Elena woke to the vast, empty space beside her.
She blinked against the sudden, harsh daylight that sliced through a small gap in the heavy velvet curtains. The remnants of the night before hit her instantly: a deep, profound ache in her muscles, a lingering warmth between her thighs, and the faint, intoxicating scent of Julian's cologne mixed with their intimate exertion.
She was alone in the huge bed.
The sheets were tangled around her legs, silk and sweat, a chaotic testament to the passion that had exploded in the stillness of the night. She remembered his voice, his commands, the ruthless intensity of his possession. She remembered the fire. She remembered shattering.
A sudden, sharp wave of shame washed over her. She, Elena Vane, the poised heiress, had been reduced to a whimpering, pleading mess beneath the ruthless command of the man who now owned her.
She sat up, pulling the sheet to her chest.
"I expected you to be awake sooner."
The voice sliced through the silence of the room. Julian was standing by the massive window, the curtains now fully drawn, letting the severe morning light flood in. He was fully dressed in a tailored navy suit—crisp, pristine, and utterly detached. The Julian who had been primal and feral hours ago was gone, replaced by the cool, billionaire CEO.
He didn't look at her. He was tying a silk tie around his neck, the knot meticulous and perfect.
"The clock is running, Elena," he said, adjusting his cufflink. "It's 8:00 AM. We have a press conference at ten."
The clinical nature of his address felt like a slap. He was already back to business, treating the most intimate night of her life as a checked box on a contract.
"I... I need to go back to the guest room," she stammered, pulling the sheet tighter around her trembling body.
Julian finally turned. His eyes were cold steel, devoid of the fire that had burned in them last night.
"That is no longer your room," he stated, walking toward the bed. "This is your room. This is your bed. You sleep where I sleep."
He reached the edge of the mattress and stopped, looming over her. He didn't touch her, but his proximity alone was stifling.
"Last night was the activation of Clause 4. You fulfilled your duty. Now, we move to Clause 2: Public Performance."
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box. He flipped it open.
Elena gasped.
Inside, resting on a bed of white silk, was a ring. It wasn't just a ring—it was an anchor of dazzling white gold, holding aloft a massive, flawless ten-carat emerald-cut diamond. It was vulgar in its opulence. It was everything the press expected from a Kincaid wedding.
"Your contract has secured you a five-million-dollar payment," Julian said, his voice flat. "This ring secures my merger. They are both necessary tools."
He reached for her left hand, which was clutching the sheet. He pulled it gently but firmly until she released the fabric.
"Hold still."
He slid the colossal ring onto her finger. The weight of the diamond was astonishing, a physical burden that instantly felt heavier than the five million dollars. It caught the harsh light, blinding her.
"From this moment on, you are Mrs. Julian Kincaid," he said, gripping her hand tightly. "You will smile at the cameras. You will look at me with devotion. And you will not, under any circumstances, contradict a single word I say."
His eyes drilled into hers, a silent, powerful warning.
"We will play the adoring couple," he continued, his tone softening only slightly, "but understand this, Elena: the man who touched you last night—the one who made your body pulsate—that man is a private reward. The man standing here is your owner. Do not confuse the two."
He released her hand, the sudden loss of contact making her cold. He turned his back on her.
"A maid will be up in ten minutes with your clothes and makeup artist. Be ready."
He walked briskly to the door and opened it, pausing on the threshold.
"Oh, and Elena?"
She looked up at him, her chest tight with a mixture of resentment and a strange, lingering heat.
"I like the silence of this room," he said, his gaze flicking to the crumpled sheets. "Keep the moans to yourself tonight. I have a long day."
Then he was gone, the heavy door clicking shut behind him.
Elena was left alone in the vast, cold space, the huge, glittering diamond mocking her. She ran her thumb over the sharp edge of the stone, her heart aching.
The price of freedom was higher than she ever imagined. She hadn't just sold her body; she had sold her voice.