The dress was waiting in a private room at the courthouse.
Not a bridal suite. Just a windowless office that smelled like old files and air freshener, with fluorescent lights that made everything look slightly sickly. But hanging on the back of the door, protected by a garment bag that probably cost more than Isla's monthly rent, was a wedding dress.
Luca had deposited her here ten minutes ago with instructions to "get ready" and disappeared before she could ask what that meant.
Now Isla stood staring at the garment bag like it might bite her.
She unzipped it slowly.
And forgot how to breathe.
The dress was gorgeous.
Not the poufy princess gown she'd imagined as a little girl. Not the lacy traditional dress she'd scrolled past on Pinterest during brief moments of daydreaming about a future that looked nothing like this.
This was something else entirely.
Sleek. Elegant. Devastating in its simplicity.
White silk that looked like it would pour over skin like water. A fitted bodice with delicate straps. A skirt that would fall just above the knee—cocktail length, not traditional, because nothing about this wedding was traditional. The kind of dress you wore when you wanted to look expensive and untouchable and like you absolutely knew what you were doing.
Isla pulled it off the hanger with shaking hands.
There were shoes too. White heels, size seven. Her exact size.
And jewelry. Diamond earrings. A delicate bracelet.
All of it perfect.
All of it clearly chosen specifically for her.
He'd known. Before she'd even agreed, before she'd signed that contract, Killian Archer had known her dress size, her shoe size, exactly what would fit her body like it had been made for her.
Because he'd been planning this.
For how long?
The question made her stomach turn.
Isla stripped out of her navy interview dress and slipped into the wedding gown. The silk was cool against her skin, whispering over her body like a secret. The fit was perfect—of course it was. The bodice hugged her curves exactly right, the skirt fell in a way that made her legs look longer than they actually were.
She caught sight of herself in the small mirror mounted on the wall and barely recognized the woman staring back.
She looked expensive. Put-together. Like someone who belonged in Killian Archer's world.
Like someone who'd chosen this.
The lie was almost convincing.
Almost.
A knock on the door made her jump.
"Five minutes," Luca's voice came through the wood. "The judge is ready."
Isla's hands trembled as she fastened the diamond earrings. Slipped on the bracelet. Stepped into shoes that pinched less than she'd expected.
Five minutes until she married a stranger.
Five minutes until Isla Cross disappeared and Isla Archer took her place.
Five minutes until the cage door locked for eighteen months.
She opened the door.
Luca's expression shifted when he saw her—just for a second, something like approval flickering across his usually unreadable face.
"You look beautiful," he said quietly.
"I look terrified," Isla corrected.
"That too." He offered his arm. "Shall we?"
She didn't take it. "Is this really happening?"
"You signed the contract two hours ago. So yes. This is really happening." Luca's voice gentled slightly. "But for what it's worth, you're doing the right thing. Your sister is safe. Your father's debt is cleared. Sometimes the right thing doesn't feel good, but it's still right."
Isla wanted to believe that.
She really did.
She took his arm.
Let him lead her down a corridor that felt too long and too short all at once, her heels clicking against linoleum that had seen a thousand other weddings, probably most of them happier than this.
They stopped in front of a door marked "Judge Harrison Chambers - Private."
Luca knocked twice.
"Come in," a voice called from inside.
The door opened.
And there he was.
Killian Archer stood in front of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with legal tomes, hands clasped behind his back, looking like he'd been carved from stone and dressed in an Italian suit.
He'd changed since the attorney's office. Different suit—this one charcoal gray, almost black, with a crisp white shirt and a tie the exact color of his ice-blue eyes. His dark hair was still perfectly styled. His expression was still completely unreadable.
He looked like he was attending a business meeting.
Not his wedding.
His eyes found Isla in the doorway and traveled over her slowly, cataloging every detail of the dress he'd chosen, the jewelry he'd provided, the woman he'd trapped.
"Perfect," he said. Not to her. To Luca. Like Isla was a package that had been delivered correctly. "Thank you. You can go."
Luca squeezed Isla's arm once—the closest thing to comfort she was going to get—and left.
The door closed.
Suddenly the room felt very small.
Judge Harrison sat behind his desk, an older man with thinning hair and glasses that kept sliding down his nose. He looked nervous. Actually nervous, his hands fidgeting with papers that didn't need fidgeting with.
