Kenia POV:

The bathroom door swung open, hitting the wall with a dull thud.

Holden’s massive frame blocked the doorway, cutting off the natural light from the bedroom. He stood there, his dark eyes scanning the room like a predator locating its prey. His gaze locked onto my red, swollen eyes and the deathly pale skin of my face.

I spun around. I grabbed the wet towel from the sink and started scrubbing it under the running water, forcing my shaking hands to keep moving.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

His leather shoes clicked against the marble floor. He had a slight limp, a remnant of his violent past, making his footsteps sound heavy and uneven. They echoed off the tile, stepping closer and closer.

He stopped right behind me. His large arms wrapped around my waist, pulling my back flush against his chest. He rested his chin on my shoulder. It was a pose we had done a thousand times, but today, the weight of his body felt suffocating.

My spine locked. My muscles turned to stone.

The smell hit me instantly. Beneath the scent of his expensive cologne, there was a heavy, sweet layer of Baccarat Rouge 540.

Estella’s perfume.

The cloying sweetness invaded my nose, making my stomach churn all over again. I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to gag.

Holden felt the stiffness in my back. His large hand moved up, his fingers digging into my jawline. He twisted my face forward, forcing me to look at our reflection in the large vanity mirror.

"Why were you crying?" he asked. His voice was cool, lacking any real concern. He was just analyzing an anomaly.

I forced my facial muscles to relax. I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, pushing the image of him and Estella out of my head. I opened my eyes and gave the mirror a weak, tired smile.

"I have a headache," I lied, keeping my voice soft. "The preparations for the charity gala next month are stressing me out. There are too many guest lists to review."

Holden stared at my reflection. A flicker of dismissal crossed his dark eyes. He didn't care about my stress. He just needed me to perform my role.

He leaned in and pressed his lips against my temple.

The kiss felt like a snake sliding across my skin. My stomach dropped, but I forced myself to lean into his touch.

Holden let go of my jaw. He turned and walked out of the bathroom. I watched him move to the leather sofa at the foot of our bed. He sat down, crossing his long legs, and unbuttoned his suit jacket.

He patted the rug next to his feet. It was a silent command. He was calling me over like a well-trained dog.

I dried my hands on the towel. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with air, and walked out of the bathroom. My legs felt like lead.

I sank down onto the thick carpet beside his legs. I rested my head against his knee, playing the part of the devoted, naive fiancée.

Holden’s long fingers slid into my hair. He stroked my scalp lazily. His other hand reached over to his leather briefcase resting on the sofa. He pulled out a thick stack of papers.

He tossed the documents onto the glass coffee table in front of us. The heavy thud made me flinch.

I lifted my head from his knee. I looked at the papers, pretending to be confused by the dense, formal English text.

"The family elders have officially approved our marriage," Holden said. His tone was arrogant, as if he were granting me a massive favor. "But my mother insists we go through the proper legal channels first."

My eyes dropped to the bold, black letters printed across the top page.

*Prenuptial Agreement.*

I reached out and flipped open the first page. My thumb pressed hard against the edge of the paper.

The clauses were endless. They were written in aggressive legal jargon, but the meaning was clear. If the marriage ended, I would waive my right to the Equitable Distribution laws of New York State. I would leave with nothing. No assets. No properties. No support.

"It’s just a formality," Holden said, his fingers still twisting a strand of my hair. "It’s just to keep Annabella quiet. It won’t actually mean anything between us."

My chest tightened. *I’ll hand her a check and tell her to get out.* His words from the intercom echoed in my skull.

I looked up at him. I widened my eyes, letting them fill with a fake, innocent panic. I let my mouth hang open slightly, playing the uneducated orphan who was terrified of legal documents.

Holden reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. He pulled out a black Montblanc fountain pen. He twisted the cap off.

He held the pen out, pointing the gold nib directly at my chest. His eyes were hard and unyielding.

