Chapter 2

Elara shoved both hands against his chest. It was like pushing a wall.

"Get off me. This wasn't part of the deal." Her voice came out steadier than she felt. Inside, her mind was screaming.

Killian didn't move. He studied her face with an unsettling calm — the way a predator watches something small and trapped.

"The deal," he repeated. "You mean the contract my family drew up behind my back? The one where they sold me a wife like livestock?"

Elara blinked. "You didn't know?"

He pulled back slightly, giving her enough room to breathe but not enough to escape. "I knew. I just wanted to see what kind of woman would agree to marry a dying stranger for money."

Heat flooded her cheeks — from anger, not shame. "The kind who needs ten million dollars. Are we done with the interrogation?"

Something flickered in his eyes. Amusement, maybe. Or curiosity.

He straightened up and walked to the window, his back to her. Without the wheelchair and the mask, he moved like a different species entirely. Every motion was controlled, deliberate — a man who was used to owning every room he entered.

"My family wants an heir," he said, staring out at the harbor lights. "That's why they brought you here. The dying wish isn't my grandfather's. It's theirs. They need a child with Blackwell blood before I die so they can control the inheritance."

Elara felt ice slide down her spine. "The contract says nothing about—"

"Check the fine print. Clause 7.3. 'The bride agrees to fulfill all marital obligations as reasonably expected.'" He turned to face her. "They were counting on you not reading it."

Her hands went cold. She hadn't read it. She'd been so desperate for the money that she'd signed wherever they pointed.

"I won't do it," she said flatly.

Killian tilted his head. "I'm not asking you to."

That surprised her enough to shut her up.

He walked toward the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. "My family thinks I'm too weak to consummate this marriage. I intend to keep it that way. Play the role of the devoted wife in public. In private, stay out of my way."

"And if I refuse?"

He glanced back. The look he gave her made her stomach flip.

"Then I'll tell them the truth — that you're not Elara Voss. You're Wren Hartley, a girl who faked her identity two years ago after running from a man named Dominic Crane."

The blood drained from her face.

Killian's expression didn't change. "Goodnight, wife."

The door clicked shut behind him.

Elara sat frozen on the bed, her hands trembling so violently she had to press them between her knees. No one knew that name. She had buried Wren Hartley so deep that even the woman who'd helped her disappear thought she was dead.

How did he know?

Her phone buzzed again. Unknown number.

She opened it with numb fingers.

Did you really think you could hide from me, little bird?

Elara dropped the phone like it had burned her.

Only one person in the world called her that.

Dominic Crane had found her.