Why would a judge be nervous?
"Mr. Archer," the judge said, voice slightly too high. "And this must be the bride. Lovely. Very lovely. Shall we, ah, shall we get started?"
"Please." Killian finally looked at Isla directly. "Come here."
It wasn't a request.
Isla's feet moved before her brain could catch up, carrying her across the small office until she stood beside him. Close enough to smell his cologne—that same expensive, woody scent from last night. Close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body despite the expensive suit.
Close enough to run if she had anywhere to run to.
"We'll keep this brief," Judge Harrison said, shuffling his papers like he couldn't find the right one even though they were clearly all the same. "No guests, I understand? Just the two of you?"
"Just us," Killian confirmed.
"Right. Yes. Of course." The judge cleared his throat. "Well then. Let's begin. Do you, Killian James Archer, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"
"I do." No hesitation. No emotion. Just two words that signed away the next eighteen months of Isla's life.
The judge turned to her, and Isla realized with sudden clarity that he was terrified. Actually terrified. His hand shook slightly as he looked at her.
What kind of man made a judge afraid?
"And do you, Isla Marie Cross, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"
The words stuck in her throat.
This was it. The final moment. The last chance to run.
Except there was no running. There never had been.
"I do," she whispered.
"Rings?" the judge asked, relief flooding his voice because they were almost done, almost finished with whatever this was that scared him so badly.
Killian reached into his jacket and pulled out a small box. Velvet. Black. He opened it to reveal two rings.
One was the massive diamond engagement ring she'd worn for all of three hours before the ceremony. The other was a wedding band—platinum, studded with smaller diamonds that caught the fluorescent light and threw it back in cold fragments.
He took her left hand. His fingers were warm, steady, while hers trembled like leaves in a storm.
The engagement ring slid on first.
Then the wedding band.
Both of them fit perfectly. Of course they did. He'd probably known her ring size before he'd known her coffee order.
The weight on her finger felt impossible. Like she was wearing chains made of diamonds and platinum and promises she'd never meant.
"Your turn," the judge said to Isla.
She stared at him blankly.
Killian produced a second ring from the box. A simple platinum band. No diamonds. No decoration. Just sleek, expensive metal.
"Take it," he said quietly.
Isla's hand shook as she picked up the ring.
She'd never thought about this moment. Never imagined what it would feel like to slip a wedding band onto a man's finger. In her vague daydreams about the future, this had always been a moment of joy. Of love. Of choosing someone and being chosen in return.
This felt like signing a contract.
Because that's exactly what it was.
She slid the ring onto Killian's finger. It fit perfectly. His hand didn't shake at all.
"By the power vested in me by the state," Judge Harrison said quickly, rushing through the words like he couldn't get them out fast enough, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the—"
He stopped.
Because Killian had turned to face Isla fully, and the look in his ice-blue eyes made the judge's voice die mid-sentence.
Isla's heart hammered against her ribs.
This was the part she'd been dreading. The kiss. The moment that would seal this farce, make it real, give her first kiss to a man who'd bought her like property.
Killian's hand came up, cupping her jaw the same way he had in the conference room. His thumb brushed across her cheekbone, almost gentle, while his eyes studied her face like he was memorizing every detail.
"Look at me," he said quietly.
She was already looking at him. Where else could she look?
His gaze dropped to her lips.
Stayed there.
Isla stopped breathing.
He leaned in slowly—so slowly it felt deliberate, calculated to make her wait, to make her feel every second ticking by. Close enough that she could feel his breath on her skin. Close enough that if she moved even an inch forward, their lips would touch.
Close enough that she could see flecks of gray in those ice-blue eyes, could count his eyelashes if she wanted to, could see something that might have been hunger flash across his expression before it disappeared behind that careful control.
He paused.
Right there. A breath away.
And Isla realized he wasn't going to close the distance. He was making her wait. Making her wonder. Making her aware of exactly how much power he had over her in this moment—over when they kissed, how they kissed, everything.
Then his lips brushed hers.
Barely.
A whisper of contact. So light she almost wondered if she'd imagined it. Nothing like a real kiss. Nothing like the passionate embrace you were supposed to share with your husband after vowing to love him forever.
