Chapter 2 The Terms of Marriage

The car ride was silent. Angel sat stiffly, her hands gripping the folds of her dress as she stared at the city lights flashing past the tinted windows. The weight of what had just happened pressed down on her like a boulder. She was no longer Angel Monroe, struggling waitress, desperate sister, and forgotten nobody. She was Angel Blackwood now. Married to one of the most powerful men in New York. But instead of feeling relief, her stomach twisted with unease. Aaron sat beside her, relaxed, his posture effortless. He exuded the same cool control he had since the moment they met.

One hand rested casually on his thigh, while the other held his phone as he scrolled through emails. If the wedding had affected him in any way, he didn't show it. "Where are we going?" Angel finally asked, breaking the silence. Aaron didn't glance up from his phone. "My penthouse." Her pulse stuttered. She had expected this, but hearing it aloud made it real. "I have an apartment," she blurted. Now he did look at her, one brow slightly raised. "Not anymore." She swallowed hard. She should have known. The moment she signed that contract, she had given up every right to her old life. Her tiny apartment, the job she barely managed to keep, the little independence she had clung to-it was all gone. "I want to see my sister," she said quietly. "You will," Aaron replied smoothly. "I've already arranged for her medical bills to be covered in full. She'll be transferred to a private facility by tomorrow morning." Angel exhaled, some of the tension in her shoulders easing. That was the only reason she had done this. Her sister's life was secure now. "Thank you," she murmured, not sure if she was thanking him or reminding herself why she had agreed to this in the first place. "I don't need your gratitude," Aaron said, returning his attention to his phone. "I need your compliance." A chill ran through her. The contract had been clear. This wasn't a real marriage. It was a transaction. A deal that would last for as long as Aaron deemed necessary. But what exactly did that mean for her? The car pulled up to a towering skyscraper, its glass exterior gleaming under the city lights. The Blackwood Tower. Aaron's home-and now hers. Angel barely had time to gather her thoughts before the driver stepped out and opened the door for her. She hesitated, but Aaron was already moving, exiting the car with the kind of confidence that came naturally to him. She followed, stepping into the cool night air. The doorman greeted Aaron with a respectful nod, barely sparing Angel a glance as he opened the entrance for them. The inside was even grander-marble floors, golden chandeliers, and sleek modern furniture that screamed wealth. Aaron strode past the lobby without a word, heading straight for the private elevator. Angel hurried to keep up, the heels of her shoes clicking against the pristine floors. The elevator doors slid open, and they stepped inside. As soon as they closed, trapping them in the confined space, Angel felt the air shift. Aaron's presence was overwhelming. She stole a glance at him. He stood tall, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable. "There are rules," he said suddenly, breaking the silence. Angel's spine straightened. "Rules?" "You are my wife in name only," he said, turning slightly to look at her. "I expect you to act the part in public. In private, you will stay out of my way." Her lips parted slightly. "I see." "You don't ask questions about my business, and you don't make demands," he continued. "Your role is simple-exist quietly, and when the time comes, walk away without complications." Angel clenched her fists. Exist quietly? It shouldn't have bothered her. This was exactly what she had agreed to. No love, no expectations, just a contract. But something about the way he said it, as if she was nothing more than an accessory in his life, made her stomach knot. "And what if I don't follow your rules?" she asked, meeting his gaze. For a moment, a flicker of something dark passed through Aaron's eyes. Then, he smirked. "Then we'll have a problem." The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open to reveal a luxurious penthouse. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased a breathtaking view of the city skyline. Everything inside was sleek, modern, and expensive. This was her new home. But Angel didn't feel at home at all. Aaron walked in first, tossing his phone onto a glass coffee table. He shrugged off his suit jacket, draping it over a chair before turning back to her. "The guest room is down the hall," he said. "Your things have already been brought here." Guest room. Right. Angel nodded stiffly. She should have felt relieved that he had no interest in sharing a room with her, but instead, an odd emptiness settled in her chest. "One more thing," Aaron added. She looked up, waiting. His eyes locked onto hers, a quiet warning in them. "No one must ever know the truth about our marriage." Angel swallowed. "Understood," she whispered. Aaron nodded once before turning away, dismissing her as if she were just another part of the décor. Angel exhaled shakily, then slowly made her way down the hall. As she stepped into the guest room, she realized something. She had gotten exactly what she had asked for. Security. Protection. But she had never felt more alone.