"You expect me to marry her?" Miles snapped, slamming a hand on his grandfather's desk.
Arthur Dominguez looked down at the gesture like he was inspecting a dent on a car. He did not move. He did not raise his voice. "I expect you to secure this family," he said.
"It's not my alliance to make," Miles said. "This is—" He cut himself off and stared at Journee Zhang like she was an unread contract.
Journee did not flinch. She stood with her palms folded at her sides. "Mr. Dominguez," she said, calm and precise, "I agreed because I have reasons. I do not belong to anyone."
"Are you sure she understands what she's saying?" Arthur asked, and the question landed like a line read in court.
"I understand perfectly," Journee answered. Her voice had no tremor. "I will sign what is required. I will act within the agreement."
Arthur's mouth thinned. "You will do it under our name. You will heal wounds we see fit. You will appear at the right openings and take the right photos. You will not speak to journalists unless authorized. You will obey the household rules."
"Those are not the terms we discussed," Miles said loudly.
Arthur lifted one finger. The room tightened. "I wrote the terms, Miles. The terms are in the trust. You refuse, you forfeit your shares. You know the clause."
"The clause is unfair," Miles said. "You can't..."
"You cannot?" Arthur repeated. "When I built
