"No."
"Why not?"
"Because this isn't a real wedding. It's a business arrangement. I wanted to be clear about that. For both of us."
Something shifted in her expression. Understanding, maybe. Or approval.
"Smart," she said. "Keep that clarity. You're going to need it."
She left without another word, and I stood alone in the room, wondering what exactly I'd just agreed to.
The ceremony—if it could be called that—took place in Rodion's study at 4 PM.
The judge was a tired-looking man in his sixties who clearly owed someone a favor and wasn't happy about collecting on it. The witnesses were two of Rodion's security team, stone-faced men in dark suits who stood against the wall like furniture. Nina had positioned herself by the window, watching everything with those sharp eyes.
And Rodion stood across from me, looking nothing like the man I'd met in my office three weeks ago.
He was wearing a dark suit, impeccably tailored, his hair neatened, his jaw freshly shaved. He looked like what he was—a powerful man conducting important business. But his eyes,when they met mine, held something softer. Something almost vulnerable.
"You're sure about this?" he asked quietly, low enough that only I could hear.
"No," I said honestly. "But I'm doing it anyway."
A ghost of a smile. "Good enough."
The judge cleared his throat. "If we could proceed?"
The paperwork was spread across Rodion's desk—a marriage license, various legal documents, everything required to make this union official in the eyes of the law. No ceremony. No vows. No exchange of rings or promises of eternal love. Just signatures on dotted lines, witnessed and notarized.
That's what I'd asked for. When Rodion had offered the dress, the ceremony, whatever I wanted, I'd told him I wanted it simple. Clinical. A contract signing, nothing more. He'd agreed without argument, though I'd seen something flicker in his eyes. Disappointment, maybe. Or just acceptance.
Now, standing across from him with a pen in my hand, I wondered if I'd made a mistake.
The judge walked us through the documents, explaining each one in the bored monotone of a man who'd done this a thousand times. I signed where he indicated, watching my hand move across the paper like it belonged to someone else. Keira Walsh. The name I'd built my life around for twelve years.
The last time I'd sign it.
Rodion signed after me, his handwriting bold and confident. When he finished, he looked up at me, and something passed between us. An acknowledgment of what we'd just done. The irrevocability of it.
"That's it," the judge said, gathering the papers. "Congratulations. You're married."
The words fell into the silence like stones into water. Married. I was married. To a man I'd known for three weeks. A man who'd killed for me. A man whose brother had killed my father.
Nina moved forward to embrace her brother, murmuring something I couldn't hear. The security team relaxed slightly, their job apparently complete. The judge was already packing up, eager to leave.
And I stood there, a pen still in my hand, trying to comprehend what I'd just done.
Rodion extricated himself from Nina and came to stand in front of me. He didn't touch me—we hadn't established those boundaries yet, and he was careful about respecting them. But he was close enough that I could feel the warmth of him, smell the subtle cologne I'd come to associate with our sessions.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
"I don't know." The honest answer. The only one I had. "Ask me tomorrow."
"Tomorrow, then."
Nina approached, her expression carefully neutral. "Welcome to the family," she said. "Such as it is."
"Thank you." The words felt strange in my mouth. "I think."
