The Wolfe's Contract Bride

ChapterFour

Lina's Point Of View

After the wedding, Kieran didn't do me the honours of taking me back to the penthouse from city hall. I remember how he pulled his phone out of his pocket and left like he wasn't leaving someone behind.

"Looks like I'm in charge of you, Miss Lina. Sorry, you're Mrs Wolfe now."

I turned to find Miguel watching me, his dark ponytail gleaming in the sunlight. The way he said the name made my stomach twist.

"Please, just call me Lina, Miguel." I said to him and he almost smiles. "As much as I want to, I can't. You're legally bound to Mr. Wolfe now and we don't want people talking, do we?"

I nodded, understanding his sentiment, "Only when we're alone then."

His lips twitched as he opened the town car door.

"Not exactly the fairytale wedding, huh?"

I sighed, nodding at his question. The ride to the penthouse was silent. I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, watching the city blur past. My reflection stared back—dark circles under my eyes, the fading bruise on my cheekbone, lips still slightly swollen from where I'd bitten them during the ceremony.

When we arrived, Miguel gave me the world's shortest tour. "Kitchen. Living room. Your room." He paused at the end of the hall. "East wing is off-limits."

I eyed the shadowy corridor. "Does Kieran sleep there?"

"Not your concern." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Sweet dreams, Lina."

The guest room was bigger than my entire apartment. I sat on the edge of the bed, running my fingers over the silken duvet. The mattress swallowed me whole when I finally lay down, but sleep didn't come. I got off the bed, feeling highly stressed. I left my room and went to the kitchen. Everywhere was silent, almost empty. I tried to get something old but I didn't know how to operate the freezer. I tapped, pulled, knocked? I let out a frustrated puff. In the end, I got water from the tap and it did it's job.

I would've loved to cook something right now but I don't even know how anything works in here. I was very hungry. As I left the kitchen, I felt a presence watching me but when I turned, I saw no one. Maybe just my imagination. I went back up to my room and laid in bed until I eventually slept off.

***

Morning light stabbed through the curtains. I was halfway through rubbing the sleep from my eyes when a soft knock came at the door.

"Come in."

A maid entered with a silver tray, her eyes carefully averted. "Mr. Wolfe requested you be ready by noon, ma'am." She set the tray down and left before I could ask questions.

Beneath the domed lid, next to perfectly poached eggs, was a note:

*Dress fitting at noon. Do not embarrass me.*

The eggs turned to ash in my mouth. Asshole. Yes, this was a marriage of convenience. I know this was nothing but a contract but how could he just leave me here all night and then send a stupid note? I sighed, I should be glad he wasn't even here. His arrogance is suffocatingly vexing. I stepped into the bathroom and washed myself clean before I ate my food.

Miguel appeared exactly at eleven forty-five, looking faintly amused as I emerged from my room in the same clothes from yesterday. "Good morning, Lina,"

I smiled brightly at him, "Had a nice rest, Miguel?"

He shrugged, "it was the same as ever. Stylist's waiting," he said, leading me down the hall.

I hesitated. "I need to get some things from my old apartment."

"Boss's orders." He didn't look back. "You're not going back there."

"But... But can I talk to him about it?"

"That's up to you,"

The dressing room smelled like leather and expensive perfume. The stylist - a razor-thin woman with spider-leg eyelashes - circled me like a shark.

"Arms up," she commanded, holding out a slip of silver fabric.

The dress slithered over my skin like liquid metal. I barely recognized the woman in the mirror - her hair sleek, bruises concealed, lips stained a deep red.

"You'll do," the stylist sniffed, adjusting a strap.

Miguel reappeared as she was pinning my hair. "Car's here."

***

Kieran was already in the limo when I descended the stairs. He didn't look up from his phone as I slid in beside him, the dress squeaking against the leather seats.

For the first time, I really looked at him - the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his tuxedo hugged his broad shoulders, the long fingers tapping impatiently against his knee. The way his thick eyebrows were furrowed told me he wherever we were going didn't interest him. He turned to me, his amber eyes meeting mine. I was too stunned to turn away. God, he was handsome. He looked me up and down and smirked faintly. "Money does elevate even the lowest of the lows."

I frowned. He may be handsome but his personality sure is ugly.

