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Vivian's father signed the contract before she even walked into the room.
She saw the pen drop onto mahogany, heard the scratch of his chair as he stood. The study smelled like old leather and something metallic she didn't want to name. Her father didn't look at her. He was staring at the man across the desk—tall, dark suit, hands folded like he had all the time in the world.
"It's done," her father said. His voice cracked on the second word.
Vivian stopped in the doorway. The hem of her dress brushed the floor, white silk her father had picked out that morning. She hadn't asked why. Now she knew.
"Come here, Vivian." Her father's tone was flat. No room for argument.
She stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind her, and the sound made her stomach twist. The man at the desk finally looked up. His eyes were pale gray, the kind that didn't reflect light. He didn't smile.
"Miss Ashcroft," he said. "I'm Lucas Croft."
She knew the name. Everyone did. Vampire lord, council seat, old blood. The kind of vampire who didn't show up at human events unless there was money or power involved. Or both.
"My daughter," her father said, gesturing at her like she was part of the furniture. "As agreed."
Vivian's throat went dry. "What agreement?"
Her father finally met her eyes. He looked older than he had this morning. Older and smaller. "You're getting married."
She laughed. It came out sharp and wrong. "To who?"
Lucas stood. He was taller than she'd thought. Broad shoulders, perfect posture, the kind of controlled movement that came from centuries of practice. He walked around the desk and stopped in front of her.
"To me," he said.
Vivian took a step back. Her spine hit the door. "You're joking."
"I don't joke about contracts." Lucas's voice was even, almost polite. He pulled a folded paper from his jacket and held it out. "Blood-bound marriage. Witnessed by council law. Your father's debts are cleared in exchange for your hand and your name."
She didn't take the paper. She looked at her father instead. "You sold me."
He flinched but didn't deny it. "The Ashcroft name still means something, Vivian. This keeps it alive."
"For you."
"For both of us." He turned away, hands braced on the desk. "The creditors were coming tomorrow. Do you know what they would've done? What they would've taken?"
She did. She'd heard the shouting through the walls for weeks. Seen the auction notices posted on the gate. Their estate was bleeding out, one room at a time. But she hadn't thought—
"You didn't even ask me," she said quietly.
Her father's shoulders sagged. "I couldn't risk you saying no."
Lucas folded the contract and slid it back into his jacket. "The ceremony is tonight. We'll leave within the hour."
Vivian's hands curled into fists. The silk of her dress bunched between her fingers. She wanted to scream, to run, to shove her father against the wall and make him look at what he'd just done. But Lucas was watching her with those cold gray eyes, and she had the feeling that if she ran, he'd catch her before she made it past the front gate.
"What if I refuse?" she asked.
Lucas tilted his head. "Then your father defaults. The estate is seized. Everything with the Ashcroft name on it gets auctioned off by morning." He paused. "Including the family crypt."
Her mother was buried there. Her brother too.
Vivian closed her eyes. Took a breath. Opened them again.
"What kind of marriage?" Her voice sounded steadier than she felt.
"Blood-bound," Lucas said again. "You'll live in my house. Attend council events as my wife. In exchange, your family name stays intact, and your father keeps the estate."
"And what do you get?"
Something flickered across his face. Too fast to read. "A bride with a clean bloodline. Council expects me to marry. You fit the requirements."
She almost laughed again. Requirements. Like she was a checklist.
"Do I have a choice?" she asked.
Lucas didn't answer. He didn't have to.
Her father finally turned around. His eyes were red. "Vivian, please—"
"Don't." She held up a hand. "Just don't."
She looked at Lucas. At the perfect lines of his suit, the unreadable expression, the hands that hadn't moved once since he'd stood up. He looked like a painting. Like something carved out of marble and left in a museum for people to admire from a distance.
"Fine," she said. "I'll do it."
Her father let out a breath. Relief, or maybe just exhaustion.
Lucas nodded once. "We'll begin the rite now."
"Now?" Vivian's heart kicked against her ribs. "I thought you said tonight—"
"The ceremony is tonight. The blood pact happens now." Lucas pulled a thin silver knife from his pocket. The blade caught the lamplight, sharp and clean. "It's binding. Once we're done, the contract is locked."
Vivian stared at the knife. "What do I have to do?"
"Give me your hand."
She hesitated. Her father was watching from the desk, pale and silent. The knife gleamed between them.
Lucas waited. He didn't push. Didn't move.
Vivian stepped forward and held out her right hand.
Lucas took it. His skin was cold, the kind of cold that sank past her wrist and into her bones. He turned her palm up and pressed the blade against it. She felt the sting before she saw the blood—a thin red line across her lifeline.
"Say your name," Lucas said.
"Vivian Ashcroft."
He cut his own palm without flinching. Blood welled up, darker than hers, almost black in the dim light. He pressed their hands together.
The cold turned sharp. It burned up her arm and into her chest, wrapping around her heart like wire. She gasped and tried to pull back, but Lucas held on.
"Say you accept," he said quietly.
Her vision blurred. The room tilted. She could feel her pulse in her ears, too fast, too loud. "I accept."
The air between them shimmered. A faint red glow spread from their joined hands, crawling up their wrists like veins of light. It pulsed once, twice, then sank into their skin and disappeared.
Lucas let go.
Vivian stumbled back. Her hand throbbed. The cut was already closing, leaving a faint white scar in its place. She stared at it, then at Lucas. He was wiping his palm with a handkerchief, expression unchanged.
"It's done," he said.
Her father exhaled. "Thank you, Lord Croft. Thank you—"
"Save it." Lucas's tone was flat. He looked at Vivian. "Pack what you need. We leave in thirty minutes."
She didn't move. Couldn't. Her legs felt like they were made of stone.
Lucas stepped closer. His voice dropped, low enough that her father wouldn't hear. "You should've burned with the rest of them three years ago."
Vivian froze. "What?"
But Lucas was already walking toward the door. He paused at the threshold and glanced back at her father. "The estate deed transfers to my name as collateral. If she breaks the contract, you lose everything."
Her father nodded quickly. "Understood."
Lucas left.
Vivian stood there, staring at the empty doorway. Her hand was still burning. Her heart was still racing. And his words were looping in her head, over and over.
You should've burned with the rest of them.
She turned to her father. He was slumped in his chair, head in his hands.
"What did he mean?" Her voice came out hoarse. "What fire?"
Her father didn't look up. "Go pack, Vivian."
"What fire?"
He finally raised his head. His face was gray. "The one that killed your mother and brother."