Bought By The Coldhearted Media Mogul

"City Hall," Adrian said to the driver.

Cinthia whipped her head around. "City Hall? Why are we going to City Hall?"

Adrian continued typing. The blue light of the screen illuminated the sharp angles of his face.

"To get a license," he said, as casually as if he were ordering lunch.

"A license for what?"

He finally stopped typing. He turned his head slowly, his dark eyes boring into hers.

"A marriage license," he said. "We're getting married."

The Rolls Royce glided through the Manhattan traffic like a shark through water.

Cinthia's brain was misfiring. "Married?" she choked out. "Mr. Clemons, this is insane. We don't even know each other."

"I don't need to know you," Adrian said, turning back to his tablet. "I need a signature on a piece of paper. And I need a body at family dinners."

Miles, sitting in the front passenger seat, turned around and slid a thin folder through the partition gap.

"Ms. Wise," Miles said, his voice apologetic but firm. "This is a temporary Non-Disclosure Agreement. It covers the next two hours."

Cinthia took the folder. Her hands were shaking so badly the paper rattled.

"If you leak a word of this," Adrian added, his voice devoid of threat but heavy with promise, "the deal with your brother is void. And I will sue you for breach of contract until your grandchildren are paying off the legal fees."

The car pulled up to the side entrance of City Hall. It wasn't the grand steps where happy couples took photos. It was a grey metal door near the loading dock.

"Let's go," Adrian said.

He moved fast. Cinthia had to jog to keep up with his long strides. He didn't hold the door for her.

Inside, the fluorescent lights buzzed. A clerk was waiting at a small counter in a private office. He looked nervous, sweating slightly as Adrian entered.

"Mr. Clemons," the clerk stammered. "Everything is ready."

Adrian didn't make small talk. He just tapped the counter. "Papers."

The clerk slid the marriage license application forward.

Cinthia stood there, feeling like she was in a fever dream. The smell of old paper and floor wax made her dizzy.

"Is this... voluntary?" the clerk asked, looking at Cinthia. He saw the tear in her coat, the mess of her hair.

Cinthia opened her mouth.

Adrian turned his head slightly. He didn't say anything. He just looked at her. It was the same look a wolf gives a rabbit before the snap. Think about the debt. Think about the jail cell.

Cinthia swallowed the bile in her throat. "Yes," she lied. "It's voluntary."

She picked up the pen. It felt heavy, like a lead weight. She signed her name. Cinthia Wise.

Adrian took the pen from her fingers. His hand brushed hers for a millisecond, and she felt him flinch. He signed quickly, a sharp, jagged scrawl. Adrian Clemons.

The clerk stamped it. Thump. Thump.

"Done," Adrian said. He didn't wait for the certificate. "Miles, handle the filing."

He turned and walked out.

"Wait!" Cinthia called out, running after him. "What now?"

They were back at the car. Adrian stopped with his hand on the door handle.

"Now?" He looked at her with genuine confusion. "Now you go back to work. Or whatever it is you do. Don't think being Mrs. Clemons means you get to sit around eating bonbons."

Cinthia blinked. "Go back to work?"

"Yes. Miles will drop you off."

He got into the back of the Rolls Royce. "I have a meeting. Take the sedan," he told Miles.

Before Cinthia could say another word, the heavy door slammed shut. The Rolls Royce peeled away, merging into traffic.

She was left standing on the sidewalk with Miles.

"Ms. Wise," Miles said, gesturing to a black Lincoln sedan that had pulled up behind the Rolls. "Where should I take you? Do you have a job?"

Cinthia stared at the empty space where Adrian had been. He didn't know. He genuinely didn't know she worked in his building. He hadn't even bothered to ask for her resume.

"Yes," she said softly. "I have a job."

She got into the sedan.

"Where to?" Miles asked from the driver's seat.

"Clemons Media Tower," Cinthia said. "42nd and 8th."

Miles looked at her in the rearview mirror. His eyebrows shot up. "You work... at the Tower?"

"Junior Executive Assistant. 14th floor."

Miles was silent for a long moment. He didn't smile, but his eyes softened just a fraction. "I see."

He didn't ask why she hadn't told Adrian. He was a good assistant. He knew when to keep his mouth shut.

Cinthia looked down at her left hand. It was bare. No ring. Just a faint smear of ink on her pinky finger.

She was married. To a stranger. To a monster.

And now, she had to go back to his office and pretend she wasn't.