Married

Vivienne POV

The silent, suffocating drive to the church was a stark, jarring contrast to the chaotic thunder raging inside my head. I sat rigidly in the passenger seat of Roman's sleek, black luxury car, my heavy, somewhat transparent white bridal gown spilling across the dark leather interior. My heart hammered a frantic, terrified rhythm against my ribs. From the corner of my eye, I watched his large, veiny hands expertly grip the steering wheel and shift the gears. He drove with a calm, calculated precision, neither rushing nor lingering. We were moving forward, much like my own twisted life, being dragged inevitably toward a destination I wasn't entirely sure I could survive.

I was actually about to marry Roman Lexington.

This was a rushed, highly minimalistic arrangement born entirely out of my father’s rapidly failing health and my own desperate, clawing need to erase Pierce’s sickening betrayal from my shattered heart. I cast a sideways glance at Roman’s sharp, unreadable profile. He didn't look at me the way Pierce used to when he was trying to charm me. There was no romantic spark in his dark eyes, no awe at seeing me dressed in a bridal gown. Roman was a predator in a bespoke suit, a gentleman perhaps, but definitively devoid of any tender romance. I had absolutely no idea how I was going to navigate the dangerous minefield of my own fragile feelings.

He pulled the sleek car into the quiet parking lot of the private church. Before we could even step foot inside the sacred building, Roman abruptly stopped me. He unbuckled his seatbelt, his massive frame shifting toward me. I could hear my own breathing growing heavy and shallow.

"Are you okay?" he asked smoothly, his deep, gravelly voice devoid of any standard wedding-day warmth.

"Yes," I nodded, muttering in a shaky, breathless voice.

"Good, because I have got the first draft of our contract," he said, his dark eyes locking onto mine with absolute business-like authority. "I think you should go through it before getting married to me."

I gulped nervously, my stomach twisting into a tight, sickening knot. His words instantly drained whatever little strength I had left. "A draft?" I questioned, my voice barely above a whisper. I could hardly believe he had actually brought a formal, written legal document to our wedding day.

"Yes. It's better we have everything completely figured out so that the terms of our marriage remain sorted and undisputed until the end of the six months," he stated firmly.

Roman casually signaled to someone standing in the shadows of the church pillars. A sharp-suited lawyer immediately stepped forward, holding a thick leather folder. He approached our side of the car, professionally preparing to outline the bleak, uncompromising reality of my immediate future.

"This is my lawyer, and that's the draft," Roman introduced him effortlessly.

I inhaled a deep, shaky breath, desperately trying to collect my rapidly crumbling courage. "Can you brief me on all the main points?" I asked the lawyer. This was getting more terrifying with every passing second. I was lying to my dying father, entering a rigid six-month marriage contract, and essentially agreeing to become this billionaire's legal sex toy for half a year without the slightest expectation of love or warmth.

"Of course, Miss Caldwell," the lawyer started, opening the file. His voice was entirely mechanical. "The contract has strict, non-negotiable clauses. The first is the Term of the Marriage: a strict six-month duration beginning from today. After exactly six months, the marriage officially becomes void ab initio, meaning it will be completely legally dissolved as if it never happened. Absolutely no extensions."

I nodded slowly, my chest feeling tighter.

"The second is the Term of Exclusivity," the lawyer continued flawlessly. "During these six months, there is complete and total exclusivity. Both parties agree to absolute loyalty. There will be absolutely no outside emotional attachments permitted, no outside dating, and absolutely no fucking anyone else."

My mind instantly flashed to the sickening, vivid image of Pierce aggressively thrusting into that other woman last night. I violently shoved the memory down, fighting the bile rising in my throat.

"The third is the Term of Intimacy," the lawyer read, his tone never wavering despite the highly explicit nature of the words. "This mandates a physical relationship. Both parties consent upfront to mandatory physical intimacy, which includes engaging in sex and all pleasurable activities. By signing this document, you are legally consenting to have sex with Mr. Lexington, meaning no separate, verbal consent needs to be asked for or negotiated prior to each sexual act during the duration of the marriage."

My pale cheeks instantly flooded with heat, my heart dropping straight to my stomach. Mandatory sex. Pleasure. Upfront consent.

"The fourth clause strictly dictates that you are legally bound to fulfill all traditional, public responsibilities of a husband and wife, except the commitment of romance. Love is strictly forbidden," the lawyer read on steadily. "Fifth, all internal business dealings will remain strictly between the two of you. Sixth, the contract explicitly states there will be no offspring. Neither party can attempt to conceive a baby under any circumstances. And finally, the seventh clause guarantees that upon the successful completion of this strict six-month term, all properties, assets, and shares from CGC will cleanly and entirely transfer directly to your name."

The lawyer snapped the heavy folder shut, finishing his bleak, terrifying speech. My knees felt entirely weak inside the car. I looked over at Roman. He was already staring right back at me, his expression perfectly unreadable and intense.