Just a brush of lips that lasted maybe two seconds before he pulled back.
Isla stood frozen, confused by the restraint. By the tension thrumming through his body that said he wanted more but was choosing not to take it. By the way he was looking at her now—still hungry, still controlled, still completely in charge.
"Congratulations," Judge Harrison said weakly. "You're married."
Killian released her and turned to shake the judge's hand. "Thank you for accommodating us on such short notice."
"Of course. Of course. Anytime, Mr. Archer. You know that."
The fear in the judge's voice was unmistakable now.
What kind of man inspired that kind of fear in a judge? In his own chambers?
Isla's mind spun with questions she wasn't allowed to ask.
Killian's hand found the small of her back—possessive, guiding, claiming. "We should go. I have a meeting at five."
A meeting.
He had a meeting on his wedding day.
Because this wasn't a wedding. This was a business transaction, and he had actual business to attend to.
Isla let herself be led out of the office, down the corridor, past other people waiting for their own courthouse weddings—normal people with flowers and nervous smiles and families taking photos.
She had a husband with ice-blue eyes and secrets that felt like weapons.
That was all.
The black Mercedes was waiting at the curb. Luca held the door open, and Isla climbed inside.
She expected Killian to slide in beside her.
He didn't.
He walked around to the other side of the car and got in, but instead of sitting next to her, he positioned himself on the opposite seat, putting the entire width of the car between them.
Creating distance.
Deliberate distance.
The car pulled away from the courthouse, and Isla stared at the man who was now legally her husband, trying to understand the contradiction of him.
He'd touched her face like she was precious.
Kissed her like he was restraining himself from something more.
And now sat as far away from her as the car would allow.
"Welcome to your new life, Mrs. Archer," Killian said, his voice flat, his eyes on his phone as he typed something with quick, efficient movements.
Mrs. Archer.
Not Isla.
Not his wife.
Just the title. The role. The thing she was to him now.
Isla looked down at her hands folded in her lap. The rings caught the afternoon light streaming through the window, throwing rainbows across the white silk of her dress.
Beautiful.
Expensive.
Absolutely suffocating.
"Where are we going?" she asked quietly.
"Home." Killian didn't look up from his phone. "Your home now. You'll meet the staff, Luca will show you to your quarters, and you'll have the evening to settle in. Tomorrow we'll discuss expectations and your schedule."
"My schedule?"
"Public appearances. Events. The role you need to play." He finally glanced up, those ice-blue eyes assessing her like she was a problem to solve. "You're not just my wife, Isla. You're a piece on a chessboard. And you need to learn your moves."
The car turned onto a tree-lined street Isla didn't recognize. Mansions behind gates. Old money and new power.
A world she didn't belong to.
A world she'd just married into anyway.
"I don't know how to do this," she whispered.
"That's why I'll teach you." Killian went back to his phone. "Starting tomorrow. Tonight, just try not to break anything expensive."
The car slowed.
Turned into a driveway.
Gates opened automatically, wrought iron that probably cost more than everything Isla had ever owned combined.
And there, at the end of a long driveway lined with perfectly manicured trees, stood a house that looked more like a fortress.
Three stories of modern architecture. All glass and steel and sharp angles. Beautiful and cold and absolutely terrifying.
Home.
Her home now.
For eighteen months.
With a husband who wouldn't even sit next to her in the car.
Who'd barely kissed her at their wedding.
Who looked at her like she was a possession he'd purchased and now had to figure out what to do with.
The car stopped.
Luca opened the door.
Killian stepped out first, already on his phone, already moving toward the house like this was just another day.
Isla sat frozen in the back seat, staring at the fortress that was now her cage, the rings that were now her chains, the life that was now hers whether she wanted it or not.
"Mrs. Archer?" Luca's voice was gentle. "It's time."
She stepped out of the car.
The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that would've been beautiful if she could breathe properly.
The front door of the fortress stood open.
Waiting.
Killian had already disappeared inside.
And Isla stood there in her perfect white dress with her perfect diamond rings, married to a stranger, trapped in a contract, playing a role she didn't understand for an audience she'd never meet.
Welcome to your new life, Mrs. Archer.
She took a step forward.
Then another.
And walked into the beautiful prison that would be her home for the next five hundred and forty-seven days.
Counting every single one