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"Sign here." Kane shoved a silver pen across the glass table.
I didn't touch it. "What happens if I don't?"
"Your brother stays in the hole I pulled him from." His voice was flat. Final. "Midnight's in four hours. After that, the people who want him dead stop asking nicely."
I looked down at the contract. Twenty pages, small print, legal words that twisted into each other like knots. My hands were shaking. I hid them under the table.
"Let me read it first."
"No time." Kane leaned back in his chair. The scar that ran down the left side of his face caught the low light from the chandelier overhead. It looked like something had tried to tear his jaw off and failed. "You want guarantees? Here's one. Sign, and Leo walks out of here breathing. Don't, and I let the dogs finish what they started."
I swallowed. My throat felt like sandpaper. "You said this was a marriage contract."
"It is."
"For how long?"
"One year. Renewable if I need it."
"Renewable?" I laughed, sharp and bitter. "You mean you get to decide if I stay trapped."
"You're not trapped." He picked up a glass of something dark and swirled it once. "You're bought. There's a difference."
Heat flooded my face. I wanted to throw the contract at him. I wanted to run. But Leo's face was burned into my head—the photo Kane had dropped on the table an hour ago, my brother's split lip and swollen eye, the way his hands were zip-tied behind a rusted pipe.
"Where is he now?"
"Close."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you get until you sign." Kane set the glass down. His eyes were pale gray, the kind that looked through you instead of at you. "I'm not here to negotiate, Miss Carter. I'm here to collect."
"Collect what? A fake wife?"
"A real one. Legally binding. You show up where I tell you, smile when I need you to, and keep your mouth shut about everything else."
I gripped the edge of the table. "And what do you get out of this?"
His jaw tightened. For half a second, something moved behind those cold eyes—something that looked like pain. Then it was gone.
"That's not your problem."
"It is if I'm signing my life over."
"You're signing a year. Don't be dramatic."
I stood up. The chair scraped loud against the marble floor. "Then find someone else."
I made it three steps before he spoke again.
"Sit down, Evie."
I stopped. He'd used my first name. Low and quiet, like he'd been saying it for years.
I turned around. "How do you know Leo's even alive?"
Kane pulled his phone from his jacket pocket, tapped twice, and slid it across the table. The screen showed a live feed—grainy, dim, but clear enough. Leo was sitting on a concrete floor, hands still tied, but his chest was moving. He was breathing.
"Satisfied?"
I grabbed the phone. Zoomed in. The timestamp in the corner read 9:47 PM. Current. "Where is this?"
"Somewhere you'll never find without me." Kane stood and walked around the table. He stopped too close. I could smell cologne and something else—something mineral and cold, like wet stone. "Last chance. Sign, or I walk out and your brother's gone before morning."
My hands were still shaking. I put the phone down and picked up the pen.
"What do I have to do?"
"Turn to the last page."
I flipped through the contract. The words blurred together—clauses about cohabitation, public appearances, nondisclosure, termination conditions. The last page was different. It was older, the paper heavier, almost parchment. The text was handwritten in black ink.
*The bride consents in blood. The bond is sworn. The mark is witness.*
I looked up. "What the hell is this?"
"Insurance."
"This isn't legal."
"It's older than legal." Kane pulled a small blade from his pocket. It was thin, sharp, the handle wrapped in leather. "You want Leo back, you give me this."
I stepped back. "You want my blood?"
"Just a drop."
"Why?"
"Because the contract doesn't work without it." He held out his left hand. His palm was already scarred, a thin white line cutting across the center. "I go first. Then you."
I should've run. I should've screamed. But Leo's face was still on that screen, and the clock on the wall said 9:51.
"Fine."
Kane pressed the blade to his palm. He didn't flinch. Blood welled up, dark and fast, and he turned his hand over. Three drops hit the parchment, soaking into the fibers like the paper was thirsty.
Then he handed me the knife.
I took it. The handle was still warm from his grip. I looked at my left hand, at the thin white scar on my wrist I'd had since I was seven. Mom always said it was from a fall. I never believed her.
I pressed the blade to my palm. It stung, sharp and bright. Blood pooled in the cut, and I held my hand over the contract.
One drop. Two.
The third hit the page, and the room caught fire.
Not real fire. But light—white and blinding, crawling up from the blood on the parchment like something alive. I tried to pull my hand back, but Kane grabbed my wrist and held it down.
"Don't move."
"What is this?" My voice cracked. The light was burning into my skin now, into the scar on my wrist, and it hurt. It hurt like something was being carved into me from the inside.
"It's the bond." Kane's grip was iron. His eyes were locked on my wrist. "It's taking."
"Taking what?"
He didn't answer. The light flared once, bright enough to make me close my eyes, and then it was gone.
I yanked my hand back and looked down.
The scar on my wrist wasn't white anymore. It was black. Ink-dark, raised like a brand, twisting into a shape I didn't recognize. It looked like a mark. A seal.
And it was burning.
"What did you do to me?" I grabbed his jacket. "What the hell is this?"
Kane stared at my wrist. His face had gone pale. Not scared—something worse. Something like recognition.
"Where did you get that scar?"
"I've had it since I was a kid. What does that—"
"Who gave it to you?"
"No one. I fell. My mom said—"
"Your mother." Kane's hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. He turned it over, staring at the mark like it was speaking to him. His voice dropped to a whisper. "What was her name?"
My heart slammed against my ribs. "Why?"
"Tell me."
"Let go of me first."
He didn't. His thumb pressed against the mark, and the burning flared again. I gasped, tried to pull away, but he held on.
"Her name, Evie."
I wanted to lie. I wanted to run. But his eyes were on mine, and I couldn't look away.
"Grace," I whispered. "Grace Carter."
Kane went still. His grip loosened. He let go of my wrist and stepped back, dragging a hand through his hair. He looked like I'd just shot him.
"That's impossible."
"What's impossible? Who was she to you?"
He turned away. His shoulders were tight, his breath uneven. When he spoke again, his voice was rough, barely controlled.
"She was the woman who put this curse on me."