“No. It looks straightforward.”
I sign my name on the first line. Then the second. Then the third.
He takes the document back when I’m finished and glances over the signatures before sliding it into a folder.
“Perfect,” he states. “And here I thought you might fight me on that new clause we added in.”
My mouth goes dry. “What kind of clause?”
He leans back in his chair, the picture of calm. “A marriage clause. By signing this document, you’re now officially my wife.”
The words don’t make sense. They’re just sounds strung together in an order that my brain refuses to process.
Wife.
His wife.
I signed a contract. An employment contract. Standard procedure, he said. Restructuring paperwork. Nothing out of the ordinary.
And now I’m married to him.
My stomach drops straight through the floor. I grab the armrests of my chair so hard my knuckles go white, and I can’t seem to draw a full breath. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.
I think about Wallace and Tillman upstairs, waiting for me to report back with information. About the documents burned into my memory that I still don’t understand. About the life I had three weeks ago, before mergers and layoffs and mysterious folders on shared drives.
Before him.
I look at Menlow—really look at him—and try to reconcile the man in front of me with the stranger who bought me drinks at that bar. The one who made me laugh. The one who made me forget, just for one night, that my life was falling apart.
He doesn’t look like that man anymore. He looks like something else entirely. Something dangerous.
And apparently, he’s my husband.
The room tilts. Or maybe I do. Either way, nothing feels solid anymore. The walls seem to close in around me. My pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out everything except the echo of those two impossible words.
My wife.
I open my mouth to speak, to scream, to demand an explanation—but no sound comes out. My throat has sealed itself shut.
All I can do is stare at him while my entire world crashes down around me.
Chapter 4 - Menlow
The look on her face is worth every risk I just took.
Kirsten stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. Her mouth opens, then closes. Opens again. No sound comes out.
“You…” She swallows hard. “What did you just say?”
“A marriage clause.” I keep my voice even, though my pulse is racing. “By signing that contract, you’ve legally agreed to become my wife. You’re officially Mrs. Kirsten Karpov.”
“That’s not possible.”
“I assure you, it is.”
“You can’t just—” She stands abruptly, nearly knocking over the chair. “This is insane. You’re insane. I didn’t agree to marry you!”
I gesture toward the document. “Your signature says otherwise.”