"Try not to faint," he said as he glanced away. "It's bad for my image."

The limo pulled in front of the gala hall and Kieran stepped out first. He came to open the door for me - a gesture I didn't expect. But when I stepped out and saw the amount of camera flashes that ambushed us, I knew why he did what he did. It was hard keeping my eyes open. My grip on Kieran's arm tightened as he led me into the hall.

The gala was a whirlwind of crystal and champagne. Everywhere smelled like rich perfumes and private yachts. Kieran abandoned me the moment we stepped inside, leaving me to clutch a flute I didn't dare drink. Whispers followed me like ghosts:

"Who is she?"

"Another one of Wolfe's strays?"

I looked around, but there was no one I knew around. Where was Miguel? Oh Lord. I was loosing my balance when someone steadied me. "Whoa, easy there."

I turned and came face-to-face with an elderly man. "S... Sorry,"

The elderly man's grip on my elbow was firmer than necessary, his thumb pressing into the tender spot where Uriel had pinched me last week. Up close, I could see the family resemblance — the same sharp cheekbones as Kieran, though time had softened his into jowls. His cologne smelled like cigars and something medicinal.

"Easy there, my dear," he said, voice dripping with false concern. "These galas can be overwhelming for... newcomers."

I pulled my arm back gently. "Thank you, Mr...?"

"Wolfe. Victor Wolfe." His smile didn't reach his watery blue eyes. "But you must call me Victor. After all, we're practically family now."

Ice slithered down my spine. Kieran's uncle. I swallowed. We're practically family now? Has Kieran told everyone we were married? Our 'marriage' was a very private one.

"You're the first wife who hasn't flinched when I introduce myself," he mused, plucking two champagne flutes from a passing tray. He handed me one. This man really knew us. But first wife? Were there other wives?

"Then again, my nephew usually marries women who know what they're signing up for."

The bubbles burned my throat as I forced a sip. "And what is that?"

"Power." His gaze flicked over my shoulder... toward where Kieran stood surrounded by investors. "Though I suspect he forgot to mention you're his fourth wife?"

The flute nearly slipped from my fingers.

Victor leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. "The others all signed NDAs, of course. But between us?" A chuckle. "The second one lasted only three days before she—"

"Lina."

Kieran's voice cut through the chatter like a blade. He materialized beside me, his hand settling at the small of my back—a possessive touch that sent heat radiating through the thin fabric of my dress.

"Uncle." The word was a warning.

Victor straightened, raising his glass in mock salute. "Nephew. I was just welcoming your lovely bride to the family."

Kieran's fingers flexed against my spine. "How... thoughtful."

The tension between them thickened until Victor finally sighed. "Well! I should mingle before Dinah's announcement." He winked at me. "Do try the caviar, dear. It's worth more than his life."

His life? Who is he?

As he melted into the crowd, Kieran's grip tightened. "What did he say to you?"

I stared at the retreating figure. "He implied you're a serial groom."

A muscle jumped in Kieran's jaw. "And you believed him?"

Before I could answer, the lights dimmed. A spotlight illuminated the grand staircase where and elderly woman stood, gripping a beautiful woman by her hand.

"Tonight," she declared, "we celebrate my grandson's engagement to a lady who is like a daughter to me."

What is going on? I turned to Kieran confused and I almost flinched at the daggers he was throwing at his grandmother.

"Vanessa Cyril!" The woman beside her smiled, bowing curtly. If she is going to be engaged to him, what about me?

"Ki..." I tried to call but all that came out was a yelp as he pulled me to the stage. The microphone screeched as Kieran snatched it from the podium.

"Apologies for the interruption, Grandmother." His voice was dangerously smooth. "But I believe you've mistaken my wife for someone else."

The crowd gasped as he dragged me onto the stage. Vanessa's smile turned murderous.

Then—rip

My dress strap snapped, sending the bodice sliding dangerously low. Kieran's tuxedo jacket enveloped me before the cameras could flash, pulling me closer by my waist. For a moment, his eyes softened and his touch around my waist was tender, as if I was something delicate.

"What is the meaning of this, Kieran!" His grandmother yelled.

"You heard what I said." He faced the countless camera flashes, his hand resting on the dip of my back, "She is my wife. We got married yesterday,"

Vanessa's champagne flute shattered on the marble.