The elevator ride up to Viktor’s penthouse was silent except for the soft hum of the machine and the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears.

He stood beside me, tall and imposing, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back. Not possessive. Not yet. Just… there. A reminder that this was real. The contract was signed. I was his wife now, at least on paper.

The doors opened directly into the penthouse, and I stepped out, trying not to gape. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the glittering city lights. Dark wood and sleek modern furniture made the space feel masculine and expensive. It smelled like him — that...