ACE – POV
The room was dim, lit by the warm glow of the chandelier above the snooker table. I lined up a shot, the cue sliding smooth through my fingers. The white ball struck clean-direct, calculated. Just the way I liked it.
Matt lounged nearby, a glass of scotch in hand, smirking like he knew too much.
"So," he drawled, "contract bride? Now that's rich-even for you."
I didn't respond right away. The word bride still felt foreign in my mouth.
"It's not about marriage," I said finally. "It's about control. My terms. My timing."
Matt raised a brow. "And the lucky woman?"
"She's smart. Has fire. The kind that doesn't fizzle under pressure." I took another shot, watched the red ball roll home. "She isn't chasing the crown. That makes her worth it."
"Sounds rare." He swirled his drink. "Name?"
"Aurora."
Matt gave me a slow nod. "And where'd you find her? One of Clarke's influencer pets?"
"No." My voice cut sharp. "She doesn't run in circles. She works in a coffee shop. Takes care of her family.."
Matt blinked, almost laughing. "Wait-you're serious?"
"She's not a gold-digger, Matt. She didn't simper or play coy. She looked me in the eye like she wanted to see if I was real."
He chuckled. "Sounds like the opposite of Eve."
My jaw clenched. "Exactly."
Matt didn't push. He knew better than to prod scars he couldn't heal. Instead, he poured himself another drink and raised it lazily 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 answer, my phone buzzed. My mother's name lit the screen.
Matt gave a mock bow. "Tell the Queen her heir project is underway."
But my thoughts weren't on her. They were on the girl who shoved a Birkin back across my desk like it offended her.
Aurora Grey wasn't a pawn. And that made her dangerous.
AURORA – POV
The hiss of steaming milk. The tap of the espresso machine. The overly cheerful playlist corporate insisted we loop every three hours.
I was back at the coffee shop, pretending everything was fine. But nothing was fine.
My chest felt tight. My hands restless.
"Aurora," Percy whispered, bumping my arm. "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, heart already climbing my throat.
"Hello?"
A nurse's voice, 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 knees weakened. "How much?"
The number she gave me felt like a physical blow.
I ended the call in a blur and pressed myself against the brick wall, gasping like the air had turned too heavy to breathe.
The world never stopped for grief. It never had.
And I had no one to call.
No one but him.
My thumb hovered over his name.
Ace Wolfe.
I pressed.
He answered immediately. "Aurora."
"I'll do it," I whispered, voice breaking. "I'll sign the contract."
Silence stretched, thick and sharp.
Then: "Come to my office."
That was all. No warmth. No sympathy. Just inevitability.
A deal that might save my mother's life... at the cost of my own freedom.