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The words come easily because I’ve spent the entire night making them sound reasonable inside my own head. I’ve reduced her to qualifications, circumstances, and advantages—the exact way I would evaluate a business merger or acquisition. It worked until this morning when she stared at me with a trembling lower lip, the blood draining from her face as the reality crashed down on her, her thighs clenching upon realizing that she would be my wife in every sense of the word.

Those details are irrelevant. They have to be.

“It’s a business arrangement, nothing more,” I continue. “She wears my ring and provides an heir. I provide the means. It solves the problem for all of us. At least, for now.”

Xander nods slowly, a gesture of grim acceptance. “It’s a Roman solution. I suppose it’s fitting.” He looks at me, his gaze piercing. “But you will be the one living with her. You are the one stuck with her. Make sure you can handle what you’ve bought.”

“I can handle her,” I insist definitively. “Kaden, I need you to arrange a moving company. Discreetly. They need to clear out her apartment and have her moved into the penthouse by Saturday. No questions. I want her old life packed up and gone by the time she’s my wife.”

Kaden sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Fine. But if this blows up in our faces, I’m killing you myself. That doesn’t violate the asshole’s will, does it?”

“Noted,” I reply, pulling out my phone. I have calls to make, other strings to pull. “I’ll handle the legal end.”

I spend the next hour making calls. The first is to a judge I once helped out of a particularly messy, very public, divorce. The second is to the head of the County Clerk’s office, a man whose daughter’s boutique on the Magnificent Mile I anonymously purchased for her last Christmas. Both men are exceedingly accommodating to favors. By the time I end the second call, an expedited marriage license is in the works, and a judge is confirmed to officiate a small, private ceremony in three days.

It’s just as Roman would have wanted it: efficient and utterly devoid of genuine emotion.

With the logistics in motion, I turn my attention back to the final piece of the puzzle. Sophia. I need to inform her of the moving arrangements and, more importantly, manage the narrative with her sister. Kierra needs to believe this is a whirlwind romance, not a hostile takeover. Her presence at the wedding is crucial for the illusion. I pull up Sophia’s number, my fingers moving across the screen with a predator’s precision.

Take the day off tomorrow. The movers will be at your apartment at 10. Pack your necessities. They’ll be handling the rest.

I hit send, then immediately follow up with a more complicated directive.

Tell your sister we’ve been dating in secret.

Let her know there’s a small ceremony this weekend just for family, and that we’d both be honored if she would attend.

Expecting her defiance, I spin my chair away from my desk and watch the lake shimmer in the distance, waiting for her response. The phone buzzes almost instantly, her reply a burst of furious energy.

SOPHIA BENNETT

I will not.

I don’t want my sister anywhere near you or your family.

She has nothing to do with this.

A slow smile touches my lips. She’s so predictable; that protective fire is the very quality I’m exploiting.

This is not a negotiation, Sophia. Your sister’s presence is required. It lends the necessary authenticity to our “whirlwind romance.”

Unless, of course, you’d prefer I explain the real arrangement to her myself. I imagine that would be a fascinating conversation.

I can practically hear her seething. The dots appear and disappear several times before her next message comes through, each word dripping with a defeated loathing that is more satisfying than any victory could be.

Fine. But you keep your brothers away from her.

And if any of you so much as look at her the wrong way, I swear to God, Vance.

You’re in no position to make threats, sweetheart. See you tomorrow night.

I slip the phone into my pocket, the thrill of the conquest humming through my veins. Sophia Bennett—with her fierce loyalty and her desperate love for her sister—is about to be mine to do with as I please. For the rest of her life.

The satisfaction is immense, but it’s not complete. Marrying her in a few days isn’t enough. The contract stipulates an heir, a child to carry on the Ashford name. I meant what I said: I have my principles, twisted as they may be. I will not father a child with a woman I haven’t claimed. And the thought of breaking Sophia’s fiery spirit fills me with a dark, anticipatory pleasure. She’ll give me a child—willingly—because she has no other choice.

The twins’ voices drift out of the adjoining conference room, their tones laced with cynical amusement. “Ten bucks says she tries to run before the wedding,” Baldwin says.

“I’ll take that,” Beckett replies. “I say she makes it to the wedding night, bolting before the consummation.”