ACE
The room was dim, lit only by the warm glow of the chandelier above the snooker table. I took a quiet shot, watching the cue ball slam into the red. Direct. Clean. Just the way I liked it.
Matt lounged nearby, a scotch glass swirling in his hand. "So. Contract bride?" he said with a lopsided grin. "Now that's rich, even for you."
I didn't respond right away. The word bride still sounded strange in my mouth.
"It's not about marriage," I said finally. "It's about control. My terms. My timing."
Matt raised an eyebrow. "And the lucky woman?"
"She's smart. Has fire. The kind that doesn't fizzle under pressure." I lined up another shot. "She's not chasing the crown. That's what makes her worth it."
"Sounds rare," he muttered. "Name?"
"Alara."
He gave me a slow nod. "And where'd you find her? One of Clarke's influencer friends?"
"No," I said sharply. "She's not part of any circle. Works in a coffee shop. Takes care of her family. Doesn't flinch easily."
Matt blinked. "Wait—you're serious?"
"She's not a gold-digger, Matt. She didn't bat her lashes or play coy. She stared me down like she wanted to read me."
He chuckled. "Sounds like the opposite of Eve."
My jaw tightened. "Exactly."
Matt didn't press. He knew better than to bring up my ex more than once. Instead, he walked over to the bar, poured another drink, and raised it in the air. "To your bride, whoever she is. Let's hope she can keep up."
I didn't toast. I never did.
Before I could say more, my phone buzzed.
My mother.
Matt gave me a mock bow. "Tell the Queen her heir project is underway."
I stared at the name on the screen, but my mind drifted.
To her face.
To the way she pushed the Birkin bag back across my desk like it insulted her.
Alara Grey was no pawn.
And that made her dangerous.
⸻
ALARA
The hiss of steaming milk. The tap of the espresso machine. The overly cheerful playlist someone in corporate insisted we loop every three hours.
I was back at the coffee shop. Pretending everything was fine.
But nothing was fine.
The air felt heavier. My chest tighter.
"Alara," Percy whispered, elbowing me gently. "You okay? You've refilled the sugar tray six times."
I forced a smile. "I'm fine."
But then my phone buzzed—and everything stopped.
Royal Mercy Hospital.
I stepped outside immediately, hands already trembling.
"Hello?"
A nurse's voice came through, calm but urgent. "Miss Grey? Your mother relapsed. She's stable for now, but the specialist just came in. He said immediate treatment is critical."
My throat closed. "How much?"
She hesitated.
The number that followed made me dizzy.
I ended the call in a blur and stood frozen against the brick wall of the alley.
The world didn't stop for grief. It never had.
And I had no one to call.
No one but him.
My fingers hovered over his name in my call list.
Ace Wolfe.
I pressed the screen.
He answered immediately. "Alara."
"I'll do it," I said, voice hoarse. "I'll sign the contract."
Silence stretched on his end.
Then: "Come to my office."
That was it.
No warmth. No questions. Just the weight of inevitability.
And a deal that might save my mother's life… at the cost of my own freedom.