THE WRONG VOW

Sold To The Wrong Laurent

The silence in the Laurent mansion library was heavier than the marble floors.

Elise stood in her wrinkled wedding dress. The white silk was now stained with champagne and Paris rain. Her mascara had run hours ago. She looked like a ghost of the bride she was supposed to be this morning.

And in front of her, sitting perfectly calm in a black armchair with a glass of whiskey in his hand, was Adrian Laurent.

He had not changed out of his suit from the church. His tie was still perfect. His dark hair was still perfect. Everything about him was perfect, and that made her hate him a little.

"You were serious," he said finally. His voice was low, French-accented. "In the church. When you asked me to marry you.

"Elise swallowed. "I was drunk."

"I know. You smelled like an entire vineyard."

He stood up. He was tall. Much taller than Antoine. When he stood, the whole room felt smaller.

"Antoine is my nephew, Elise. You were going to be my niece-in-law this morning."

"Antoine is a cheating liar," she said, her voice shaking. "And your family knew. All of you knew he was sleeping with Chloe and you let me walk down that aisle."

Adrian's jaw tightened. For the first time, his perfect mask cracked."

We did not know he would be so stupid as to bring her to the church."

"So you admit it. You all knew he was cheating."

He looked at her for a long moment. Then he walked to his desk. He opened a drawer and took out a thick, cream-colored document.

"I have a proposition for you."

Elise laughed, but there were tears in it. "Not this again."

"This is not a joke. Sit down."

She didn't sit. She was too angry, too proud to sit in that ridiculous dress.

He placed the document on the desk and slid it toward her.

"One year. Contract marriage."

Elise stared at him. "What?"

"You need revenge. You need a place to stay, you need your dignity back. Antoine humiliated you in front of all of Paris. If you marry me, you become Madame Adrian Laurent. You become untouchable. No one will ever laugh at you again. Antoine will regret what he did every single day for the rest of his life."

Her heart was beating so fast.

"And what do you get out of this, Adrian? Why would you marry your nephew's ex?"

He took a sip of his whiskey. His eyes never left hers. They were dark grey, like a storm over the Seine.

"My grandfather's will. He left the majority share of Laurent Art Empire to the first grandson, who provides an heir. Antoine is trying to marry quickly to get it. If I am married, I have two years to produce an heir. If I am single, I get nothing. The board will give everything to him."

Elise felt cold. "So you want me to be... a baby machine?"

"I want you to be my wife. On paper for the first year. In reality..." He paused. "In reality, we will see."

He stepped closer. He smelled like expensive cologne and whiskey.

"The contract is simple. You live here, in this mansion. You have your own room, your own bank account with fifty thousand euros a month. You attend events with me as my wife. You do not sleep with other men. And after one year, you can walk away with ten million euros and a gallery of your own in Montmartre, like you always dreamed."

Ten million euros. Her own gallery.

Elise's dream since she was sixteen was to have a small art gallery in Montmartre where she could show young artists. Antoine always said it was a stupid dream. "Art doesn't make money, Elise."

"And if I say no?" she whispered.

"Then you go back to your small apartment, with no fiancé, no best friend, and everyone in Paris will remember you as the girl who was left at the altar. Antoine and Chloe will get married in three months and invite you."

The thought of Chloe in a wedding dress, marrying Antoine, made her feel sick.

Adrian leaned down, his face inches from hers.

"Or you say yes, Elise. You marry me. And you watch Antoine's face when he realizes his uncle now owns what he threw away."

That was it. That was the moment she broke.

Revenge. She wanted revenge more than she wanted air."

Give me a pen," she said.

Adrian smiled. It was not a kind smile. It was possessive, dark, and victorious.

He handed her a black Montblanc pen.

Elise Moreau signed her name at the bottom of the contract. Right next to where it said "Wife."

As soon as the ink touched the paper, Adrian took the pen from her hand and signed his own name in strong, sharp strokes.

Adrian Laurent.

"Congratulations, Madame Laurent," he whispered. "You just made the wrong vow."

And then, before she could even breathe, he cupped her face with his large hand and kissed her forehead. It was not a romantic kiss. It was a claim.

"Go upstairs," he said. "Sophie has prepared a room for you. Tomorrow, we announce our marriage to the family. Tomorrow, we destroy Antoine."

Elise looked down at her wedding dress. She had come to this house wanting to disappear.

Now she was going to become the most powerful woman in Paris.

She turned and walked up the grand staircase, leaving wet footprints on the expensive carpet. She didn't look back.

Behind her, Adrian watched her go, his whiskey forgotten, his eyes dark with something that was far more dangerous than a contract.

He had wanted this girl since the first time Antoine brought her to a family dinner two years ago. From the first time, she had smiled at him shyly and called him "Monsieur Laurent."

And now she was his.

For one year.

But one year would not be enough. He already knew it.

He would never let her go.