His Virgin Bride

“You either marry her, or you walk away from your inheritance.”

Caius Montrevaux froze in place, his grip tightening on the crystal tumbler in his hand. The fire crackled behind him, casting flickering shadows along the ornate bookshelves of the Montrevaux study. The same study where deals had been made, titles inherited, and empires plotted.

He turned slowly, his sharp gray eyes narrowing. “You can’t be serious.”

Lord Darion, his uncle and the family’s strategist, leaned back in the leather armchair like a king issuing decrees. He swirled his brandy, his expression calm and calculated. “I’ve never been more serious. Your father’s will was explicit—no wife, no title. You must marry before your thirtieth birthday. That’s in five weeks.”

Caius’s jaw clenched. “I’ll marry someone of my choosing. Not some convent-raised ghost you dragged from a chapel.”

“There is no time,” Darion snapped, his calm demeanor fracturing for a moment. “You’ve rejected every suitable lady I’ve presented. The court is whispering. Your stepbrother Adrien is watching, waiting. The nobles grow restless.”

Caius paced toward the fireplace, the firelight glinting off the crest on his signet ring. “And so your solution is to ship in a girl like livestock?”

“She’s perfect,” Darion said simply. “A virgin. Timid. Raised with virtue and blind obedience. No title, no noble family to meddle. She’s been sheltered all her life by nuns in Florence. She’ll do whatever you command. She’ll never challenge your authority.”

Caius scoffed. “She sounds like a walking shadow.”

“Exactly,” Darion said, satisfied. “Someone who won’t stir scandal. Someone who disappears into the background while you rule.”

Silence pulsed in the room. The air was thick with smoke and expectation. Caius hated how cornered he felt. Like a pawn in a larger game. “What makes you think she’ll say yes?”

Darion raised a brow. “She won’t be asked.”

Caius turned fully now, face hardening. “You’ve arranged a forced marriage?”

“She arrives in three days,” Darion said. “On a private ship. All documents signed. A priest will officiate quietly. No need for fanfare. You marry her, and the title is yours. You walk away, and Adrien inherits everything.”

The name of his stepbrother was enough to make Caius’s blood boil. Adrien, who’d once tried to discredit him with false letters. Adrien, who slithered through court halls whispering lies.

“You’re manipulating me,” Caius said tightly.

“And yet you’re still listening,” Darion replied coolly. “Because you know this is the only way to secure what’s yours. You’re the rightful heir, Caius. But rightful doesn’t mean guaranteed.”

Caius turned back to the fire. His knuckles turned white on the mantel. He had sacrificed too much for the Montrevaux name. The estate. The legacy. The throne that came with the title. He could not let it fall to Adrien.

“You expect me to stand at an altar with a stranger,” he said finally, “and pretend it means something.”

“I expect you to marry her long enough to claim what’s yours,” Darion said. “Then you can do as you please. Divorce her. Exile her. Send her back to the convent. But first—marry her.”

Caius was quiet for a long moment. The fire crackled behind him. His heart beat louder than he cared to admit. Then he asked, voice lower:

“What’s her name?”

A smile tugged at the corner of Darion’s mouth. He set down his glass with a quiet clink.

“Nicole.”

Caius said nothing. But the way his jaw clenched and the way his eyes flickered with silent resolve said everything.

He would do what needed to be done.

Even if it meant marrying a ghost.

Even if it meant playing along with his uncle’s scheme.

But he would not fall for her.

And he would not keep her.

Not for long.