Signed To Be His Bride

Let's Get To Business

Alora's Pov

Lucien doesn’t tell me to sit, he doesn’t sit either. He moves around his desk slowly, like a predator giving its prey time to decide whether to run or surrender.

The folder stays between us. Seeing my name printed there so neatly makes my stomach tighten even more. I swallow hard, but it still doesn't help the nausea lingering in my throat.

“Tell me,” he says again, slower this time. “How long were you planning to pretend to be your sister?”

“I wasn’t pretending,” I answer quickly but my voice gives me away. “She was asked to come. Something came up, so I came in for her.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “She was asked to come. Not you.”

He moves to the window, hands in his pockets, and looks out over the city.

“But you didn’t correct the receptionist when she called you Leyla. You didn’t panic when you realized I knew.”

My pulse kicks hard as he turns back to me.

“When I saw George’s file, and recognized the family which he came from, I stopped wondering if you’d appear.”

I have nothing to say. Everything I had planned in my head evaporates. He always had this way of crumbling me. His gaze settles on me.

“I starting to wonder how long you’d last.”

The room suddenly feels smaller.

"Why are you here, Lo?"

Hearing that name from his mouth chills me. He’s the only one who calls me that and he knows exactly what it does to me. What's his f*****g game?

"What's your game here?" he asks.

Bastard. That's my line.

I lift my chin and steady my breathing. "I'm just a girl looking out for my siblings. We both know what this marriage is. I won't let my sister walk into that."

He chuckles and steps closer. “You don’t believe people change?”

A beat.

"Well. You want freedom for your brother. I need a bride. Besides, you never told me you had a twin who's..." he makes a gesture with his hand showing what we both know he wants to say. "She would have been better for my..."

"Don't you dare," I cut him off. "You want a bride? Fine. Let's get to business."

Lucien turns back to the desk and opens the folder. He doesn’t look at the papers immediately. He lets the moment stretch, letting the silence do it's job.

“Your brother has a hearing tomorrow morning.”

The room tilts.

“Can it be postponed?”

“Maybe," a small shrug. "I'm not the judge.”

I scoff. “Oh please. You're not fooling anyone.”

He finally looks at the page. "Even better. Closed hearing. No jury.”

I know exactly what he's doing but I'm definitely not going to buldge, so I allow the silence stretch.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says like he's talking about the weather. “Your sister understands patience. You... urgency.”

Of course he’d find a way to turn my defiance into foreplay. My throat tightens. “Fine. What do you want?”

Lucien closes the folder and slides it toward me again. This time, it doesn’t feel like an invitation. It feels like a verdict.

“I wanted to see which one of you would come,” he says.

I just stare at him.

“And now?”

“Now I know.”

I swallow. “Know what?”

“That Leyla will endure,” he says. “And you will fight.”

He leans forward, palms on the desk, closing the space between us.

“You haven't changed, Lo,” he adds softly, “I want you as my bride. If you let me.”

My anger flares. “You let me wait.”

“Yes.”

“You let your staff humiliate me.”

“Yes.”

“You watched.”

“Yes.”

The honesty rattles me more than denial ever could.

“Why?”

“Because I needed to know how much pressure it would take before you broke,” he says evenly. “And honestly, you've changed.”

Silence stretches again. Then, he straightens and moves behind the desk, reclaiming the distance.

“Sit.”

I do.

He reaches for a folder behind the desk and flips it open.

“The contract stands as discussed,” he says. “Two years. Public marriage. Private discretion. That means, no one else knows aside from you and...”

"I know what it means."

His gaze lifts briefly, and lingers. “You'll live with me,” he continues. “You attend events when required. You do not contradict me publicly.”

“And privately?”

He pauses. “In private, let's say we don’t embarrass each other.”

It’s not an answer but I nod anyway.

“There’s also an expectation of… compatibility,” he adds lightly.

I keep my face neutral. “That should be defined.”

A moment passes.

His mouth curves; not amused. Interested. “You’re cautious today.”

“Lucien...”

"Mr. Vale," he corrects.

I scoff. “Whatever you think we agreed to before...”

He cuts me off, standing and circling the desk again, slower this time. He stops beside my chair. He doesn’t touch me.

“This works,” he says quietly, “because you don’t pull away from agreed deals.”

I look up at him. “I think I'll have to pull away from this one.”

