Wren walked into the private room. She tossed her canvas bag onto the center of the table. It landed on the expensive white silk tablecloth with a heavy thud.

Cornelius Ainsworth Sr. sat at the head of the table. He stopped cutting his steak. His silver knife clinked sharply against the porcelain plate.

Pierce Ainsworth sat to his right. He lifted his head. His dark eyes scanned Wren's torn fishnets and heavy makeup. The skin between his eyebrows pinched together in deep disgust.

Wren pulled out a chair opposite Pierce. The wooden legs scraped loudly against the floor. She sat down, spread her legs wide, and crossed her arms over her chest.

She looked right at Pierce. She opened her mouth and told him he looked like a stiff corporate robot.

Pierce let out a short, cold breath. He picked up his white linen napkin. He wiped the corner of his mouth. He looked at her like she was a piece of rotting garbage on the sidewalk.

Wren waited for the explosion. She waited for them to kick her out.

Instead, Cornelius Sr. threw his head back. A deep, loud laugh erupted from his chest.

He dropped his napkin onto the table. He stared at Wren. He told her she was much more entertaining than the boring socialites he usually dealt with.

Wren's arms fell to her sides. Her mouth opened slightly. The purple lipstick cracked. Her brain completely stopped processing.

Pierce snapped his head toward his father. His jaw tightened. He opened his mouth to speak.

Cornelius held up a hand. He reached into the inside pocket of his tailored suit jacket. He pulled out a thick stack of papers. He slid it across the smooth table until it hit Wren's canvas bag.

Wren looked down. The bold letters at the top read "Prenuptial Agreement." She realized her entire rebellion was a joke to them. She was trapped.

She pushed her chair back and stood up. She slammed both hands flat onto the table. She told him she would never sign it.

Cornelius picked up his wine glass. He took a slow sip of red wine. He looked at her and stated the exact dollar amount of the Vance family's debt.

Wren's pupils dilated. Her breath hitched in her throat. That number was a secret. Only her father and the head accountant knew it.

Cornelius set his glass down. He told her she had two choices. Sign the paper, or the Vance family would be erased from Wall Street by tomorrow morning.

Pierce sat perfectly still. He watched Wren's shoulders start to shake. His eyes were completely empty of sympathy.

Wren bit down on her lower lip. She bit so hard she tasted the sharp, metallic tang of blood on her tongue. She turned her head and glared at Pierce, silently begging him to stop this.

Pierce leaned forward. He lowered his voice so his father couldn't hear. He told her to drop the act. He said she was just a gold digger who would do anything for a bailout.

The words hit her chest like a physical blow. Wren grabbed the crystal wine glass in front of her. Her fingers squeezed the fragile stem. She wanted to throw the red liquid right into his arrogant face.

Cornelius cleared his throat loudly. The two men in black suits standing outside the door stepped silently halfway into the room. Their massive, mountain-like builds instantly made the air in the room freeze. Their cold, dead eyes locked onto Wren, projecting a suffocating, oppressive weight that made the threat of their physical power absolutely clear without a single weapon ever being drawn.

Wren's hand froze in the air. Her lungs burned. The reality of the situation crushed her.

She slowly lowered the glass. Her hand shook violently as she reached for the Montblanc pen resting on top of the agreement. She pressed the nib into the paper. She signed her name. She pressed so hard the pen tore through the thick paper and gouged a deep mark into the white silk tablecloth beneath.

Cornelius smiled. He pulled the papers back. He looked at his assistant and announced the wedding would be early next month.

Pierce stood up. He buttoned his suit jacket. He looked at the wall behind Wren and told her his team would arrive tomorrow to measure her for a dress.

Wren didn't look at him. She grabbed her bag. She shoved past the bodyguard blocking the door and ran down the hallway.

She pushed through the front doors of the restaurant. The cold New York rain hit her face, washing the heavy black eyeliner down her cheeks.

She stood on the wet sidewalk. She looked at the bright lights of the Empire State Building. Her stomach churned with pure hatred.

Inside the room, Pierce stared at the deep gash Wren's pen had left on the white silk tablecloth. The fabric was torn, the edges frayed, and beneath it—if anyone cared to lift the cloth—the polished wood was untouched. His chest felt tight. He hated this marriage just as much as she did.