I stared at the pen. I didn't reach for it. I looked down at my own hands, watching my fingertips tremble.

Holden’s patience vanished. He slammed the pen down onto the glass table. The sharp crack made my shoulders jump.

"Sign it, Kenia. Don't make me ask twice."

Kenia POV:

The sound of the heavy metal pen hitting the glass echoed in the dead silence of the bedroom.

My shoulders jerked upward. I shrank back slightly, letting him see the fear in my posture.

I slowly reached out. My fingers brushed against the cold metal casing of the Montblanc pen. The moment my skin touched it, I forced my right hand to shake.

I didn't just tremble. I let my wrist spasm violently.

The pen slipped from my grip. It clattered against the glass coffee table and rolled a few inches away, leaving a thick smear of black ink across the pristine surface.

Holden’s dark eyebrows crashed together. A hard line of irritation formed around his mouth.

I immediately grabbed my right wrist with my left hand, squeezing it tight as if trying to stop a painful cramp. I let a fresh wave of tears pool in my eyes.

"I'm sorry," I gasped, my voice breaking perfectly. "My wrist. The old injury is acting up again. The cold weather always makes it spasm."

I looked up at him, making sure the tears were visible. Three years ago, during a brutal New York winter, I had walked miles in the snow to bring him hot soup at his office. I had slipped on the icy steps outside his building and fractured my right wrist. I had endured the pain for hours because he was busy in a meeting.

Holden’s jaw clenched. The muscles in his neck jumped. For one brief second, his expression stiffened. He hated being reminded of his debts, especially to me.

I used his silence to push the papers away with my left hand.

"I can't write right now, Holden," I whispered pitifully. "My handwriting will look like a child's scribble. If I sign such an important family document like this, your mother will laugh at me. She already thinks I'm not good enough."

Holden didn't say a word. His dark eyes locked onto mine. He stared at me with an intense, predatory focus. He was looking for a lie. He was searching for any sign of defiance.

I held his gaze. I didn't blink. I let one tear spill over my lashes and drop onto the carpet.

The silence stretched for ten agonizing seconds. I could hear my own pulse hammering in my ears.

Finally, Holden let out a harsh breath. He reached over, grabbed the pen, and snapped the cap back on.

"Fine," he said, his voice returning to its usual cold superiority. "We will do it tomorrow. After the Hamptons family dinner, you will have plenty of time to rest your hand."

I let out a shaky breath, letting my shoulders drop in fake relief.

Holden stood up. He towered over me. "Estella will be at the dinner tomorrow night. She is a crucial business partner for the Dalton family. I expect you to be gracious. Don't show me that petty, jealous face you make when she's around."

My fingernails dug into the palms of my hands. "I understand," I said softly to the floor.

Holden turned toward the bathroom. He paused in the doorway and looked back at the table. "Clean up that ink."

The bathroom door clicked shut. A second later, the sound of the shower running filled the room.

The pathetic, frightened expression melted off my face instantly. My tears stopped. My eyes turned to pure ice.

I pulled a tissue from the box on the table. I wiped the black ink off the glass, pressing down so hard my knuckles ached. I was wiping away the last three years of my blind loyalty.

I picked up the prenup and flipped to the last page. My eyes scanned the tiny print at the bottom. *The female party shall have no right to interfere with the male party’s commercial or social freedoms during the marriage.*

This wasn't a marriage contract. It was a legally binding slave agreement.

I dropped the papers. I stood up and walked into the massive walk-in closet. I stopped in front of the dress I had prepared for tomorrow night. It was a starry blue silk gown. I had spent weeks designing and sewing it myself.

I reached up and touched the cool, smooth fabric. My other hand moved down, resting firmly over my flat stomach.

Holden thought he had total control. He thought I was just a stupid orphan who would take his abuse until he handed me a check.

"You want me to leave with a check and my shame, Holden," I whispered to the empty closet. "I'll make you learn what a real price is."

