My life ended at twenty-two. Not with a bang, but with a signature. A signature on a piece of paper that sold me to a man I’d only known for one night of shadowed passion. Silas Vane. They called him the "Iron Giant" of the corporate world. He was six-foot-five of pure, cold muscle wrapped in a bespoke suit. He didn't ask for things; he took them. And now, he was taking me. My father’s debt was millions. My price was a year of my life. The deal was simple: A contract marriage. A year of playing his perfect, silent wife to clean up his image. Then, I’d be free. But I had a secret growing inside me. A secret with ten fingers and ten toes. The contract said I belonged to him for three hundred and sixty-five days. It didn't say anything about the baby. If he found out I was carrying his heir, he’d never let me go. He’d lock me in his golden cage and throw away the key. I had to survive the year. I had to keep my secret. But Silas Vane didn't like secrets. He liked possession. And he was starting to look at me like I was the only thing in the world he wanted to own. Welcome to my nightmare. Welcome to my marriage