"Do you have any problem with any of these clauses?" Roman asked slowly, his tone suggesting he fully expected me to blindly comply.

I didn't know what to say. Haunted by the vivid, painful image of my ailing father drawing his final breaths in his sterile bed, and the echoing grunts of Pierce sweating over another woman's naked body, I violently suppressed my crushing heartbreak. This was the only possible way to save my father's life's work.

"No," I exhaled deeply, forcing the single word out of my trembling lips. I reached my hand forward, demanding the pen.

The stone-faced lawyer held the heavy document out to me. Without another second of hesitation, I hastily signed my name on the dotted line. Vivienne Caldwell.

Roman watched me for a brief, intense second before taking the pen from my shaking fingers. He effortlessly signed his own bold signature right next to mine. Roman Lexington. It was done. I had essentially signed my body and my next six months over to the devil.

He stepped closer, his imposing presence instantly enveloping me. He reached out and firmly gripped my small hand. "Everyone's waiting."

Inside the vast, echoing church, the atmosphere was incredibly sterile. There were no bright flowers, no joyous music, no weeping relatives. Surrounded only by a tiny handful of top-tier executives from his company and a few stone-faced lawyers acting as official witnesses, I stood nervously beside his towering frame.

Despite the painful memories of Pierce furiously flooding my brain, I forced myself to walk down the short aisle with Roman. My heavy skirts dragged across the marble floor. Stepping up to the altar, I stood on the right side of the priest, my hands tightly fisted into the expensive, sheer fabric of my dress.

Roman stood beside me, radiating dark, intimidating energy. His dark hair was perfectly gelled back, his intense eyes focused sharply on the front. His expensive, intoxicating cologne completely filled my senses, making me acutely aware that his massive, overwhelming presence was now permanently anchored to my daily life. He was so incredibly tall; even in my highest heels, the top of my head barely brushed his broad, tailored shoulders.

The priest began to speak, reciting standard vows that barely registered in my chaotic, spinning mind. My brain was completely stalling, short-circuiting under the crushing weight of thousands of terrifying questions. Just six months, I desperately reminded myself. You only have to survive him for six months.

When the priest finally prompted us, Roman’s deep voice echoed powerfully off the high, vaulted ceilings. "I do."

I gulped, my throat completely bone-dry. My pale cheeks burned red with a sudden rush of feverish heat. I felt entirely unsure of what I was doing, but I opened my mouth anyway and quietly muttered, "I do."

A sudden, violent shiver shot straight down my spine the very second Roman reached out and took my trembling hand. His large fingers wrapped securely around mine, and he effortlessly slipped a ridiculously heavy, massive diamond ring onto my ring finger. His thumb gently, deliberately caressed my knuckle.

My feet entirely froze as he took a slow, calculated step closer to me. My heartbeat plummeted, and my breathing completely halted. The bright morning sunlight filtering through the high stained-glass windows was instantly blocked out by his broad chest and tanned face. I instinctively tilted my head backward as a thousand chaotic butterflies violently erupted in my stomach.

Roman placed his large, warm palm flat against the side of my waist, his long fingers sliding around to firmly press against my lower spine. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled me flush against his hard, muscular chest. The movement was agonizingly slow, entirely consuming. My throat ran completely dry as my panicked gaze fluttered between his intense, dark eyes and his perfectly sculpted lips. My stomach pressed intimately against his hard torso. My eyelashes fluttered shut as he closed the final few centimeters of distance between us.

He completely captured my lips.

I stood frozen, my lungs completely forgetting how to draw in oxygen. My rational brain stalled completely. This kiss wasn't a mere, polite formality for the tiny audience of lawyers and corporate suits. It was devastatingly deep, aggressive, and breath-stealing. Roman parted his lips, firmly capturing my lower lip between his, sucking and pulling with a dark, territorial dominance that sent electric shocks straight to my core. His tongue slid against the seam of my lips, demanding entrance, tasting me with a raw, undeniable hunger.

In that terrifying, world-tilting moment, hot, desperate tears pricked the corners of my tightly squeezed eyes. I realized the fatal, glaring flaw in my foolproof, strictly business plan. I had just signed a contract explicitly forbidding love, but feeling his body crushing mine, feeling the overwhelming, intoxicating power of his mouth... there was absolutely no way I could survive this level of raw, aggressive intimacy without my fragile emotions getting hopelessly entangled. I was in extreme emotional danger. He was going to utterly destroy me.

Yet, the very second he pulled back from my swollen, thoroughly kissed lips, the romantic illusion violently shattered. While I stood there trembling, desperately trying to catch my highly unstable breath, Roman casually reached into the pocket of his tailored trousers. He pulled out a vibrating cell phone, checking the glowing screen with cool, detached interest.

"Excuse me," he said smoothly, his voice devoid of any lingering passion.

