Chapter 9 9

The car didn't go to the manor. It went to the Wolfe Corp tower in the financial district.

The elevator ride to the penthouse floor was silent. Araminta smoothed the skirt of her white dress. It felt like a shroud.

Elena opened the double doors to the CEO's office.

Alfonse was at the head of a long conference table. Twelve executives in suits sat around him. They stopped talking as Araminta entered.

She looked like a wreck-bruised neck, borrowed dress, terrified eyes.

Alfonse waved a hand. "Out. Everyone."

The executives scrambled to leave, gathering their papers. They cast curious glances at Araminta, but no one dared to speak.

When the door clicked shut, Alfonse stood up. He walked around the table, leaning against it.

"Dressed for a wedding with no groom?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You thought a dusty legal loophole could protect you from an attempted murder charge?"

"I need the trust fund," Araminta said, lifting her chin. "Marriage unlocks it. Since you refused, I found a substitute."

"You tried to use my name against me," Alfonse said. He walked closer. "I admire the audacity. But it was stupid."

"I have no other choice!" Araminta shouted. "Javen will hunt me down."

Alfonse reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded document. He tossed it onto the table.

"Marriage License," it read.

Araminta stared at it. "You refused."

"That was before you became a fugitive," Alfonse said. "I like high-risk investments."

He was lying. He wasn't doing this for risk. He was doing it because the thought of her tying her fate to anyone or anything else-even a legal fiction-had ignited a rage in him he couldn't control.

"Two years," Alfonse said. "A contract marriage. I give you protection from the police and the Doyles. You give me the Donaldson assets to manage."

"I want access to the Swiss vault. Today," Araminta bargained.

"Agreed."

"And Griffin. I want him moved to a private facility under your security."

Alfonse nodded. "Done."

Araminta picked up the pen. Her hand hovered over the paper. This was it. She was selling herself to the predator to escape the scavenger.

She signed. Araminta Donaldson.

Alfonse pressed a button on his intercom. "Send Judge Miller in."

A judge in robes walked in from the side office. He looked bored.

The ceremony took two minutes. No vows of love. No rings. Just a legal binding of assets and liabilities.

"I now pronounce you man and wife," the judge mumbled.

Alfonse didn't kiss her. He reached out and brushed a stray hair from her forehead, his fingers lingering on the bruise Javen had left.

His eyes darkened. "Go to the bank. Get your money. Then we deal with Javen."