Chapter 2 2.

The car pulls up in front of a different chapel—this one elegant, upscale, with real flowers and actual stained glass windows. A man in a pristine black suit stands waiting by the entrance.

Cassian Wolfe.

My soon-to-be husband.

As I step out of the car, I catch sight of something that makes my blood freeze. There, across the street, partially hidden in the shadows between two buildings, is a woman with silver-streaked hair and cold green eyes. She's watching the chapel with the focused intensity of a predator.

She's watching me.

When our eyes meet, she smiles—and it's the most terrifying smile I've ever seen.

Chapter 2: The Devil's Contract

The woman disappears into the shadows before I can blink, leaving me wondering if I imagined her. But the chill running down my spine feels real enough.

"Mrs. Wolfe?" Cassian's voice cuts through my confusion. He's standing beside the car now, offering his arm like a proper gentleman. But there's nothing gentle about the predatory gleam in his gray eyes.

"It's still Harper," I correct automatically, then catch myself. "For about ten more minutes, anyway."

"Indeed." His smile doesn't reach those empty eyes. "Shall we?"

The chapel's interior is a far cry from the Elvis establishment I fled from. This place screams money—real marble floors, crystal chandeliers, stained glass windows that probably cost more than most people's houses. Even the minister looks expensive, wearing robes that could double as designer evening wear.

"Mr. Wolfe," the minister greets us with the practiced smile of someone who's married his fair share of Vegas impulse decisions. "Everything is prepared as requested."

As requested? How long has Cassian been planning this?

"Excellent." Cassian turns to me, and I notice something odd. He hasn't tried to touch me since that brief moment at the bar when his fingers brushed mine. Most grooms would be holding hands, offering comfort, something. But Cassian maintains a careful distance, like I'm radioactive.

"Having second thoughts?" he asks, reading my hesitation.

I think about Violet and Marcus, probably still searching for me, probably crafting some story about how I had a breakdown. Poor, unstable Ivy who couldn't handle the truth about her perfect sister.

"No," I say firmly. "Let's do this."

The ceremony is surreal. The minister's words wash over me like white noise while I stare at the man beside me. Cassian Wolfe is undeniably gorgeous—the kind of handsome that makes women forget their own names. But there's something unsettling about his stillness, the way he holds himself like he's made of glass that might shatter at any moment.

"Do you, Cassian Alexander Wolfe, take Ivy Elizabeth Harper to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do." His voice is steady, businesslike. This could be a board meeting for all the emotion he's showing.

"And do you, Ivy Elizabeth Harper, take Cassian Alexander Wolfe to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

This is it. Last chance to run, to go back to my safe, predictable life of being second-best to my twin sister.

"I do," I hear myself say.

"You may kiss the bride."

Cassian turns toward me, and for a moment, something flickers across his face. Uncertainty? Fear? But it's gone so quickly I might have imagined it.

He leans down, his lips barely brushing mine in the most chaste kiss in wedding history. But even that brief contact sends an electric shock through me, and I see him flinch again, just like at the bar.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the minister announces, "I present Mr. and Mrs. Wolfe."

Mrs. Wolfe. The name still doesn't feel real.

"Congratulations," the minister says, handing us a marriage certificate that makes this whole insane night official. "May you have a long and happy marriage."

"Thank you," I manage, though 'happy' isn't exactly the goal here.

As we walk back down the aisle, I catch sight of something that stops me cold. Through the chapel's front window, I can see a black sedan parked across the street. The same woman from before is standing beside it, talking on a phone. Even from this distance, her body language screams urgency.

"Cassian," I grab his arm without thinking.

He jerks away from my touch so violently that I stumble backward.

"Don't," he says sharply, then seems to catch himself. "Sorry. I'm not... I don't like to be touched."

"But we just got married," I point out stupidly.

"A business arrangement," he reminds me, straightening his jacket. "Nothing more."

Right. Nothing more. So why does his rejection sting?

"There's someone watching us," I say instead, nodding toward the window. "A woman with silver hair. She was there when I arrived too."

"Where?"

"By the black sedan—" I turn back to the window, but the street is empty. The car is gone. The woman is gone. "She was just there."

"Hmm." He's already moving toward the exit. "We should go."

"Who do you think she was?"

"Vegas attracts all kinds of people," he says evasively. "Probably just curious."

But I don't think he believes that any more than I do.

Outside, a different car is waiting—a sleek black Bentley that probably costs more than my yearly salary. The driver opens the door for us, and I slide across leather seats so buttery soft they probably come from happy cows in Italy.

"Where are we going?" I ask as Cassian settles beside me, maintaining that careful distance.

"My hotel. We need to discuss the terms of our arrangement in detail."

Our arrangement. Not our marriage. The distinction feels important.

"About that," I say as the car glides through the neon-soaked streets. "I want to add another clause to our contract."

He raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"If I find out you're lying to me about anything—and I mean anything—the deal's off. I've had enough of men who can't tell me the truth."

Something dark flickers across his face. "Understood. But I expect the same courtesy from you."

"Deal." I extend my hand to shake on it, then remember his aversion to touch and let it drop awkwardly.

The silence stretches between us, filled with the city's distant noise. Finally, I can't stand it anymore.

"Can I ask you something?"

"You may."

"Why me? You could have any woman in the world. Why propose to a drunk stranger in a wedding dress?"

He's quiet for so long I think he's not going to answer. When he finally speaks, his voice is carefully neutral.

"You were convenient. Available. And you have something I need."

"Which is?"

"The Harper name."

My blood turns to ice. "What do you know about my family?"

"I know Harper Holdings is on the verge of bankruptcy. I know your father has been making increasingly desperate business decisions. And I know that being married to his daughter gives me certain... advantages in upcoming negotiations."

The world tilts sideways. "You're planning to destroy my family's company."

"I'm planning to acquire it," he corrects. "What happens after that depends on how cooperative your family proves to be."

"You bastard." The words slip out before I can stop them. "You're using me."

"We're using each other," he says calmly. "That was the point."