The Billionaire Guarantor Bride

"The heating in the back of the SUV hummed, a low and constant sound that vibrate through the floor and up into my heels. The dry, hot air hit my shins, but I couldn't stop shaking. It was that kind of cold that starts in your bones when you realize your life has just ended.

I sat as far away from Dante as possible, my shoulder pressed against the window. The glass was freezing, fogging up with my irregular breathing. Outside, New York was just a blur of neon lights and wet pavement, but inside the car, the silence was heavy. It felt like a physical weight on my chest, making every breath an effort.

Dante didn't say a word. He didn't even look at me. He was simply there, staring straight ahead, his profile silhouetted by the streetlights. He looked completely calm, while I sat there in a ruined Dior dress that smelled of damp silk and sour vanilla frosting. I felt small. Dirty. Like a dog being taken to a new cage because its old owner got tired of it.

I looked at my hands. They were trembling. I tried to lace my fingers together to stop it, but then I saw the smeared blue frosting on my knuckles-remnants of the cake he had destroyed. I tried to wipe it off on the silk of my skirt, but it only spread further, a bright and mocking stain against the white.

Sold. The word kept repeating in my head with a dull, constant rhythm. My father had just stood there. He had watched me leave. He hadn't even reached out a hand to say goodbye. He just stared at his shoes as if they were more important than his daughter's life.

When the car slowed down, we didn't arrive at a house. We arrived at a glass tower that seemed to disappear into the gray clouds of the city. A fortress of steel and ego.

The driver opened the door, and the smell of the city-smoke, gasoline, and wet asphalt-rushed in. Dante got out first. He didn't wait for me. He didn't offer his hand. He simply stood on the sidewalk, his shadow long and imposing under the street lamps. I climbed out of the car, my heels clicking faintly against the stone, and followed him inside.

The elevator ride was the worst. Too fast. My ears popped, and the mirrored walls reflected exactly what I was: a mess. Loose hair, red eyes... and me, standing next to a man who looked capable of devouring the entire world.

When the doors opened to the penthouse, I didn't see a home. I saw an exhibit. Everything was marble, glass, and shadows. There were no family photos. No clutter. It was beautiful in a way that felt cold, almost violent.

"In the library," Dante said.

It was the first time he had spoken since the ballroom. His voice was low, brushing against my skin like a chill.

I walked toward where he pointed, my heels echoing too loudly on the marble. The library was massive, filled with shelves of books that looked as if they had never been opened. He circled an obsidian desk-black, polished, impenetrable-and sat down. He didn't invite me to do the same. He left me standing in the middle of the room, dripping water onto his rug.

"Sit down, Claire. You're making the air nervous."

He wasn't even looking at me as he pulled a stack of papers from a drawer.

I sat across from him. The leather chair was cold and smelled of burnt wood.

"I'm not nervous," I lied. "I'm disgusted."

A small smile appeared on his mouth. It wasn't happiness. It was the satisfaction of a predator.

"Disgust is a luxury for people with money in the bank. You have a debt. Ten million in interest alone, Claire. Your father played a game he couldn't win... and now it's time to pay."

He slid a document toward me. The paper was thick, expensive. At the top, it read:

MARRIAGE AGREEMENT AND ASSET GUARANTEE

"Marriage?" The word tasted bitter. "You hate us. You've spent ten years trying to destroy my father. Why would you want to marry me?"

"I don't need a wife. I need a shadow," he replied, leaning into the light. "My grandfather's will is clear. I won't get the CEO position until I'm married. The St. Claire name is the only thing your father hasn't ruined yet. I'm buying the name. You're just holding the pen."

Six months.

He wanted me to fake a life with him for half a year. He would pay the debt, keep the police away... and then he would discard me.

"Six months for ten million?" I whispered. "That's not a marriage. That's renting a prisoner."

"Call it whatever you want."

He offered me a gold pen that shined like a weapon.

"Sign... or I call the prosecutor right now. Your father won't survive a cell. Is that how you want his story to end?"

He knew exactly where to hurt me.

I took the pen. My fingers brushed his, and I shuddered. His skin was too warm.

I signed.

The black ink looked like a hole in the paper.

"There you have it," I said, dropping the pen. "I hope it was worth it."

Dante stood up slowly. He took off his jacket.

The air became heavy.

"The debt is settled," he said. "Now, the rules."

He calmly unbuttoned his cufflinks.

"We aren't going to live separately. If anyone sees us, they have to see a couple. That means one room. One bed."

The blood drained from my face.

"No. I want a clause. I am not sleeping with you."

Dante stepped closer. Too close.

"Don't flatter yourself. I don't want your body," he whispered. "But you are collateral. And I don't leave my collateral loose."

He brushed the tracker on my wrist.

"Rule number one: the door closes at ten. From the outside. You don't leave without me."

I looked at him, my heart racing.

"You're locking me up? Like a prisoner?"

"I'm protecting my investment," he replied. "Get used to the cage, Mrs. Vane."

He turned around and left.

I looked at the gold band on my wrist.

It wasn't jewelry.

It was a chain.

I let myself fall to the floor, the ruined dress spreading out around me.

And finally, I let the first tear fall.