"Wake up," Vincent said, voice low and precise. I blinked against the light and tasted metal. My hand found the satin and a papery edge. "Where—" I started. My throat sounded wrong. "You're in Cornelius Tower," he said. "Presidential suite. Room service sent the omelet two minutes ago. You moved like you owned the place." "Vincent." I pushed my knees up. The sheets stuck. "Why am I—" He crossed the room in two long strides, already buttoning his shirt. He never moved like anyone else. He moved like a man who'd been given a city to steer and refused to be late for an appointment. "Do you remember the contract?" he asked, not looking at me when he asked it. His hands were steady. "No." I fumbled the paper where his fingertips had rested. The top page was a glossy card with Cornelius Holdings stamped in gold. Under it, a stack of forms. My name printed on one of them in a legal font. He laid the marriage certificate on my knees, flat and undeniable. He slid a pen across the paper and signed in a single, clean stroke. "Juliana Fields," he said, signing. "Vincent Cornelius. Witnessed and registered. My wife." His voice made the words into proof. "I—" I laughed then, a short, scared sound. "This is a joke. Someone must have—" "You signed." He raised an eyebrow. "Or you refused." "No—" I swung my legs off the bed. My foot hit something soft. A bruise bloomed