Austin's hand shot up, wrapping around her wrist before she could pull away.
His skin was cool, but his grip burned.
"Do not mistake my tolerance for permission," he said, his voice lethal. "Do not touch me."
Janey didn't flinch. She didn't try to yank her hand back. Instead, she let her fingers relax in his crushing hold. She focused on the pulse point on the inside of his wrist. It was steady, strong.
He was alive.
"Understood," she said softly.
The car came to a smooth halt.
Before Austin could reply, the door was wrenched open from the outside.
The world exploded in white light.
Flashes from a hundred cameras assaulted the dark interior of the limousine. The roar of the rain was drowned out by the shouting of reporters.
"Mr. Walton!"
"Over here, Austin!"
"Is the merger finalized?"
Austin's face transformed instantly. The sneer vanished. The contempt evaporated. In its place was a mask of cool, detached power. A billionaire's smile.
He didn't let go of her. He pulled her toward the door, his hand sliding from her wrist to the small of her back. His fingers dug into her waist, propelling her forward. To the cameras, it looked possessive. To Janey, it felt like a threat.
She stepped out onto the red carpet. The humidity hit her instantly.
Her heel caught on the edge of the plush carpet. In her past life, she had stumbled here. She had fallen to her knees, and the headlines the next day had screamed The Reluctant Bride.
Austin's grip tightened, ready to hold her up or drag her, he didn't care which.
Janey engaged her core. She shifted her weight, turning the stumble into a graceful lean against his side. She looked up at him, beaming a smile of pure adoration that didn't reach her eyes. Her lips remained sealed, a perfect, doll-like curve. The contract was clear. She was an image, not a voice.
Austin stiffened against her.
"Smile," he hissed through his teeth, his lips barely moving. "Don't speak. You are an asset, not an announcer."
They moved down the carpet, a wall of noise on either side. Janey waved, her movements fluid, mechanical.
Once they cleared the press line and entered the grand foyer of the estate, Austin released her immediately. He stepped away as if she were contagious.
He turned to a man waiting by the entrance. Gavin, his Chief of Staff.
"Watch her," Austin ordered, not looking at Janey. "She speaks to no one. Especially not her father."
Janey felt a surge of bile at the mention of Marcus Roy.
"Austin," she said.
He stopped. His shoulders tensed. He turned slowly, incredulous that she had used his first name.
"What?"
Janey took a step closer. She lowered her voice, pitching it so only he could hear.
"The forecast calls for more rain. You should be careful with the cobblestones, Mr. Walton. They get slick."
Austin's pupils contracted. The air around him seemed to drop ten degrees. His gaze sharpened, boring into her. The comment was innocuous, a pleasantry, but the timing-just after he'd put weight on his right leg-and the flat, knowing look in her eyes turned it into a threat. A whisper of a secret he thought was buried in concrete.
He stepped into her personal space, looming over her. "Who talked? Are you spying on me?"
"I know more than you think," Janey said, holding her ground. She tilted her head, exposing her neck in a submissive gesture that contradicted the steel in her voice. "For instance, I know there is a leak in this wedding."
"Are you referring to yourself?"
"I'm your partner," Janey said. "At least until midnight. Our interests are aligned."
She tapped her temple with one finger. "I'm not just a placeholder, Austin. I can do the math. I'll prove it."
Austin studied her face, searching for the lie. He saw only a calm, terrifying clarity.
Gavin cleared his throat. "Sir, the board is waiting."
Austin broke eye contact. He adjusted his cuffs.
"Don't disappoint me, Janey," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Or you will regret ever being born."
He turned and walked away, his limp barely perceptible, masked by sheer force of will.
Janey let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Her back was damp with sweat.
She turned to the ornate mirror hanging in the hallway. Her reflection stared back-pale, wide-eyed, but alive.
"Okay, Doria," she whispered to the empty hall. "Your turn."
