Chapter 3. Terms of War
Elara woke to sunlight slicing through the penthouse windows like golden knives. For a moment, she forgot where she was. The silk sheets weren’t hers. The air smelled of clean marble and faint cologne. And the ring on her finger gleamed like a shackle in the light.
She was a wife now.
A wife to Damien Arclight.
The thought alone made her sit up, pulse quickening with something that wasn’t quite fear, but wasn’t far from it either
She found Damien in the kitchen.
Wearing a black button-up and no tie, he stood at the stove, calmly making eggs like a man who hadn’t just destroyed someone’s life and married the wreckage.
"Morning," he said without looking up.
"Is this the part where you pretend to be normal?" she asked.
"No." He plated the eggs. "This is the part where I go over the terms of our marriage."
She sat across from him, taking the plate only because the food smelled good and she hated how hungry she was.
"We’ll be seen in public together once a week," he began. "Galas, charity events, board functions. You’ll have a stylist and driver. Keep up appearances. I don’t care what you do privately."