Page 17 of Vance

The morning light filters through my cheap blinds, striping the worn tiles of my apartment floor. I’ve barely slept, spending most of the night staring at the ceiling, trying to comprehend what I’ve done. His low, menacing growl replayed through my thoughts on a torturous loop. You’ll belong to me. Completely.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand so loud in the pre-dawn quiet that I flinch, knowing who it is before I even look.

VANCE ASHFORD

Good morning, wife. The movers will be fine on their own. I’ve made you and Kierra a lunch reservation at Alinea at noon. The two of you have an appointment afterward at L’Atelier Blanc to acquire dresses suitable for an Ashford wedding.

A wave of nausea rolls through me. Alinea. L’Atelier Blanc. Places I’ve only ever read about in magazines, places that exist in a world so far from my own, they might as well be on another planet. He’s not just moving me into his home; he’s forcing me to wear a costume and act a role I never auditioned for. My fingers fly across the screen, unable to type out a response fast enough.

I’m not your wife. Not yet. And I’m not taking Kierra on some shopping spree with your money.

His reply is instantaneous, a testament to his control and utter lack of a life that doesn’t involve tormenting me.

You are my wife in almost every way that matters, sweetheart. The contract is signed. The state legalities are a formality.

You will take my future sister-in-law shopping.

He’s a monster. A cold, calculating monster who knows exactly where to insert the knife. I don’t want him anywhere near Kierra, his poison tainting the one pure thing in my world.

Consider it your first duty as a member of this family.

My shoulders slump, the fight draining out of me before the day has truly begun, because I know that no matter how hard I deny him, he will win.

Fine.

I stare at Vance’s messages for several seconds before tossing the phone onto the bed, trying to figure out what to tell Kierra. Because somehow, I need to make an afternoon at Alinea sound like a completely normal lunch between sisters.

I pick up my phone again and open Kierra’s contact.

Morning, Kiki! I’m picking you up at eleven to take you to lunch.

The response comes almost immediately.

KIKI

Where are we going?

I hesitate, staring at her reply. There’s no way I’m telling her the truth without a barrage of questions. Instead of the full truth, I give her the smallest piece I can manage.

A friend made reservations for us.

Three dots appear.

Reservations? Fancy.

Despite everything, a tiny smile tugs at the corner of my lips.

Apparently.

Should I dress up?

I glance at the cheap black bike shorts and oversized T-shirt I slept in, then toward a closet that suddenly feels woefully inadequate in its choices.

Just wear something nice.

Okayyy. Now I’m curious.

Alinea is everything I imagined and more. It’s stunning, filled with impossibly beautiful people. Every plate of food looks like abstract art. Kierra—bless her heart—is so enchanted by it that she doesn’t notice the way my hands are shaking or the fact I can barely force down a single bite of the impossibly intricate dish in front of me. Because this lunch is a special kind of hell. Instead of Vance tainting Kierra, I’m the one soiling our relationship under an ever-growing mountain of lies.