Adelina POV
The waiting room of the discreet financial district law firm smelled of expensive leather and a faint, clinical trace of bleach—a subtle reminder that the messes cleaned up here were meant to stay buried. I sat rigidly in a deep mahogany chair, watching the antique grandfather clock tick toward 8:58 AM. Every second was a countdown to my ruin if I didn't secure this Mating Contract.
The heavy oak door clicked open.
The man who walked in stole the oxygen from the room. He was devastatingly tall, his broad shoulders filling the doorframe. He didn't look like a disgraced, debt-ridden Rogue. He moved with the lethal, silent grace of an apex predator, and the scent that rolled off him—ancient cedar mixed with the raw, intoxicating ozone of a thunderstorm—made my pulse hammer wildly against my throat.
I stood up, forcing my trembling knees to lock. "Mr. Vincent?"
The man froze. His piercing, dark eyes locked onto mine, and for a fraction of a second, a dangerous, possessive fire flared in his irises. He stared at me as if I were a ghost he had been hunting for lifetimes. Then, the predatory gleam vanished behind a mask of cool calculation.
"Ms. Wolfe," he murmured. His voice was a deep, gravelly rumble that vibrated straight down to my bones.
He closed the distance between us and offered his hand. I placed my palm in his.
*Zap.*
A violent, electric shock shot up my arm the second our skin met. I gasped, trying to yank my hand back, but his grip tightened. Even as a wolfless Omega, completely blind to the Pack mind-link and the instincts of an Inner Wolf, the sheer physical surge of that touch left me breathless. My skin felt like it was on fire, a terrifyingly exquisite heat pooling in my lower belly.
His jaw clenched tight, the muscles ticking as if he were fighting a brutal internal war. His eyes darkened to pitch black before he abruptly released me, taking a step back.
"Have a seat," he commanded softly.
I swallowed hard, trying to regain my composure. "I'll get straight to the point. I need a legal Mating bond to access my Pack trust fund. You need a respectable facade and financial compensation to handle your... creditors. I've drafted a one-year contract. Separate assets. No physical intimacy. Absolutely no Marking."
I slid the document across the desk, expecting him to haggle, to demand more money, or to show some sign of the desperation that had driven him to this meeting.
Instead, he barely glanced at the paper. His dark eyes remained fixed on my face, tracking the nervous flutter of my pulse at my collarbone.
"Where do I sign?" he asked.
I blinked, stunned by his lack of hesitation. "You don't want to read the penalty clauses?"
"I agree to your terms, Adelina." The way he said my name felt like a brand. He picked up the heavy Montblanc pen from the desk and slashed a sharp, illegible scrawl across the signature line.
"Done," he said, tossing the pen down. "Let's go to the Marriage Bureau. Now. Before you change your mind."
Ten minutes later, we stepped out of the building and onto the freezing New York street. The winter sun glared off the glass skyscrapers, but I barely noticed the cold. My mind was still spinning from how easily I had just bought myself a husband.
A sleek, black armored Maybach glided silently to the curb. The driver's door opened, and an older man in a crisp suit stepped out.
"Good morning, sir—" The driver, Henri, stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes widened in absolute shock as he looked at the man standing beside me. His mouth opened, a respectful title forming on his lips. "Al—"
Suddenly, the air around us grew impossibly heavy. Though I had no wolf to sense it, the sheer atmospheric pressure made my ears pop. The man beside me hadn't moved a muscle, but his eyes were locked on Henri with a terrifying, icy warning.
Henri snapped his mouth shut. He swallowed hard, his posture instantly shifting into deep, unquestioning submission. Without another word, he hurried to open the rear door for us.
I frowned, looking from the luxurious vehicle to my new contract husband. "A Maybach? I thought you were drowning in debt."
"Borrowed it from a friend," he replied smoothly, his expression unreadable. "I wanted to make a good impression on my new wife."
He gestured for me to get in. I slid into the plush beige leather interior, instantly enveloped by his intoxicating cedar scent. The heavy door clicked shut, sealing us inside the quiet, armored sanctuary as the car pulled away from the curb, carrying us toward City Hall.