Wren sat in front of the vintage vanity mirror inside the bridal suite of St. Patrick's Cathedral. Three stylists hovered around her. They pulled and pinned her blonde hair, forcing a heavy, diamond-encrusted tiara onto her head. The metal dug into her scalp.

The custom lace wedding dress was pulled so tight around her ribs she had to take shallow, rapid breaths. She reached up and yanked at the high lace collar, her fingers trembling.

The door opened. Her mother, Eleanor, walked in. Her eyes were red and swollen. She held a velvet box. She walked up behind Wren and clasped a heavy sapphire necklace around her neck. The stones felt like ice against Wren's collarbone.

Eleanor let out a quiet sob. She whispered an apology, her hands shaking as she touched Wren's shoulders.

Wren swallowed the hard lump in her throat. She reached up and grabbed her mother's hand. She squeezed it hard. She forced her voice to stay flat and told her it was just a business transaction.

A deep, loud bell rang from the bell tower. The sound vibrated through the floorboards. Arthur, the Ainsworth family butler, knocked twice on the door and announced it was time.

Wren stood up. She took a deep breath, forcing her lungs to expand against the tight corset. She locked her jaw. She wiped all the fear from her face, replacing it with a blank, perfect smile.

The heavy wooden doors of the cathedral slowly pulled open. A blinding wall of white light hit her face. Hundreds of camera flashes exploded at once. Wren narrowed her eyes against the sting.

She wrapped her hand around Harold's arm. She stepped onto the thick carpet of white rose petals. The loud, vibrating chords of the pipe organ filled the massive church.

Wren looked straight ahead. At the end of the long aisle stood Pierce. He wore a perfectly tailored black tuxedo.

He turned to face her. His lips were curved into a handsome smile, but his dark eyes were completely dead. They looked like frozen glass.

Harold stopped at the altar. He took Wren's hand and placed it into Pierce's.

Pierce's palm was freezing. The second his fingers wrapped around hers, he squeezed. He squeezed so hard her knuckles ground together.

A sharp pain shot up Wren's arm. She kept her smile perfectly frozen for the cameras. She curled her fingers inward and dug her sharp acrylic nails directly into the back of Pierce's hand.

They stood side by side in front of the priest. The cameras clicked frantically from the pews, capturing the fake perfection.

The priest began reading the vows. The words echoed off the high stone ceiling. Wren felt sick to her stomach.

It was Pierce's turn. He turned his body toward her. He looked deeply into her eyes. He leaned in close, his lips almost brushing her ear.

He whispered that if she messed up this photo op, he would tank Vance stock before lunch tomorrow.

Wren ground her teeth together. Her jaw ached. She tilted her chin up, looked him dead in the eye, and said "I do" loud enough for the entire church to hear.

The best man handed Pierce the ring. Pierce grabbed the massive diamond. He shoved it onto Wren's ring finger. The size of the ring was completely flawless, tailored perfectly by his team, yet he treated it like a weapon. He shoved it down her finger like he was locking a prisoner in iron shackles. He pushed it violently, slamming the hard metal band against the base of her finger with a sharp, stinging pain that radiated up her arm.

Wren sucked in a sharp breath through her nose. She grabbed his gold band. She shoved it onto his finger with as much force as she could manage, hoping it hurt.

The priest smiled and told Pierce he could kiss the bride.

The entire church went completely silent. Pierce stepped forward. He raised his hand and wrapped his fingers around the back of Wren's neck. His grip was like a steel vice, locking her head in place so she couldn't pull away.

He crashed his mouth down onto hers. His lips were hard and cold. There was no softness, only a brutal assertion of control.

The sharp scent of cedar and expensive cologne filled Wren's nose. Her stomach rolled with intense nausea. She kept her hands clenched in the fabric of her dress.

The camera flashes reached a blinding peak. Pierce pulled back. He raised his hand and gently tucked a stray blonde hair behind her ear.

Wren immediately turned her head, breaking the contact. She faced the crowd and stretched her lips into a painful smile.

They turned around. The crowd erupted into applause. Underneath the massive skirt of her dress, Wren stepped away from him, leaving a foot of space between their bodies.

As they walked down the steps of the altar, Wren shifted her weight. She brought the sharp heel of her shoe down hard onto the top of Pierce's leather shoe.

Pierce's jaw twitched. A tiny muscle feathered in his cheek.