Kenia POV:

The crystal chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling of the Hamptons estate blinded me as I walked down the grand spiral staircase.

I gripped Holden’s arm. The fabric of his tuxedo was smooth beneath my fingers, but his muscles were rigid. We reached the bottom step, stepping onto the marble floor of the main banquet hall.

Holden’s mother, Annabella, sat in a high-backed velvet chair near the fireplace. She didn't even look up as we approached. She kept her eyes fixed on a wealthy socialite next to her, loudly discussing the bloodlines of her racing horses.

I felt the eyes of the room on me. Dozens of women in designer gowns turned their heads. Their eyes raked over my starry blue dress, followed by sharp, cruel whispers behind their champagne flutes.

Holden suddenly pulled his arm out of my grip.

"I need to speak with the bankers from Wall Street," he said coldly, not looking at me. He turned and walked into the crowd, abandoning me instantly.

I stood alone. I walked over to a passing waiter and took a glass of sparkling water. I couldn't touch alcohol because of the baby. I retreated to a quiet corner next to the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the rain beat against the glass.

Suddenly, the heavy carved mahogany doors of the hall swung open. A collective gasp rippled through the room.

Estella walked in. She wore a blood-red haute couture gown that clung to every curve. She walked with her chin held high, acting like she already owned the Dalton estate.

My eyes immediately locked onto her neck.

Resting against her collarbone was a massive pink diamond necklace. It caught the light, throwing pink sparks across the room. I recognized it instantly. It was the finale piece from the Sotheby’s spring auction. It cost five million dollars. Holden had proudly told the press he bought it for his future wife.

And now, it was wrapped around Estella’s neck.

Estella scanned the room. Her eyes found me in the corner. A vicious, triumphant smile stretched across her red lips.

She took a full glass of Cabernet from a waiter and walked straight toward me. The crowd of women parted for her, eager to watch the slaughter.

Estella stopped two feet away from me. She looked me up and down, her eyes full of disgust.

"What an interesting fabric," Estella said, her voice loud enough for the surrounding guests to hear. "It looks so cheap. No label, I assume? You really lower the standard of the Dalton family by wearing rags to a formal event."

I kept my face perfectly still. "I designed and sewed it myself," I replied evenly. "The value of art doesn't come from a price tag."

A few older men standing nearby—art investors—nodded slightly in agreement.

Estella’s eyes flashed with pure malice.

She took a step forward. Suddenly, her ankle twisted in an exaggerated, theatrical motion. She lunged forward.

Her hand jerked, and the entire glass of dark red Cabernet splashed directly onto my chest.

The cold liquid soaked through the starry blue silk instantly. The heavy red wine spread across my bodice, staining the beautiful fabric with an ugly, dark patch. Because my reflexes were slightly dulled by the pregnancy, I couldn't step back in time. Drops of wine splattered against my chin and neck.

The crowd let out a fake chorus of gasps.

"Oh my god!" Estella cried out. She covered her mouth with her hand. "I am so sorry! I tripped."

She grabbed a paper napkin from a table and stepped into my space. She aggressively rubbed the napkin against my chest. Through the wet silk, her sharp acrylic nails dug hard into my skin, scratching me.

I grabbed her wrist and shoved her hand away. My eyes burned with rage.

Before I could speak, heavy, uneven footsteps pushed through the crowd. Holden appeared.

Estella immediately let out a whimper. Her eyes filled with tears. She threw herself against Holden’s chest. "Holden! I tripped and spilled my wine, and I tried to help her clean it, but she pushed me!"

Holden wrapped his arm tightly around Estella’s waist. He pulled her close, protecting her. Then, his dark, furious eyes snapped to me.

I stood as tall as I could. The wet silk clung to my skin, freezing me to the bone. I stared into his eyes, waiting for him to see the truth. I waited for just one word of defense.

Holden looked at the massive stain on my dress, his upper lip curling in disgust.

"Kenia, stop embarrassing yourself. Go to the restroom and clean yourself up."