The wedding dress doesn't fit. It's too tight around my ribs, like my stepmother knew exactly how to make me suffer even in this. I stare at myself in the bridal suite mirror, and the woman looking back is a stranger. In six hours, I'm supposed to marry Marcus Rothwell. In six hours, my life is over. "You look beautiful, Sera." My stepmother's voice drips with false sweetness as she adjusts my veil. Her fingers dig into my shoulders. "Marcus is a very generous man. You should be grateful." Grateful. I want to laugh. I want to scream. Marcus Rothwell is fifty-three years old, a business associate of my father's, and I've seen the way he looks at me across the dinner table. Like I'm something he's purchased. Which, I suppose, I am. My father sold me to save his failing company. And I have no way out. "I need air," I say, pulling away from her. "The ceremony starts at—" "I said I need air." I don't wait for permission. I grab the ridiculous layers of tulle and silk and stumble out of the bridal suite, down the hallway of the country club, past servers carrying champagne I'll never drink. I burst through a side door into the garden. The October air hits my face like a slap. I gulp it down, trying not to cry, trying not to ruin the makeup that took two hours to apply. This can't be happening. This can't be my life. "Running away?" a voice says from the shadows. I spin around. A man steps out from behind a marble statue, and my breath catches. He's tall. Dark hair, dark suit, darker eyes that seem to see straight through me. There's something predatory in the way he moves, like a wolf circling prey. But I'm not afraid. I should be. But I'm not. "Who are you?" I demand. "Someone who can help you." He moves closer, and I can see him better now. Sharp jawline, expensive watch, the kind of face that belongs on magazine covers. "If you're willing to make a deal." "I don't even know you." "No," he agrees. "But I know you, Seraphina Ashford." The way he says my name sends chills down my spine. "How do you—" "Your father owes a lot of people money," he interrupts. "Marcus Rothwell isn't the only one with a claim on your family. But I'm the only one offering you a choice." I take a step back. "What kind of choice?" He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Marry me instead." The world tilts. "You're insane," I whisper. "Am I?" He pulls out his phone, taps the screen, and shows me a bank transfer. The amount makes my knees weak. "That's what I'm prepared to pay your father right now. Enough to clear his debts to Rothwell and then some. Enough to make him agree to break your engagement." "Why would you do that?" "Because I need a wife," he says simply. "For six months. A business arrangement, nothing more. You play the role, attend events with me, live in my home. In return, you get your freedom. After six months, we divorce quietly, and I'll set you up with enough money to go anywhere, do anything you want." It sounds too good to be true. It sounds like a trap. "What's the catch?" I ask. His eyes darken. "The catch is that for those six months, you belong to me. Completely. You do what I say, when I say it. You don't ask questions. You don't dig into my business. And you never, ever try to leave before the six months are up." "That sounds like I'm trading one prison for another." "Perhaps." He steps closer, so close I can smell his cologne—something expensive and dangerous. "But at least with me, you'll have a chance at freedom. With Rothwell, you'll have nothing but a lifetime of misery. So what's it going to be, Seraphina?" My heart is pounding so hard I can barely think. This is crazy. This is absolutely insane. But when I look back at the country club, at the prison waiting for me inside, I know I don't have a choice. "What's your name?" I ask. "Damien," he says. "Damien Cross." The name sounds familiar, like something I should know, but I can't place it. "Six months," I say. "And then I'm free." "Six months," he confirms. "And you'll pay my father enough to—" "I'll handle everything." He extends his hand. "Do we have a deal?" I look at his hand. Strong fingers, a silver ring on his thumb, a small scar across his knuckles. This could be the biggest mistake of my life. But staying here, marrying Marcus, that's a guarantee of misery. At least this is a chance. I take his hand. His grip is firm, possessive, and when he pulls me closer, his lips brush against my ear. "Good girl," he whispers. "Now let's go ruin your wedding." --- Everything happens so fast after that. Damien makes a phone call. Then another. Within twenty minutes, my father is in the garden, his face red with anger and confusion. "What is the meaning of this?" he demands. Damien doesn't even look at him. He's typing on his phone, completely calm while my world explodes around me. "Check your bank account," Damien says. My father's phone buzzes. He looks down, and his expression changes from anger to shock. "That's double what Rothwell was offering," Damien continues. "Consider it a wedding gift. Seraphina is marrying me instead." "You can't just—" "I can." Damien finally looks up, and there's something terrifying in his eyes. "And I have. The money's already transferred. Non-refundable. Tell Rothwell the deal's off, or I'll make sure everyone knows exactly how you've been cooking your company's books for the past three years." My father goes pale. How does Damien know that? "You have one hour to make the announcement," Damien says. "After that, I'm taking Seraphina and leaving. Your choice whether you want to explain to your guests why the bride disappeared." My father looks at me like he's seeing me for the first time. "Sera," he says, and there's something almost like concern in his voice. "You don't know what you're doing." "Yes, I do," I say, surprised by how steady my voice sounds. "I'm leaving." "With a complete stranger—" "Better a stranger than Marcus Rothwell." My father flinches. For a moment, I think he might actually fight for me, might actually act like a father. But then he looks at his phone again, at all those zeros, and I see the decision in his eyes. "Fine," he says quietly. "I'll make the announcement." He walks away without another word. I should feel relieved. Instead, I feel numb. "Come on," Damien says, his hand on the small of my back. "Let's get you out of that dress." The way he says it makes heat flood through me. "I have things inside," I say. "Clothes, my phone—" "I'll have everything sent to my house." He guides me toward a black car waiting in the parking lot. "You won't need to go back." "But—" "Seraphina." He stops, turns to face me. "You made a deal. That means you trust me now. Do you trust me?" I don't. I don't trust him at all. But I nod anyway, because what choice do I have? He smiles, and this time it almost looks genuine. "Good," he says. "Because there's something you should know about me." "What?" He opens the car door, and the interior is all black leather and tinted windows. "I always collect on my debts."