Page 8 of Branded

She’s mine.

I slowly stand, button my suit jacket, and walk down the center aisle toward the stage. Every eye in the room follows me. Let them watch. Let them see exactly what happens when Sebastian Drake finally finds something worth keeping.

Lennox watches me approach, her expression unreadable. No fear. No relief. Just cold calculation, like she’s assessing a threat.

Smart girl.

I climb the stairs to the stage, crossing the distance between us until I stand close enough to touch. Close enough to smell her, something clean and simple, not the heavy perfume most women wear. Soap and shampoo, but underneath it, fear. Just a trace, but it’s there.

She is human after all.

“Kathryn? I seem to know you as Lennox, so which is it?” I ask quietly, just for her. Her eyes widen slightly. She didn’t expect me to know her, or to recognize her.

“Both, I prefer Lennox,” she says with a hint of ice in her voice.

“I’ve been watching you for months,” I continue, letting my hand come up to trace her jawline. Her skin is soft, warm. She doesn’t flinch. “The way you handle difficult guests without breaking. The way you smile even when you’re exhausted. The way you never, ever show weakness.”

I brush my thumb over her plump, kissable bottom lip. What I would give to bite it while I kiss her. Soon enough, I think to myself.

“You’re exactly what I’ve been looking for. And in a few moments, you’ll be my wife.”

Something flashes in her eyes, shock, maybe, or calculation. But she doesn’t pull away from my touch. She just glares at me with those cold, blue eyes and says nothing.

Perfect.

“Have the paperwork ready,” I demand. “We’ll finalize everything in the private room.”

The auctioneer nods, already gesturing to his assistant. “Of course, Mr. Drake. Right this way.”

4

LENNOX

Wife.

The word echoes in my head. Sebastian Drake: owner of resorts along the California coast, and my boss. My fucking boss. He wraps his hand around my hand and leads me off the stage. I’m not a girlfriend or a companion. For fuck’s sake, not even a mistress.

Wife. As horrified as I am by this, there is no doubt that he is the most gorgeous man I have ever seen. Hard, domineering, and the sight of his very large hand wrapped around mine is almost enough to make me forget the illogical situation I’ve found myself in.

God, I was so stupid to think that this was like an escort contract. High-end, exclusive, fucked up beyond belief, but still just a sexual transaction. Two years of my life in exchange for keeping Janie safe. I would survive it the way I’ve survived everything else thrown at me, and then I’d go home.

But marriage?

Marriage is legal and permanent. Marriage means he doesn’t just own my time; he owns me.

“What do you mean wife?”

He looks at me, his dark eyes unreadable. “That’s the legal framework for the contract. Surely you knew that.”

I stare at him. “I absolutely didn’t know that.”

“Really?” His tone suggests he doesn’t believe me. “The auction rules were very clear. Two-year marriage contract. Full legal rights and protections for both parties.”

“I never…” I stop, gulping for breath. “Janie didn’t say anything about marriage. All she said was there was a contract. An arrangement.”

“An arrangement made legally binding through marriage,” he corrects smoothly. “It’s the only way to ensure compliance and provide legal protection. Otherwise, it’s simply prostitution, which remains illegal in California despite certain jurisdictions’ tolerance.”

The irony isn’t lost on me. I left Montana eight months ago specifically to escape this kind of trap. My father had started making noises about suitable matches, about neighboring ranches that would benefit from a Briggs alliance, about legacy and duty and all the things that come with being born into one of Montana’s oldest ranching families. The Briggs name is feared and envied in Sweetwater, four generations of cattle and land, wealth that isn’t flashy but is deeply rooted.