The sound made her flinch.

She stared at him, stunned. "Reagan, I don't understand. What is this about?"

"You don't need to understand. You only need to obey."

Her chest tightened in rage and regret. "This isn't about money or your precious reputation. This is my father we're talking about, not some beggar on the streets. I thought..." Her voice faltered. "I thought you wouldn't refuse something like this."

"He is not your concern anymore." His voice was so emotionless that it enraged her more.

"That doesn't make any sense. He's been missing since I married you. Do you know where he is?"

"I said enough!" he roared, and Rivera stumbled back instinctively. "You will forget he exists. If you value your peace and your life, you will never bring him up again."

"Why are you acting like this? What did he do to you? What are you so afraid of?"

Reagan turned away abruptly, his fists clenched. "Leave."

"Reagan please."

"Get out!" he thundered.

Rivera hesitated, then slowly stepped backward. This side of him terrified her.

Just as she reached the door, she turned one last time. "You can't erase him from my life no matter how powerful you think you are."

Reagan didn't respond.

___

Back in her room, Rivera lay on her bed thinking. None of this made sense. Why would the mention of her father enrage him like that? She wouldn't just sit around and do nothing. She would look for answers.

That night, she waited until the estate had gone silent. Reagan was out, so the servers retired early. She slipped out of bed and made her way toward the study.

When she reached the study door, she turned the handle. It opened. He didn't lock it. 'That was lucky,' she thought.

She shut the door behind her and moved quickly. She checked the desk first, there was nothing but schedules and merger agreements.

She moved to the drawers. They were filled with files, mostly financial. But in the very back of the bottom drawer, tucked inside a plain manila folder, she found a single, creased sheet of paper.

It was a hand-drawn link chart. Names were connected by jagged lines and locations. At the top, written in thick, dark ink, was the name: ROBERT BANKS. Below her father's name, connected by a dotted line, was a name she didn't recognize: JORDAN. The line extended further down the page, ending at a single word written in red ink: PALERMO in Italy.

Her hands trembled as she pulled out her phone and took a photo of the chart.

Italy again. None of this was a coincidence. Reagan's imprisonment, the two years she spent in Tuscany with Luke, and her father's disappearance. They were all connected to Italy and Jordan was the key to finding out why.

She didn't know who Jordan was, but she knew who would.

She needed to find Luke.