The champagne flute trembled in my hand as I stared at the man who'd just become my husband. Damien Cross. Tech billionaire. Corporate predator. The man who'd spent the last three years systematically dismantling everything my father built. And now, thanks to a contract signed two hours ago, he was legally bound to me for the next twelve months. "Smile, Mrs. Cross," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear as photographers swarmed around us. "We're supposed to be madly in love, remember?" I forced my lips into something resembling happiness, though inside I was screaming. The weight of the platinum wedding band on my finger felt like a shackle. This morning, I'd been Scarlett Ashford, CEO of Ashford Technologies. Now I was Mrs. Damien Cross, wife to the man I'd sworn to destroy. "How could I forget?" I whispered back through gritted teeth. "This is the happiest day of my life." His dark eyes glittered with amusement. God, I hated how attractive he was. Six-foot-three of lean muscle wrapped in a custom Tom Ford tuxedo, with sharp cheekbones and a jaw that could cut glass. His black hair was styled perfectly, not a strand out of place, and those penetrating gray eyes seemed to see right through every defense I'd carefully constructed. "You're a terrible liar, Scarlett." His hand settled possessively on my lower back, and I fought the urge to flinch. Or worse—lean into his touch. "But then again, so am I." Before I could respond, my mother appeared, her smile brittle and desperate. "Darling, you look radiant! And Damien, welcome to the family." Welcome to the family. As if this was a real wedding. As if we hadn't been forced into this arrangement by circumstances neither of us could control. Three months ago, everything had been perfect. Ashford Technologies was thriving, my father was healthy, and the idea of marrying Damien Cross would have been laughable. We'd been rivals since the day he burst onto the tech scene five years ago, each of us fighting for market dominance. I'd grown up in this industry, learned at my father's knee. Damien was self-made, ruthless, and determined to prove he belonged among the elite. Then my father had his stroke. Suddenly, I was scrambling to keep the company afloat while he recovered. Board members started circling like sharks, questioning whether a twenty-eight-year-old woman could really handle a multi-billion-dollar empire. Investors got nervous. Stock prices plummeted. And Damien, seeing an opportunity, had begun acquiring shares. Within weeks, he'd positioned himself for a hostile takeover. One more move, and Ashford Technologies would become his. Everything my family had built for three generations would belong to my worst enemy. That's when Marcus Ashford, my grandfather, had played his final card. "There's a clause," he'd told me from his hospital bed, his voice weak but determined. "In the original company charter. A protection I built in decades ago, in case someone ever tried to steal what's ours." The clause was archaic, ridiculous, something out of a Victorian novel. But it was legally binding: if a member of the Ashford family married someone attempting a hostile takeover, that person would be granted equal shares in the company, creating a deadlock that would prevent any acquisition. But there was a catch. The marriage had to last a minimum of twelve months, and both parties had to actively work together to run the company. If either party divorced before the year was up, or if they couldn't demonstrate a genuine partnership, the clause was void. I'd laughed when I first heard it. Marry Damien Cross? I'd rather set myself on fire. But then I'd looked at my father, still struggling to speak clearly. At my mother, who'd aged ten years in three months. At the employees who depended on Ashford Technologies for their livelihoods. So I'd gone to Damien with a proposal. He'd been in his office, naturally—a sleek, minimalist space on the top floor of Cross Tower. I'd never been there before, had spent years refusing to acknowledge his existence beyond board meetings and carefully worded press releases. "Scarlett Ashford," he'd said, looking up from his laptop with those calculating gray eyes. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" "I have a proposition," I'd said, keeping my voice steady. "Marry me." For the first time in five years, I'd seen Damien Cross surprised. It had lasted approximately three seconds before his expression smoothed back into that infuriating mask of control. "Interesting," he'd said. "And why would I agree to marry my biggest competitor?" "Because this way, you get what you want without the legal battle. You'll have equal control of Ashford Technologies, a seat on the board, and access to all our resources. After twelve months, we divorce, split the company fifty-fifty, and go our separate ways." He'd studied me for a long moment, and I'd forced myself to hold his gaze, refusing to show weakness. "And what do you get?" he'd asked. "My family keeps their legacy. My father doesn't lose everything he built. And I get to ensure you don't destroy the company I love." "You really think that little of me?" Something had flickered in his eyes—hurt, maybe, or anger. "That I'd destroy rather than build?" "I think you're a corporate raider who sees companies as assets to be acquired and stripped for parts." "Then you don't know me at all, Scarlett." But I'd held firm, and eventually, he'd agreed. With conditions, of course. We'd live together. Maintain the appearance of a real marriage. Work side by side running both companies. And absolutely no falling in love. That last condition had seemed absurd at the time. Fall in love with Damien Cross? Impossible. Now, watching him charm my relatives at our reception, his hand still resting on my back like he had every right to touch me, I wondered if I'd made a terrible mistake. "Dance with me," Damien said suddenly, pulling me toward the floor before I could protest. His arms came around me, and I was enveloped in the scent of his cologne—something expensive and masculine that made my head spin. We moved together easily, naturally, as if we'd done this a thousand times. "Relax," he murmured. "Everyone's watching. You're supposed to be in love with me." "This was a mistake," I whispered. "Too late now, wife." His hand tightened on my waist. "We're in this together. For better or worse."