Chapter 7
699 Words
Something Borrowed, Nothing Real
The city didn’t pause for their wedding.
It rained.
A steady drizzle that soaked the courthouse steps and turned New York into a blur of gray and traffic noise. Not exactly the fairytale backdrop the press would eat up—but maybe that was the point. This wasn’t for them.
It wasn’t even for her.
It was survival.
“Last chance to run,” Margo whispered as she fixed Leona’s coat collar. “I’ve got a cab waiting around the corner. Just say the word.”
Leona gave a tight smile. “And let Vivienne win? Not a chance.”
Inside, Elias was already waiting—dark suit, no tie, a storm behind his eyes. The clerk barely looked up as she motioned them forward. No flowers. No vows. Just papers and ink and signatures that felt heavier than they should have.
Elias didn’t speak until she picked up the pen.
“You sure?” he asked.
Leona didn’t answer.
She just signed.
The moment it was done, something shifted. Not the world. Not even the air. Just them.
She looked down at her hand—the same ring as before, but now it meant something else.
A line she couldn’t un-cross.
“Congratulations,” the clerk said dully. “You’re legally bound. Don’t forget to file the joint tax paperwork.”
Elias slipped the certificate into his jacket pocket like it was a business memo. “Romantic, wasn’t it?”
She laughed under her breath. “I feel like we should go get matching tattoos now.”
He turned to her, mouth twitching with something like amusement—but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Come with me,” he said.
They ended up in a hotel suite near the Park. Not his penthouse. Not her apartment. Neutral territory.
The room was ridiculous—floor-to-ceiling windows, a king-sized bed no one mentioned, and champagne already on ice.
She walked past it all and stood by the window, watching the rain bead down the glass.
Elias poured two glasses and handed her one.
“To survival,” he said.
She clinked her glass against his, then took a long drink. “And to the lies we live in.”
He watched her carefully. “You regret it?”
“I regret needing to do it.”
“That’s not the same.”
She turned to face him. “You really don’t get it, do you?”
“Enlighten me.”
“This isn’t just a bad headline for me, Elias. This is everything. That clinic? It’s the only thing I’ve ever built. It’s the only thing that’s mine. And now it’s a tool in someone else’s game.”
His voice softened. “Not anymore. They won’t touch it. Not with my name tied to it.”
“And what happens when you don’t want your name tied to me anymore?”
He looked at her like the answer scared him.
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
Silence hung between them. Not cold. Not sharp.
Just real.
She sat down on the edge of the bed, glass in hand. “We should probably talk about sleeping arrangements.”
His brow arched. “Are you assigning sides?”
“I’m assigning boundaries.”
“Then you can have the left. I don’t snore. But I do steal covers.”
She rolled her eyes. “Good to know.”
He took a slow sip of champagne, still watching her.
“Why do you hate me so much?” he asked suddenly.
She looked up, caught off guard. “I don’t hate you.”
“You don’t like me.”
“Because you’re dangerous,” she said simply. “Because you don’t play fair. And because sometimes… I don’t think you know when you’re being real and when you’re performing.”
His smile faded.
And then, in a voice so quiet it barely reached her—
“Neither do I.”
They sat in silence after that.
Two people legally tied. Emotionally unmoored. And wrapped in a storm of their own making.
Somewhere, the city kept spinning.
But in that room, everything slowed down.
- Writer
