Chapter 4 The Courthouse Bride

The mirror wasn't wrong, but Mila almost hoped it was.

She was in the center of the dressing room as bright light streamed through the tall windows of Lucien's penthouse early that morning. Her reflection stared back: a bride in black silk.

Her dress was so tight, it could have been stitched onto her body. Elegant. Simple. Not a frill in sight. Her neckline was low enough to suggest confidence, and the long sleeves and tight waistline styled her to seem right out of a top fashion magazine. Only the small rose behind her ear broke the rule that Lucien set forbidding any color.

Showing I was behind her, Mrs. Granger said politely, "You look absolutely beautiful."

"He'll be pleased."

That wasn't the goal.

At this, Mila said, "I'm not interested in whether he likes it," as she picked up the tiny silver moon charm her brother had given her long ago.

She fixed it to her face, working through the anxiety in her throat.

The car was waiting outside by eight-thirty. A black Bentley, of course. With a driver who called her ma'am and didn't speak unless spoken to.

I couldn't tell anything about his facial expressions from the sunglasses he was wearing. His clothing consisted of a trim black suit, a shirt left undone at the collar, and no tie. Calling him casual would be pushy thinking about Lucien Blackwood, so I won't.

"You're punctual," he said, voice low.

She simply answered, "I do my best to explain the reasons why."

He briefly noticed her and didn't mention the dress, the flower, or the slight shaking of her hands.

The courthouse wasn't glamorous. Mila had half-expected something dramatic-an archway, photographers hiding in bushes, at least some flowers. But no. It was sterile, silent, and over in fifteen minutes.

A judge. A pen. A signature.

No vows. No kiss. No witnesses, aside from his lawyer and a paralegal who snapped a single photo "for the records."

"One year," Lucien said when it was done. His voice was almost soft. "Starting now."

Mila nodded.

As they stepped outside, a few people passed them by, unaware that the city's coldest billionaire had just gotten married. No press. No announcement. No fuss.

It was exactly what Lucien wanted.

And nothing like what Mila had once dreamed of.

Back at the penthouse...

They didn't celebrate. Of course not.

He went back to his office after pouring himself a drink. The way Mila walked through the hallway made it seem she was a ghost in a dress, unsure if she was greeted as a guest or locked up.

Her phone buzzed-finally.

Eli: Mila, where are you? Your landlord said you moved out? What's going on?

Her heart clenched. Her brother. Her reason.

She texted back quickly: I'm okay. I found help. A job. And a safe place to stay. Everything's going to be okay. I promise.

It wasn't a lie. Not exactly. But it wasn't the whole truth either.

She kept her phone in her pocket and went out to the balcony. As far as she could see, the city teemed with activity, unaware that the girl who loved painting from the shadows had just signed her heart away for another chance.

Later that night...

Dinner was silent again-until Mila broke it.

"I spoke to Eli," she said quietly, not looking up from her plate.

Lucien didn't pause eating. "Your brother?"

She nodded.

"He's your priority, then."

He said it like an observation, not a question.

"He always has been," she said. "Even before our parents bailed."

Lucien set his fork down. "You'll be able to visit him whenever you like. I'll make sure his treatments resume immediately. Your health insurance card is already in your room, along with new identification and your Blackwood account access."

"Efficient," she murmured.

"Necessary."

"Why are you doing this alone?" she asked suddenly, surprising even herself. "You could have found someone from your world-some actress, model, heiress who would've loved to marry a Blackwood."

He met her gaze. "Because I don't trust people in my world."

"And you trust me?"

"I trust desperation."

His words hung in the air, sharp and final.

Mila swallowed hard. "What happens if I want more than this? More than just playing your obedient wife?"

Lucien's gaze flicked toward her, cold but not cruel. "Then you'll have to remind yourself why you signed that contract. And what you stood to lose."

She pushed her chair back. You can have the ring, but you can't control me, Lucien.

No," he answered gently, "but you're wearing my name now." And names carry weight."

Late that night...

Sleep didn't come easily.

She was in bed, watching the ceiling quietly, as the silence seemed louder than any storm. The city lights blinked through the penthouse's huge windows, but the air inside felt dead quiet, as if something bad was about to happen.

A knock startled her.

She sat up. "Yes?"

The door opened. There stands Lucien, not changed, still so hard to read.

He assured me, "I won't bother you." Just wanted to mention that we're going to be in Paris tomorrow.

"Paris?" she blinked. "Why?"

"Business. And our honeymoon."

Mila laughed dryly. "Aren't honeymoons supposed to include some form of affection?"

Lucien smirked faintly. "We'll be very affectionate... with the cameras."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course."

"I'll have your passport updated. Don't be late."

And with that, he disappeared again.

Mila lay back, her thoughts racing. Paris. Cameras. The world is watching a marriage built on lies and loopholes.

And her?

She didn't know what was important to her. Still, she realized that to survive a year of marriage to Lucien Blackwood, she'd need more than an urgent need alone.

She'd need to play the game better than he did.