Velvet Vows

I wasn't supposed to get married at 25. But here I was, sitting across him at the long mahogany table, crystal glasses gleaming beneath the chandelier, the marriage certificate spread open like battle lines.

And then he slid the final page across to me. My signature would seal more than just a partnership. It would tie me, legally and irrevocably, to him.

Aric Vale.
Sharp-suited heir. Ruthless in reputation. A man whose presence filled a room the way shadows swallow light.

He didn't look at me when he signed. His hand was steady, precise, as though this was no more personal than closing a deal. But I felt the weight of it anyway. The quiet hum of something inevitable.

"Sign it, Miss. Thorne." His voice was stern and lacking emotions.

This wasn't a love story.
At least, it wasn't meant to be.

It was a vow inked in velvet and iron, binding two strangers into something neither of us had asked for.

And as his name bled across the page beside mine, I couldn't help but wonder,
would this be the beginning of our undoing?
----

When Kia Thorne got her first art exhibition, she wasn't expecting anything more than a few curious glances and polite applause. Her paintings had always been her escape, a way to capture the world as she saw it. But nothing could have prepared her for the moment an enigmatic old man stepped forward, admired her work, and purchased it for a sum that made her jaw drop.

Little did Kia know, that old man held more than just a wallet full of money. He held the key to a life she never imagined.