CHAPTER 4
1399 Words
ZYRAN
The moment I held her in my arms on that bridge, I knew she’d be the perfect puppet—the calm I needed to steady my storm.
She’d tried to end it all. Judging by the bruises painting her face, she hadn’t just lost everything; the only thing she had left had turned on her and bitten back. Heartbroken, desperate, and empty—the weakest kind of human. My favorite kind to mold.
I’d brought her to my home and watched her recovery like a hawk. Time was a luxury I didn't have; the walls were closing in on my reputation, and this girl felt like the answer to every prayer I’d never bothered to say.
I stared at her now, my fingers grazing her sore cheek. She flinched, and something in me shifted. A flicker of raw rage sparked in my chest, but I trampled it down instantly. I didn’t know her story yet, but my mind was already pieceing together the horrors.
Either she was in an abusive cycle and finally found her voice only to be beaten into silence, or she had loved a bastard who didn’t just break her heart—he’d tried to break her body, too. I was betting my empire on the latter.
I ground my teeth, liquid fire coursing through my veins. I pulled my hand away before I did something reckless. If I kept touching that bruise, I might lose my mind and go hunt the bastard down myself. It wasn't even about her; it was the principle. I loathed men who treated women like disposable trash.
“In exchange for what?” she asked. She wasn't as slow as I’d pegged her for.
I let a cold, weak smile linger on my lips. “In exchange... you will be mine.”
The blood drained from her already pale face. “What?”
“On paper, Scarlett. For three months, we play the part of the ideal couple. To the world, you are my wife. In exchange, I give you the resources to destroy every single person who hurt you.”
She went still, fear seeping into her bones as she weighed the cost.
I stepped back, already bored with the hesitation. “The maid will be here soon. Take the night to think about it. Don't waste my time.”
I didn't wait for her to answer. I knew she’d say yes. She was a void, and I’d just given her the only thing that could fill it: revenge.
I headed back to my office, my shoes clicking against the tile in a rhythmic, predatory staccato. I passed the maids, who bowed like clockwork.
“She’s awake. Take care of her.”
I disappeared into my sanctuary—an office of black and white, the scent of old books and expensive ink thick in the air. I sank into my leather chair, the darkness of the room wrapping around me. I had a world to run. My little puppet could wait until morning.
★
“I accept,” she repeated.
Her gaze bored into mine, and I finally saw it—the spark. That tiny, flickering urge to burn her tormentors to the ground.
“Are you sure? You will belong to me for three months. No exceptions.” I propped my chin on my hand, leaning back. I didn’t know how she’d found her way into my private library, and frankly, I didn’t care. The fire in her was enough.
She swallowed hard, her voice steadying. “Yes.”
“Three months,” I stated. “You are my wife, my escort, my shield. You go where I say. You smile when I tell you.”
“And in return, you help me destroy the Collins family.”
The Collins? My interest peaked. This was going to be easier than I thought. “Consider it done.”
I gestured to the chair across from me. She sat, her lower lip tucked between her teeth as her bruised eyes swept over the room. She was taking it all in—the wealth, the power, the leather. She liked it. Good.
I pulled out the contract Anthony had drafted and slid it across the glass table. She flipped through the pages, her eyes scanning the clauses until she froze. Her breath hitched, her lips parting in total shock. She looked at the paper, then back at me, her voice trembling.
“Y—you’re Zyran Salvatore. New York’s 'King' CEO.”
A smug grin ghosted my lips. “Exactly. All the more reason why you’re in safe hands, Scarlett.”
She clutched the pen like a lifeline, her breathing shallow. “Why me? You could have anyone. Why pick a girl off a bridge?”
“Because you’re perfect,” I said simply. “You have a motive. You won't run when things get ugly because you have nowhere else to go.”
She paused, staring at me. I stared back, actually looking at her features for the first time. Her chestnut hair was combed into submission, and her brown eyes turned a strange, molten gold under the stray rays of sunlight. She was pale, battered, and broken—but her beauty was undeniable.
She leaned down and signed. Scarlett.
“Scarlett,” I said, testing the weight of her name.
“Yes?” She stopped at the door, turning back.
“Be ready. We have an event in one week. I expect you to look the part.”
She nodded. “I’ll be ready.”
I dragged my gaze back to the file as the door clicked shut. The ink was wet. Her fate was sealed.
★
A week passed faster than a heartbeat. The rumors of my mystery wife had spread through the city like a virus. The internet was melting down, and the business world was reeling while I sat back and watched the chaos unfold.
“Mr. Salvatore,” a man said, approaching me with a pathetic, sycophantic smile at the gala. “Glad to see you could make it.”
I nodded, barely listening. Every guest in the room was taking subtle peeks at me. They were waiting. They were watching. I’d walked in alone on purpose—I wanted them to think the marriage was a desperate lie. I wanted them to feel smug right before I crushed them.
I glanced at my Rolex. 8:05 PM.
Where was she?
Suddenly, the house lights dimmed. The massive doors swung open as a spotlight drifted toward the entrance, and she stepped through.
Heads turned. Jaws hit the floor. An audible gasp rippled through the ballroom. I turned my head, and for a split second, even I was swept away. This wasn’t the girl from the bridge.
She was draped in a floor-length black gown that hugged every curve perfectly. Her hair was swept into a sleek, lethal bun, and her face glowed like the moon. She looked gorgeous. She looked like she owned the room.
Her gaze scanned the crowd until it locked onto mine. She smiled—a wide, brilliant thing we’d rehearsed. It was the plan. It was the script. But my mind was already starting to betray me.
I set my glass aside and walked toward her, the crowd parting like the Red Sea. When I reached her, she took my arm, and I pulled her flush against my side. I shot a look at the surrounding vultures that told them to back off before looking down at her.
The plan was for her to arrive late and steal the show. She’d done it. The plan was for her to act like a doting wife. She was doing it too well.
“Sorry I’m late,” she whispered-yelled, her eyes sparkling with adrenaline.
The planned response was: It’s okay, darling.
Instead, I gripped her waist tighter, pulling her so close I could feel her heart racing. Before she could process it—before I could even snap back to reality—my lips crashed against hers.
It was raw. It was hungry. It was obsessive.
It wasn’t in the script, but it felt like the only right thing in the world—my lips claiming hers, marking her in front of everyone.
At that moment, I realized that letting her go in three months might be the only thing I couldn't do.
- Writer
