Chapter 2 - The Signing
752 Words
Mara POV
"You're free." Lucien's lips curve, but it's not a smile. "Divorce paperwork filed. Your family's debts remain cleared, you walk away with your dignity and a comfortable settlement."
Dignity. The word is a joke coming from him.
"Is that what you call it?" I meet his gaze head-on, letting him see the fury I can't quite hide. "Dignity?"
His eyes flash with something—amusement? Annoyance? but his expression stays neutral.
"I call it a fair exchange, Miss Quinn. Your time for your family's future." He leans back in his leather chair. "Unless you've found another billionaire willing to marry you for charity?"
The barb hits its mark. I grip the pen so hard my knuckles go white.
"The prenuptial agreement is standard," Adrian interjects gently, sliding another document toward me. His voice is soft, apologetic. "It protects both parties in case of…"
"In case she tries to take more than agreed upon," Lucien finishes coldly. "Let's not pretend this is anything but a transaction, Adrian."
Something twists in my chest. Humiliation. Rage. Desperation.
"I'm not a gold-digger," I say through clenched teeth.
"Then you have nothing to worry about." Lucien checks his watch, a subtle power move. "Sign the documents, Miss Quinn. I have a board meeting in thirty minutes."
Of course he does. This is just another business deal to him. Another acquisition. I'm a line item in his portfolio.
I look down at the contract one more time. The words blur together. Part of the first party agrees to cohabitate... maintain public appearances as a married couple... refrain from romantic or s****l relationships with third parties... fulfill all social obligations...
My vision swims. A tear drops onto the paper, smudging the ink slightly.
I think of Diana in the hospital last month, her childhood heart condition flaring up. The insurance company denying coverage. Diana crying in my arms, apologizing for being a burden. Mom's hands shaking as she tried to figure out which bills to ignore. Dad staring at the ceiling, trapped in a body that won't work, knowing his accident destroyed us all.
I pick up the pen.
"Where do I sign?" My voice is steady now.
Adrian points to the lines, one after another. I signed my name fifteen times. Mara Quinn. Mara Quinn. Mara Quinn. Each signature feels like I'm erasing myself.
"The marriage license." Adrian slides over the final document, looking pained. "This makes it legal."
I signed it without reading it. What's the point?
Lucien produces a small velvet box from his desk drawer. Inside is a ring—a massive diamond that probably costs more than my entire life before this moment.
"For appearances," he says, pulling it from the box.
He reaches for my left hand but I jerk back instinctively.
"Don't." The word comes out sharp. "I'll put it on myself."
Something flickers across his face—surprise? Irritation?—but he sets the ring on the desk and leans back.
I slide it onto my finger with shaking hands. It fits perfectly. Of course it does, he has thought of everything.
Adrian gathers the documents, his movements careful. "I'll file these immediately. The wedding is scheduled for…"
"Saturday," Lucien interrupts, standing. "Three days from now. My assistant has sent you the details, Miss Quinn. Be at the manor by nine a.m. for hair and makeup."
He's already moving toward the door, dismissing me like an employee.
"Mr. Cross." My voice stops him.
He turns, one eyebrow raised.
"I want it on record," I say, standing slowly. The ring feels like a shackle. "I'm doing this for my family. Not for you. Not for your money. For them."
"Duly noted." His expression doesn't change. "Though I'd argue the distinction is irrelevant. You're still doing it."
The truth of that lands like a punch.
He opens the door, pausing in the threshold. The city skyline glitters behind him through floor-to-ceiling windows—Ravenstone City spreads out like a kingdom he owns.
"Welcome to your cage, Mrs. Cross." His voice is soft, dangerous. "I promise you'll learn to love the bars."
Then he left. The door closed with a soft, expensive click.
I sat alone in his glass office, surrounded by walls that showed me the entire city sprawling below. In a few days, I'd walk down an aisle and sign my name one final time.
Not as Mara Quinn. As his wife.
The woman who'd dumped champagne on a billionaire and somehow ended up here—sold, signed, and sealed.
- Writer
