"Are you entering into this marriage of your own free will?" the clerk asked. It was a script. She didn't care.
"Yes," Ivy said. Her voice was steel.
"Yes," Dominik said. He sounded like he was ordering a coffee. Bored. Efficient.
The pen felt heavy in her hand. She signed Ivy Mcneil. The letters were jagged, sharp.
Dominik took the pen. He signed his name in a bold, sweeping scrawl that took up two lines. Dominik Mack.
There were no rings. No vows. No "you may kiss the bride." Just the dull thud of a final stamp.
"Good luck," the clerk said. She slid the certificate across the counter. She looked at them like they were a car crash she couldn't look away from.
Ivy picked up the paper. It was just a piece of paper, but it weighed a ton. It was a shield. It was a weapon.
She turned. Preston was still arguing with the bodyguard twenty feet away, but he looked smaller now. Defeated.
Dominik checked his watch. "I have a meeting."
The sentence severed the strange intimacy of the moment. The protector vanished, replaced by the businessman.
"Of course," Ivy said, straightening her spine. "I'll have my lawyers draft the post-nuptial agreement. And the NDA. And arrange your payment."
Dominik raised an eyebrow. "Payment?"
"For your time. For the service."
He stared at her for a second, his eyes dark and unreadable. He didn't answer. He just turned to Ari.
"Handle the noise," he said, gesturing vaguely toward Preston.
Then he walked away. He didn't look back. He moved through the crowd like a shark parting a school of fish.
Ari stepped up to her. He handed her a business card. It was heavy stock, matte black, with silver embossing.
"Mrs. Mack," Ari said. The name sounded alien. "We will be in touch."
Ivy looked at the card.
Mack Capital. CEO.
Her stomach didn't drop. It tightened with the cold thrill of a successful gambit.
Mack Capital. The "Vulture of Wall Street." The hedge fund that specialized in hostile takeovers and stripping distressed assets.
She hadn't just married a stranger. She had married a man who ate companies like her father's for breakfast. She had just tied her primary investigation target to her undercover identity.
She looked up. Preston was staring at Ari. He was staring at the lapel pin on Ari's jacket-the Mack family crest.
Preston's face went from angry to terrified. He knew.
Ivy walked over to Preston. She held up the marriage certificate.
"Tell Harris," she said, using her father's first name. "Tell him I have the votes."
Preston swallowed hard. "You... do you have any idea what you've done? You didn't just marry a guy, Ivy. You married a monster."
Ivy smiled. It was the first time she had smiled all day. It felt sharp.
"I know," she said. "He's my husband."
She turned and walked out the double doors, into the cold New York afternoon.
