Chapter 7 The Contract Within the Contract

The morning after the kiss was colder.

Not in temperature, but in the way Lucien moved around the suite-like a man trying to shove the night into a box and lock it away. He didn't bring it up. Didn't meet her gaze. Mila was not going to break the ice first.

At the table for breakfast, she silently cut up a croissant she did not want to have.

Lucien looked at his emails while keeping a tight jaw, his suit still looking stylish even amid a stormy atmosphere.

Finally, she set her fork down.

"So that kiss," she said bluntly.

Lucien didn't look up. "Irrelevant."

Mila's brows rose. "That's one word for it."

"I kissed you because the world is watching. And because I wanted to."

Her heart stuttered. "That's not irrelevant, Lucien."

He sighed and folded the tablet shut. "It doesn't change anything."

"You say that like I expected it to." She stood, crossing the room. "But we're married. On paper. To the world. And last night... that didn't feel like paperwork."

He said nothing.

"I deserve to know if I'm being manipulated again."

His eyes flicked to hers. "You always were. From the beginning."

She should have been angry. Maybe she was.

But there was something more unsettling than the manipulation: the look on Lucien's face when he said it. Like it hurt him to admit it.

"Then tell me everything," she said, arms crossed. "No more games."

He stared at her.

Then nodded.

Inside Lucien's Vault

Not a literal vault, but the private study adjoining the suite might as well have been. It was cold and elegant and filled with sleek black furniture and wall-to-wall glass displays.

Lucien handed her a manila folder-thick, worn at the corners.

She opened it slowly.

Names. Dates. Photographs. Surveillance stills. Bank transactions. Files stamped with a seal she didn't recognize.

Her eyes skimmed over the top sheet: Project Saint.

"What is this?"

Lucien poured himself a whiskey. "My father was involved in a global laundering ring. So were several Delacroix members, Andrei Vassiliev, and a dozen other powerful men. They used shell charities, religious nonprofits, and black-market weapons deals to move billions."

Mila's stomach turned. "That's what got him killed?"

"No. He got greedy. Started blackmailing his partners. Threatened to expose the whole thing. They silenced him before he could."

She flipped to the next page and froze.

It was a photograph of her mother.

"You investigated my family?"

Lucien didn't flinch. "I had to. Before the wedding."

"And?" she demanded.

"Your mother was never involved. But your father..." He hesitated. "He might have been an asset. Indirectly."

Her chest tightened. "He left when I was ten."

"And then vanished entirely. No records. No trial. Until a coded name surfaced five years ago in a Vassiliev transaction: 'Echo.'"

"Echo," she repeated. "And you think that's him?"

"I think someone else believes it is. Which is why they called you last night."

The Weight of Truth

Mila sat on the edge of the desk, her head spinning.

"So this marriage isn't just about shielding your image," she said softly. "It's bait. You're using me to draw him out."

Lucien met her gaze. "I'm using you to protect you."

"Don't twist it."

"I'm not," he said quietly. "You're in this now, Mila. Whether we want it or not. And if Echo is your father-if he's alive-then someone thinks you're leverage."

She stood suddenly. "I need air."

"Mila-"

"No," she said sharply. "I married you to protect Eli. But I won't be your pawn. Not unless you're honest with me. All of it."

Lucien watched her go but didn't stop her.

And that was almost worse.

Outside, in the Streets of Paris

She walked without a destination. Just the sound of her heels against cobblestone, the murmur of Parisian traffic, and the gnawing realization that her past was more tangled than she'd ever known.

Her father.

She'd spent most of her life imagining he was either dead or disinterested.

But what if he was neither?

What if he'd been hiding... in plain sight?

Her phone buzzed again.

Blocked Number.

Heart racing, she answered.

A voice-different this time, younger-whispered: "Your husband isn't who you think. And neither is your father. Stop digging or you'll both end up like James Blackwood."

Then the line went dead.

Again.

Back at the Hotel

Lucien was waiting by the window when she returned, looking out over the Seine like he could see the future coming.

She shut the door harder than necessary.

"They called again."

His jaw tightened. "What did they say?"

"They know my father's name. They threatened us both."

Lucien turned, crossing the room to her. "Then it's time we upped the game."

She frowned. "What does that mean?"

"It means we make the world believe we're stronger than we are."

He pulled out a new document. Sleek. Bound in black leather.

"What's that?"

"A revised version of our contract."

Mila's heart sank. "You're changing the terms?"

"I'm elevating them."

He flipped it open.

"There's a clause," he said. "If we're legally married for more than 90 days and appear unified to the board, my holdings triple. I'll give half of that to you. No strings."

Her throat went dry. "Why?"

"Because money buys safety," he said simply. "And I want you and Eli untouchable."

She didn't respond.

Not right away.

But when she finally took the pen, her hand didn't shake.

"I want one more clause," she said. "No more lies. From now on, we tell each other everything."

Lucien's gaze burned into hers.

"Deal."

And for once, it felt like they weren't just signing a contract-

They were drawing a line in blood.