Bound By Contract, Claimed By Fate

Strings And Shackles

CHAPTER FOUR

KATHERINE’S POV

"When your cage is gilded, is it still a prison?"

The morning light filtering through the penthouse curtains felt heavy—like it carried the weight of choices I never wanted to make. I had thought signing the contract would numb me, that the stroke of my pen would sever my heart from the mess of emotions this fake marriage demanded. Instead, it only made the walls around me higher.

This wasn’t my home. This wasn’t my life. I wasn’t even myself anymore. I was Dominic Beaufort’s wife.

The thought still lodged like glass in my throat.

I sat at the breakfast table, pretending to nibble at the croissant the maid had laid out, when the sound of footsteps on marble froze me. That gait—measured, confident, infuriatingly familiar.

I didn’t need to turn before his voice, smooth as ever, sliced through the silence.

“Well, if it isn’t Katherine Fontaine. The bride of the century.”

Adrian.

My hands trembled on the porcelain cup, but I forced my expression into something cool, detached. The last time I had seen him, his lips had been on Bianca’s, the woman who was my sister. His betrayal had hollowed me out so thoroughly that I thought nothing could make me feel again.

But seeing him now—smiling, his dark eyes glinting with something poisonous—I realised hurt never fully dies. It just waits.

“You,” I whispered, my voice sharper than I intended.

“Me.” He spread his arms as though he expected me to welcome him. “Surprised? Dominic didn’t tell you?”

I kept my jaw locked. I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.

Adrian smirked, sliding into the chair opposite mine, too close, too casual, as though he belonged here. His presence was suffocating.

“You haven’t changed,” he said softly, tilting his head as if studying me. “Still so… stubborn. Still pretending you don’t feel a thing.”

My chest tightened. Don’t let him in.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded, my tone icy.

He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing in mock hurt. “Ah, so cold. I thought we shared something once, you should be happy to see me.”

I wanted to laugh. Or maybe scream. Shared? Happy to see him? He had taken everything good I believed about love and ground it beneath his heel.

“Whatever we had,” I said through clenched teeth, “died the moment you kissed my sister, Bianca.”

For just a flicker, his mask slipped, something darker flashing across his face. Then the smirk returned, more dangerous now. “You’re right. Bianca was… convenient. But you—” he let his gaze linger in a way that made my skin crawl— “you were fire, Katherine. You still are.”

Disgust surged through me. He still never feels remorseful for what he did to me. Beneath me was something worse: the tiny tremor of old wounds tearing open. Because for a brief, painful moment, I remembered what it had felt like to love him.

I hated myself for it—not a loud dramatic way, but in the quiet, gnawing way that curls in your stomach and doesn’t let go. The kind of hate that tastes like shame, bitter and metallic on your tongue, because no matter how much you want to walk away from the pain… You can’t.

“I’m not playing your games, Adrian,” I snapped. “Stay out of my way.”

He chuckled low, leaning back. “Oh, but how can I? We’re family now.”

Before I could spit back, the atmosphere shifted. The air seemed to tighten, grow heavier, as another set of footsteps entered.

Dominic.

His presence filled the room like a storm breaking. Cold, commanding, dangerous. His eyes landed on Adrian first—hard, unblinking—before sliding to me. And in that single look, I felt something I couldn’t explain. Protection or claiming.

“Katherine,” he said, his voice firm, “are you all right?”

Adrian raised his brows, almost amused. “Protective already, brother? Don’t tell me you’re actually catching feelings for your contract bride. It's not even up to a week.”

The jab was venom, but Dominic didn’t rise to it. He stepped closer, standing behind my chair, his hand brushing against my shoulder in a way that looked casual but felt anything but. My breath hitched.

“This isn’t a game, Adrian,” Dominic said flatly. “Remember that.”

The unspoken words lingered in the air—She’s mine now. Stay away.

Adrian’s smirk widened, as though he relished the tension. “Relax, Dom. I’m only here for a while. You won’t even notice me.” He slowly fixes his gaze on me, “And I won't be bothering your… So-called wife.”

The thought of living under the same roof as Adrian was suffocating. It wasn’t just the walls closing in; it was the weight of old scars pressing against my chest, the memory of his laugh when he’d left me broken. Every breath felt like a fight, every step like walking barefoot across glass. Sharing a roof with him wasn’t coexistence—it was a cage, and the cruellest part was knowing he still held the key.

I excused myself from the table before I broke, fleeing the room with the sound of their rivalry crackling behind me.

The day didn’t get easier.

Dominic announced, with that unyielding authority of his, that we would be shopping for attire for the upcoming wedding reception—a grand event meant to parade our union before the city. I didn’t argue. What would have been the point?

This was the life of a Beaufort—numbingly predictable, polished to perfection. Endless events where everyone smiled too widely, their laughter echoing hollow against crystal chandeliers. Standing with a glass of champagne they'd never drink, nodding at men who only spoke in percentages and mergers. It wasn’t living—it was performing.

A carefully curated script of wealth and power, with no room for mistakes, no room for fun, and certainly no room for freedom.

Walking beside him through the upscale boutiques of Fifth Avenue felt surreal. Cameras trailed us, whispers followed. Dominic’s hand rested at the small of my back, firm, guiding. Every time reporters pressed in too close, he pulled me into his side as though shielding me.

It wasn’t tenderness—it was control. But control that felt… safe.

I hated that part of me noticed.

“Hold still,” he murmured at one point, adjusting the strap of a gown I was trying on. His fingers grazed my shoulder, igniting sparks I had no business feeling.

I stared at him through the mirror, trying to see the monster I had always believed he was. Cold, arrogant, ruthless. But for just a breath, I saw something else in his eyes—tiredness, maybe. Or longing. Something that made my heart stumble.

I shook it off. This was business. Nothing more.

And yet, when he laced his fingers with mine as we exited the boutique—because the paparazzi lenses were flashing—I didn’t pull away.

That night, the penthouse felt too quiet. I wandered, restless, until voices drifting from the study caught my attention. Dominic’s voice, low and rough, and Adrian’s, smooth and mocking.

“…You should still be in Italy,” Dominic was saying.

“Ah, but don’t you miss me, brother?” Adrian replied. “We used to do everything together. Or has your little human wife replaced me already?”

I pressed closer to the door, my pulse racing.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Dominic warned.

“And you’re playing pretend,” Adrian countered. “We both know Katherine means nothing to you.”

Silence.

Then Dominic’s voice, quieter, almost broken: “You think this is a choice? I don’t have the luxury of playing. Without a mate, I’m dying.”

The words didn’t just land—they drenched me, shocking and cold, like someone had dumped ice water straight through my veins. My chest tightened, my skin prickled, and for a moment I couldn’t even breathe.

I stumbled back from the door, the world tilting as if the floor had been yanked from under me. My hand flew to my mouth—not to silence a scream, but to keep myself from falling apart. My heart was a wild, merciless drum in my chest, each beat louder than the last.

Dying? Mate? Human? What did he mean?

The cliff edge had never felt closer, and I was standing right on it.