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I showed up at the bar the next night like nothing happened. Like I didn't just sign my life away to some guy I'd never met.
The Copper Tap looked the same as always—sticky floors, neon beer signs buzzing in the windows, regulars hunched over their drinks like they were praying to something that wouldn't answer back. I tied my apron on and started pulling pints. My hands moved on autopilot. Pour. Wipe. Smile. Repeat.
But my head was somewhere else. Tomorrow night. Eight pm. City Hall.
I was marrying a stranger.
No. Not a stranger. I had a name now. Ethan Crow. And I had a photo—grainy, half-shadowed, taken three years ago by Mara outside some warehouse on the east side. Same build. Same black sedan in the background.
She'd been tracking someone. And now I was about to marry him.
"Hey. Bartender."
I blinked. Looked up. A guy in a stained hoodie was leaning over the bar, snapping his fingers in my face.
"Yeah?"
"Another whiskey. And don't water it down this time."
I poured him a double. Didn't say anything. He grabbed the glass and downed half of it in one go, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"You new here?"
"No."
"Huh. Don't recognize you."
I didn't recognize him either. But that didn't mean anything. Half the people who came through here were ghosts. They drank, they paid, they left. No names. No small talk.
I liked it that way.
The door swung open and I felt it before I saw him. A shift in the air. Like the temperature dropped a degree or two.
I looked up.
Ethan Crow walked in.
He was taller than I expected. Lean, but not skinny. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark jacket. He moved like someone who'd spent a lot of time in places where making noise got you killed. Quiet steps. Hands loose at his sides.
He scanned the room once, then his eyes landed on me.
I didn't look away.
He crossed the bar and sat down two stools away from the guy in the hoodie. Didn't say anything. Just folded his hands on the counter and waited.
I grabbed a glass and filled it with water. Slid it over to him.
"Not much of a drinker?"
He glanced at the glass. "Not tonight."
His voice was low. Calm. The kind of calm that makes you nervous because you can't tell what's underneath it.
I leaned against the bar and crossed my arms. "So. You're him."
"I'm him."
"You could've called first."
"I did call."
"I meant before that. Before your brother showed up at my apartment and made me sign a contract."
Ethan's expression didn't change. "Would it have made a difference?"
No. Probably not. But I didn't say that.
The guy in the hoodie turned around and squinted at Ethan. "Hey. You talking to my girl?"
I sighed. "I'm not your girl."
"Fuck off, man." Hoodie Guy jabbed a finger at Ethan. "I was here first."
Ethan didn't move. Didn't even blink.
"Seriously," I said. "It's fine. Just finish your drink and—"
Hoodie Guy stood up. Swayed a little. Then he reached across the bar and grabbed my wrist.
"I'm talking to you," he said. "Don't ignore me."
I tried to pull back. His grip tightened.
"Let go."
"Make me."
Then Ethan was standing. I didn't see him move. One second he was sitting, the next he was right there, his hand wrapped around Hoodie Guy's wrist.
"She said let go."
His voice was still calm. But there was something else in it now. Something cold.
Hoodie Guy laughed. "Or what? You gonna—"
Ethan twisted.
I heard the snap before I saw it. Hoodie Guy screamed and dropped to his knees, clutching his wrist. Ethan let go and stepped back, his face completely blank.
"Get out," Ethan said.
Hoodie Guy scrambled to his feet and ran. The door slammed behind him.
The bar went quiet.
I stared at Ethan. He sat back down and picked up his water like nothing happened.
"You just broke that guy's wrist."
"He grabbed you."
"Yeah, but—"
"You want me to apologize?"
I didn't know what I wanted. My heart was pounding and my wrist still felt warm where Hoodie Guy had grabbed it.
Ethan looked at me. Really looked at me. His eyes were dark. Not brown. Not black. Something in between.
"You're Charlotte."
"You already know that."
"Viktor said you were stubborn."
"Viktor's an asshole."
Ethan's mouth twitched. It might've been a smile. Hard to tell.
I poured myself a shot of vodka and downed it. Felt the burn in my throat. It helped.
"So what now?" I said. "You just show up here and watch me work?"
"I wanted to meet you before tomorrow."
"Why?"
"Because you're going to be my wife."
The way he said it made it sound like a job description. No emotion. No hesitation.
I leaned in. "Let's get one thing straight. I'm not doing this because I want to. I'm doing it because your brother didn't give me a choice."
"I know."
"And I don't trust you."
"Good."
That threw me. I expected him to argue. To tell me I was wrong. To play the nice guy.
But he didn't.
"Why good?" I asked.
"Because trust gets people killed."
He said it like he knew. Like he'd seen it happen.
I wanted to ask more. I wanted to ask about the photo. About Mara. About the black sedan.
But something stopped me. Maybe it was the way he sat there, perfectly still, like a predator waiting for the right moment to move. Maybe it was the fact that he'd just broken a man's wrist without breaking a sweat.
Or maybe it was the look in his eyes when he turned to me again.
"There's something you need to know," Ethan said.
"What?"
He leaned in. Close enough that I could smell him—clean, sharp, like cold air and something darker underneath.
"Don't touch me before the full moon."
I blinked. "What?"
"You heard me."
"Why?"
He stood up. Pulled a twenty out of his wallet and dropped it on the bar.
"See you tomorrow night, Charlotte."
And then he was gone.
I stood there, staring at the door. My pulse was racing. My hands were shaking.
Don't touch me before the full moon.
What the hell did that mean?
I grabbed my phone and pulled up the photo again. The one Mara took. The man in the shadows. The black sedan.
I zoomed in on his face.
It was him. I was sure of it now.
Ethan Crow.
And tomorrow night, I was going to marry him.