They reached the heavy doors. The wood slammed shut behind them, cutting off the noise and the cameras. Instantly, the smiles vanished from both of their faces.

Wren and Pierce stood in the center of the Grand Ballroom at The Plaza. The massive crystal chandeliers poured bright light over them. The master of ceremonies called for the first dance.

Pierce stepped forward. He wrapped his arm around Wren's waist. His fingers dug into her ribs through the silk of her dress. The pressure was hard enough to leave bruises.

Wren was forced to step closer. Her chest bumped against his solid chest. The string quartet started playing a slow waltz. She took her first step and intentionally drove her heel toward his foot.

Pierce shifted his weight instantly. He dodged her heel. He grabbed her hand and spun her out hard. The force whipped her heavy skirt around her legs. She stumbled, her ankle wobbling in her high heels.

Wren clenched her jaw and caught her balance. She kept the bright smile plastered on her face. She leaned in and whispered that he was a classless bastard.

Pierce let out a low, mocking laugh. He pulled her back in. He whispered against her ear that her parents clearly hadn't paid enough for her etiquette lessons.

The music stopped. They bowed to the clapping crowd. As soon as they stood up straight, they dropped each other's hands like they were on fire.

Pierce's older brother, Julian Ainsworth, walked up to them. He held a glass of champagne and a warm, disarming smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Three reporters from major financial networks followed right behind him.

Wren forced herself to loop her arm through Pierce's. She pressed her side against his.

A reporter shoved a microphone forward and asked where they were going for their honeymoon.

Pierce didn't blink. He smiled warmly and described a romantic, two-week ski trip in Aspen.

Wren's stomach churned at the smooth lie. She reached her hand around his bicep. She pinched the skin on the back of his arm as hard as she could.

Pierce sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. He turned his head and glared at her. His eyes promised violence. Wren widened her eyes and gave him a sweet, innocent smile.

The reporters moved on. Two older men from the Ainsworth board of directors walked over and pulled Pierce away to talk business.

Wren let out a long breath. She grabbed the heavy fabric of her skirt and walked away from the crowd. She headed toward the dark, quiet balcony at the edge of the room.

She reached the heavy velvet curtains blocking the balcony doors. Suddenly, a large hand shot out from the shadows. Long fingers wrapped around her upper arm. She was yanked violently behind the thick fabric.

Wren gasped. Her back slammed into the cold plaster wall. She looked up. Pierce was standing inches away from her. His eyes were burning with anger.

He slammed his hand against the wall right next to her head. He trapped her in the tiny, dark space. He demanded to know what the hell she was doing in front of the cameras.

Wren didn't look away. She tilted her chin up. She laughed and asked how he planned to run a billion-dollar company if a little pinch made him cry.

Pierce's eyes dropped to her collarbone. He leaned closer. His voice was a low, dangerous whisper. He told her to remember she was nothing but a purchased accessory.

The word "accessory" made Wren's blood boil. She raised her hand and swung it toward his face.

Pierce's reflexes were faster. He caught her wrist in mid-air. He twisted her arm behind her back and stepped into her space. Their bodies pressed completely together.

The darkness behind the curtain was suffocating. Wren's chest he heave up and down, brushing against his suit jacket with every breath. The air crackled with pure hatred and a heavy, unwanted heat.

Footsteps clicked on the marble floor outside the curtain. A waiter asked loudly if anyone needed champagne.

Wren and Pierce froze. They stopped breathing.

Pierce leaned his mouth next to her ear. He whispered a final warning for her to behave. He let go of her wrist, pushed the curtain aside, and walked back into the bright light.

Wren stayed in the dark. She rubbed her red, aching wrist. She took three deep breaths to calm her racing heart before stepping back out.

It was time to cut the cake. They stood behind a massive five-tier cake. They both wrapped their hands around the handle of a long silver knife.

Pierce's large hand covered hers. Wren twisted her wrist, angling the sharp blade slightly toward Pierce's stomach.

Pierce felt the shift. He clamped his fingers down on hers, crushing her knuckles. He forced the blade down into the cake. The sudden force caused the bottom tier to crack. A huge chunk of cake collapsed onto the table.

The crowd gasped. Pierce laughed smoothly. He grabbed a microphone and said they were breaking old traditions.

Wren watched him charm the room. Her chest felt hollow. She dreaded the moment this party ended and they were finally alone.