Bound by Scandal

The Contract

Ava’s studio felt smaller than ever.

The contract sat on her cluttered desk, a stack of pristine white pages that seemed to mock the chaos of her life. She hadn’t touched it since Liam’s lawyer delivered it that morning, the sleek black envelope emblazoned with the Carter Industries logo like a warning. Sign here, and your life is no longer your own.

Mira perched on the edge of Ava’s couch, her dark eyes scanning the document with the precision of a hawk. “This is insane,” she muttered, flipping a page. “He’s basically buying you.”

Ava wrapped her arms around herself, her fingers digging into her elbows. “I know.”

“No, you don’t,” Mira snapped, slapping the contract down. “Listen to this: ‘The Wife agrees to reside in the Husband’s primary residence and attend all public events as required.’ Required? Ava, this isn’t a marriage. It’s a prison sentence.”

Ava’s throat tightened. “I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice.” Mira’s voice softened. “You could walk away. Fight him for custody. You’re not obligated to sign this.”

Ava looked away, her gaze landing on the half-finished painting propped against the wall—a swirl of dark blues and stormy grays, the colors of her fear. “You don’t understand. He’ll bury me. He’ll take everything.”

Mira stood, crossing the room in two strides. She gripped Ava’s shoulders, forcing her to meet her gaze. “Then don’t let him. Fight back.”

Ava’s laugh was sharp, humorless. “With what? My art? My pride?”

Mira’s grip tightened. “With you, Ava. You’re stronger than this. Than him.”

Ava closed her eyes, the weight of the contract pressing down on her. She could tear it up. Walk away. But the memory of Liam’s voice—“That child is mine. And I protect what’s mine.”—echoed in her skull, a warning and a promise.

She opened her eyes. “I’ll sign it.”

Mira’s face fell. “Ava—”

“I’ll sign it,” Ava repeated, her voice steadier. “But I’m not giving him everything.”

Mira exhaled, her shoulders slumping. “What’s your plan?”

Ava turned back to the contract, her fingers tracing the crisp edges. “I play his game. But I play it better.”

Liam’s penthouse was just as cold and impersonal as she remembered.

Ava stepped out of the elevator, her heels clicking against the marble floor. The place smelled like him—bergamot and power—and it made her stomach twist. She clutched the signed contract to her chest like a shield.

He was waiting for her in the living room, standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city sprawled behind him, a kingdom at his feet. He turned as she entered, his gray eyes unreadable.

“You came.”

Ava lifted her chin. “I signed.”

Liam held out his hand. “Let me see.”

She hesitated, then placed the contract in his palm. His fingers brushed hers, sending a jolt through her. He flipped through the pages, his expression carefully blank.

“You added a clause,” he said, his voice low.

Ava’s pulse spiked. “I want my own space. A room that’s mine.”

Liam’s gaze lifted to hers. “A studio.”

“A room,” she corrected. “Somewhere I can work. Somewhere I can breathe.”

He studied her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Done.”

Ava exhaled, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “And my exhibitions. I won’t give them up.”

“Your hobby,” he said, his voice dismissive.

“My career,” she snapped.

His jaw tightened. “Fine. But you’ll attend events with me. As my wife.”

Ava’s fingers curled into her palms. “I’m not your puppet, Liam.”

“No,” he agreed, stepping closer. “You’re my wife.”

The word hung between them, heavy and irreversible.

Ava swallowed. “When?”

Liam’s gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered. “The wedding? Tomorrow.”

Her breath hitched. “That’s impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible when you’re a Carter.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a velvet box. “This was my mother’s.”

Ava’s stomach dropped. The ring inside was stunning—a massive diamond surrounded by sapphires, cold and brilliant.

“Put it on,” Liam said, his voice a command.

Ava’s hands trembled. “I can’t—”

“Put it on.”

She reached for the ring, her fingers numb. It slid onto her finger like a promise. A cage.

Liam’s hand cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheekbone. “You’re mine now, Ava.”

She should’ve pulled away. Should’ve slapped him.

But the way he looked at her—like she was the only thing in the world worth having—made her pulse stutter.

“Tomorrow,” she whispered.

“Tomorrow,” he agreed, his voice rough. “And every day after that.”