Chapter 2

I didn't.

"Did you hit your head on the way in?" I asked.

"No."

"You want me to marry you?"

"On paper."

"That's not better."

"It is for both of us."

I stepped closer, lowering my voice even though every recorder could still catch it. "You think I'd sign anything you put in front of me after your bank fed the tribunal a fake memory?"

His eyes went colder. "I think you'll sign because the contract restores your appeal rights."

My breath caught.

Adrian tilted the document so I could read the first lines.

TEMPORARY CIVIL UNION. JOINT WITNESS ACCESS. THIRTY-DAY TERM.

Beneath that, in smaller print, sat the clause that mattered.

THE WIFE RETAINS FULL APPEAL STATUS UNTIL THE CONTRACT EXPIRES.

I looked up. "You already had this prepared."

"I had it prepared for someone else."

"How romantic."

"You need it more than she did."

There it was. The knife beneath the offer.

I glanced at Marlow. He'd gone still.

"If I sign," I said, "my license appeal stays open?"

"Yes."

"And what do you get?"

"A lawful spouse recognized by the succession court. That blocks Marlow's seizure order for thirty days."

Marlow's voice cut in. "The tribunal rejects this spectacle."

Adrian didn't turn. "You can reject it after she signs. Until then, you can watch."

"She's under investigation."

"Which makes her eligible to appeal, unless you illegally close the record. You know that. She knows that. The cameras know that."

My fingers curled at my sides.

He was using my career to protect his inheritance.

I was using his contract to keep my career alive.

That didn't make us partners. It made us two trapped animals staring at the same open cage.

"What else is in it?" I asked.

Adrian's mouth tightened. "Shared residence. Shared legal access. No public contradiction of the marriage for thirty days."

"No."

"You haven't heard the rest."

"I heard shared residence. Absolutely not."

"You want your badge?"

"I want my freedom."

"Then keep it after the appeal. Right now, Marlow owns the room."

Marlow raised one hand.

The guards shifted around us.

"Mara Voss," he said, "you have one minute to surrender your badge and submit to restraint. Refusal will be recorded as contempt."

My badge lay on the floor between Adrian's shoes.

He looked down at it, then back at me.

"Sign," he said.

"Go to hell."

"After thirty days."

"You think this is funny?"

"No. I think you're out of time."

The restraint band in the guard's hand opened with a metallic snap.

I looked at the red bar cutting through my name on the tribunal seal.

My mother had spent years teaching me never to swear an oath I couldn't keep.

Adrian was asking me to swear one I already wanted to break.

"If I sign," I said, "you don't touch my work, my records, or my mother's files."

His expression changed by less than an inch, but I caught it.

A pause. A tiny pull at his jaw.

"Your mother's files aren't part of the contract."

"Then add them."

"No."

"Then no marriage."

Marlow gestured toward the guards. "Take her."

Adrian moved before they did.

His arm hooked around my waist and dragged me against him.

My back hit his chest. His hand spread over my ribs, firm enough to hold me, careful enough not to bruise. His breath touched the side of my neck.

"What are you doing?" I snapped.

"Saving the contract."

"Adrian, don't—"

He turned my face with two fingers under my chin.

The tribunal cameras swung toward us.

Marlow shouted, "Rook! Step away from her!"

Adrian's eyes stayed on mine.

For the first time, I saw heat beneath all that control. Not tenderness. Not even want.

A warning.

"If you want your appeal," he murmured, "kiss me."

I shoved at his chest. "You're insane."

"Probably. But if we make this public before Marlow closes the record, the contract becomes a recognized family claim."

"You could just let me sign it."

"Not without proof of intent."

"Then let them arrest me."

His grip tightened around my waist. His thumb pressed against my side, warm through the thin fabric of my blouse.

"You don't mean that."

"I mean I'd rather go to a cell than marry you."

"You can do both."

"I hate you."

"I know."

He lowered his mouth toward mine.

I should've turned away.

I should've bitten him.

Instead, I caught the front of his shirt and pulled him closer.

The kiss landed hard.

Not soft. Not sweet. His mouth covered mine like he was making a legal point, and I answered with every ounce of anger I had left. His fingers locked around my waist. My knuckles scraped his collar as the gallery exploded behind us.

Someone gasped.

Someone else shouted, "Record the union claim!"

The kiss tasted like black coffee and trouble.

Adrian's thumb slid once along my ribs. My breath broke against his mouth.

He felt it. Of course he did.

His lips slowed.

For one dangerous second, the court disappeared. There was only his hand on me, my fist twisted in his shirt, and the heat of his body holding me upright.

Then he pulled back.

My lips tingled.

His forehead nearly touched mine.

"Smile," he whispered. "You just got married."

I stared at him. "I will kill you."

"After we sign."

Marlow slammed both hands onto the bench. "This is invalid! The woman has not consented!"

Adrian turned his head toward him but kept his arm around me. "Ask her."

Every face in the tribunal swung my way.

My appeal. My badge. My mother's files.

All of it balanced on the next word.

Marlow pointed at me. "Mara Voss, do you consent to a thirty-day civil marriage with Adrian Rook?"

Adrian's hand stayed at my waist.

His thumb pressed into my side once.

A warning. Or a question.

I hated him enough to say no.

I needed my license enough to say yes.

"Yes," I said.

The word struck the silver floor seal.

Light burst up around our feet.

A thin line of fire raced from Adrian's palm to mine. He caught my hand before I could pull away, and the contract strip flared between our joined fingers—