The air goes cold as his eyes narrow slightly. “Careful.”

He straightens and steps back.

For a moment, I think he'll insist. Instead, he exhales.

“Fine,” he says. “We’ll proceed… differently.”

Differently is not reassurance.

“Tomorrow,” he adds, “you'll attend a charity gala with me. Appearances matter. After that, we officially sign.”

I stand before he can say anything else. “If that’s all."

I turn, turn, nearly at the door, when he calls after me. "Talk to Leyla about how I like my things. She's good." He winks.

My legs don’t stop shaking until I’m inside the elevator. In the elevator, my reflection stares back from the mirrored walls, calm. Collected. Even up close, no one would see the noise underneath.

Outside, the building releases me. Sound rushes in; traffic, voices, horns, the city reclaiming its volume. It’s loud enough to almost erase what just happened.

I should go home. Rest.

Instead, my hand closes around my phone. There’s only one place my thoughts circle. One person who can explain why Lucien Vale spoke to me like that.

I flag down a taxi. "Cresswell Club."

*****

The music hits me before the door fully opens, bass heavy enough to vibrate my ribs. It's hot in here. Sweat clings to skin. Cheap perfume fights it and loses. Bodies presses too close as hips grinds past each other in narrow spaces. Girls in heels they can’t wait to take off. This is Leyla’s world.

I immediately spot her heading towards her dressing room. She looks up and smiles when she sees me.

“Please tell me it went well.”

"Did you sleep with him?”

"Well..." She says already walking inside.

“How many times?”

Leyla looks away. She wipes her lipstick off slowly, like it might buy her time.

“How many?"

She drops the wipe. “He fixed a hearing for George tomorrow. And it's better.”

“What other hearing? George already has one. He did nothing.” I close my eyes as fury surges through me.

“Tomorrow morning.” She keeps her eyes on the mirror. “Closed. No jury.”

My fingers tighten around my bag strap. “You slept with him for that?”

She nods once. “And others. This is good for him.”

She exhales. “I don’t want him going in there. It’s scary.”

I sit before I realize I've give in.

“He didn’t threaten me,” she continues quietly. “I wanted to.”

I don’t interrupt.

“He asked questions. About us. Mostly about you.” Her mouth tightens. “Questions he already had answers to.”

My stomach twists. “What did he say about me?”

Leyla hesitates. I already know it’s bad.

“He said you wouldn’t wait. That you’d come yourself eventually. And if you did, he’d want you instead.”

My heart kicks once, hard.

“And you?” I ask.

“I understand compromise,” she says. “It’s nothing.”

That word again. She doesn’t dress it up.

“He was careful with me,” she adds. “Like I might shatter if he wasn’t.”

My laugh comes out wrong. “That wasn’t kindness.”

“I know.” Her voice cracks, just slightly. “But it felt like mercy.”

Silence stretches. The music outside thumps through the walls, distant and indifferent.

“So this was the deal,” I say. “I stay. You stay away.”

“Yes.”

“And if I don’t?”

She looks down. “Then he lets the hearing happen as scheduled.”

I shut my eyes. “He knew you’d do it,” I say.

“Yes.” She swallows. “He also knew you wouldn’t walk away.”

That lands somewhere I didn’t brace for.

“He wanted to see which of us he’d get,” I say slowly.

Leyla nods.

“You knew all this and never told me."

“Because you’d have blown it,” she says. “And we can't afford that.”

She’s right. That’s what scares me.

“Do you hate me?” she asks.

“No,” I say. “But I can’t stand you.”

"I can live with that."

I reach for the door.

“Alora.”

I stop.

“When you sign that contract tomorrow,” she says, “you’ll be his wife. I won’t fight you on that.”

A pause. Deliberate.

“But I’ll always be his mistress. Live with it.”

My mouth opens in awe. Which version of Leyla is this? She's nothing close to the twin sister I knew, that I grew up with.

Lucien never wanted the sister who learned how to endure.

He has always wanted me.

And Leyla knows it.

She knows she was never meant to be the prize... only the buffer.

And she’s decided to hold that line.

I step back into the noise of the club, the night swallowing me whole.

At that moment, something has already shifted between us, something fragile cracks...

I wasn't sure what Leyla was thinking? I wasn't sure what she was going to do but I was certain of at least one thing, whatever this was, it was already causing a strain between us. And I didn't know how to feel about it...