Chapter 5 Sealed

Paige

If wealth had a scent, it reeked of aged oak, polished leather, and power just a breath shy of arrogance.

We were seated in the private chambers of White & Wexler LLP-Anderson's family attorneys-signing the final documents for the trust fund release and the formal reassignment of family assets now that we were legally bound.

Dozens of pages sat between us. Each signature felt like carving initials into stone. Permanent. Binding.

Anderson signed with surgical precision-his strokes confident, efficient. I followed, slower, watching my name fuse with his again and again.

Paige Whiterspoon-White.

It looked like a title. It felt like a warning.

Beside us sat Cecilia White, his stepmother. Perfectly poised in a tailored navy dress, clutching her pearls as if they could ward off contamination.

She hadn't said much since we arrived, but her gaze had dissected me a hundred times over.

When the final page was stamped, Cecilia crossed her legs, leaned forward, and offered a chilly smile.

"Well, congratulations," she said. "You've officially won the most expensive seat at this table. I do hope you'll learn the etiquette that comes with it."

I smiled back sweetly. "Don't worry. I've been studying the art of biting my tongue when around ominious women."

Her nostrils flared. "There's a difference between strength and insolence, dear."

"There's also a difference between class and cruelty," I replied evenly. "But I suppose we've missed that lesson"

The room went silent.

Cecilia's smile vanished, and Anderson slowly turned toward me, his expression different until a subtle smirk played at the corner of his mouth.

"I suggest we wrap up," he said, voice calm but firm. "Before the room gets blood on the contracts."

He stood and offered me his hand. I took it. His grip was firm, almost possessive.

As we left, Cecilia's voice drifted behind us. "She'll embarrass you, Anderson. Just wait."

He didn't even look back.

"She already impressed me."

The car ride back was quiet, but not tense. Anderson kept his eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh.

Occasionally, I caught him glancing at me like he was reassessing something.

"You didn't have to defend me," I said softly.

"I didn't," he replied. "You defended yourself. I merely... enjoyed the show."

A beat passed. Then, softer: "Most people crumble around Cecilia. You didn't."

"I'm not most people."

"No," he murmured, almost to himself. "You're not."

For a moment, the silence between us was almost warm.

Then the car slowed.

A woman stood on the edge of the private drive, just outside the gates of the White Tower's upper complex. Legs crossed.

Perfect red lipstick. Blonde hair swept back into a sleek chignon. A tailored crimson coat hugged her hourglass frame.

Nina.

Anderson's ex-fiancée.

I'd only seen her in articles and photos-always draped on his arm, always dripping in curated charm. But up close, she was sharper. Hungrier.

The driver hesitated, but Anderson opened the door himself.

Nina smiled. "Andy. Look at you. Still brooding, still beautiful... now legally bound."

Anderson stepped out. I followed reluctantly.

"Nina," he said, dryly. "I'd ask what you're doing here, but you've never cared for invitations."

She turned her gaze to me and extended a manicured hand. "You must be Paige.

The mystery girl of the hour. Congratulations, darling. Quite the elevation-from obscurity to royalty."

I shook her hand without warmth. "Thank you. I hear clawing your way into fame is more your style."

Nina's face flushed . "Feisty. How refreshing. I do wonder how long that spirit will last once you realize who you've actually married."

I tilted my head. "And what would you know about that?"

"I know what he likes," she said silkily, running a finger down Anderson's shoulder . "And what he always comes back to."

I felt my spine stiffen, a flash of something ugly rising in my chest. Not quite jealousy. Something different . Protective. Territorial.

Anderson stepped back. "Don't touch me."

Her eyes narrowed. "You used to beg for it."

"And you used to matter," he replied coldly.

Nina's gaze flicked between us, calculating. Then, her lips curved into a cruel smile. "You know, Anderson, I always imagined the woman you'd marry would at least know what she's in for."

"I know exactly what I'm in for," I said.

Nina raised a brow. "Do you, Paige? Do you know about the room?"

I blinked. "What room?"

Anderson stiffened beside me.

Nina smiled. "Ah. He hasn't told you."

She stepped back toward her sleek black car, heels clicking. "Good luck, sweetheart. You'll need it."

As the car pulled away, I turned to Anderson.

"What room is she talking about?"

He didn't answer.

He just looked at me with something dangerous in his eyes.

And whispered, "You weren't supposed to know about that.