Coolly excusing himself, he turned his back on me and walked away down the church aisle to take a pressing business call. I stood absolutely completely alone at the altar, my lips still tingling and bruised, staring cluelessly at his retreating back.

That was it. I was officially, legally Mrs. Vivienne Roman Lexington.

After the minimalist ceremony, we headed directly back toward my father’s massive, sprawling mansion. On the tense, suffocating drive back, Roman was all business once again. While I sat in the passenger seat drowning in my own terrifying thoughts, his phone rang constantly with non-stop business meetings, strategic suggestions, and urgent corporate updates.

"The shares of our company have gained 27% in just an hour," Roman noted aloud, checking his phone screen. He sounded incredibly pleased with the corporate victory, his tone entirely detached from the fact that we had just gotten married minutes ago.

"Wow. Seems like the news of our union is already out," I replied quietly, my voice lacking any real enthusiasm.

He chuckled slightly, a low, dark sound. "CGC and LGC should start doing joint ventures together soon, I guess."

I inhaled deeply, staring blankly out the passenger window. "Let me get habitual to the brutal contract we just signed before thinking about another corporate venture," I muttered.

Roman slowly turned his head to look at me. The harsh lines of his face softened into a surprisingly soft, almost gentle expression. "Don't worry, Vivienne. I will not hurt you. You will enjoy with me in these six months."

The blunt implication of his words—the mandatory physical intimacy, the sex we were contracted to have—sent a fresh, terrifying wave of panic crashing over me. I lowered my gaze to my lap, my fingers nervously twisting the massive diamond on my finger.

"I don't think anything is left in me to hurt," I whispered back brokenly.

I was secretly terrified to my absolute core. I didn't know how I was going to eventually confess the ultimate, humiliating truth to this hyper-experienced billionaire. I had never been touched before. I was completely untouched. I was a virgin. Pierce and I had only ever talked, walked, and shared chaste, meaningless pecks. I finally understood why Pierce never tried to sleep with me; he was only ever interested in securing my father's investments, never my body. Now, I was legally bound to explore sexuality and pleasurable activities with a man who looked like a literal god of sin. I had absolutely zero physical experience to give him.

Roman easily brushed off my depressing remark as premature anxiety. He pulled the luxury car directly into the vast parking lot of my father’s mansion and killed the engine. "It's too soon to declare that, little Vivienne," he murmured.

Suddenly, the atmosphere inside the enclosed space shifted violently. Roman seemed visibly, uncomfortably overheated. Despite the biting, crisp September chill permeating the air outside, he let out a harsh breath and sharply shed his expensive suit coat, tossing it carelessly onto the back seat. He ripped the designer cufflinks from his sleeves, tossing them onto the dashboard with a loud clatter, and began frantically rolling up the sleeves of his exquisite white dress shirt. The thick, prominent veins on his muscular forearms bulged as he flexed his hands.

I watched him with wide, confused eyes. He exhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a tense, agonizing moment. The heat radiating off his large body was palpable, thick with an unexplained, electric tension.

"Are you okay?" I asked cautiously.

He clenched his large fist hard against his thigh, his jaw ticking dangerously. He nodded tightly. I gulped nervously and looked away, reaching for the door handle to escape the suffocating tension, but suddenly, his massive hand shot out and gripped my fragile arm tightly.

"Vivienne," he rasped, his voice rough and strained.

A fierce shiver wracked my entire body. I turned back to look at him. He was hastily unbuttoning his tight collar, his broad chest heaving as he stared fixedly at my lips. He parted his mouth, thinning his brows as if fighting an intense internal battle, as if he was about to confess something wildly important.

"Um," he started, his dark eyes burning into mine.

But just as quickly as the raw heat had overtaken him, he abruptly shook his head, burying the thought entirely. He sharply released my arm and pulled his hand back.

"Nothing," he clipped out coldly. "Let's go."

We silently stepped out of the car and somberly entered my father's massive house, making our way straight to his dimly lit, sterile bedroom. The sound of the rhythmic, mechanical beeping of the heart monitor filled the heavy silence.

"Papa," I called out softly as I sauntered closer to his bedside.

Hearing my voice, his sunken, tired eyes rolled slightly beneath his thin eyelids before he slowly, weakly forced them open to look at us. Seeing him looking so incredibly fragile and heartbreakingly close to the absolute end, I desperately choked back a rising, bitter sob. I sat down gently on the edge of his mattress.

"We are married… now," I told him gently, forcing a bright, convincing smile onto my face even as my heart shattered into a million jagged pieces.

A slight, incredibly weak smile appeared on my father's pale face. Instantly, Roman stepped up right behind me. He placed a heavy, reassuring hand firmly on my shaking shoulder, his grip projecting absolute strength and stability.

"You do not have to worry about your daughter and your business now, Mr. Caldwell," Roman stated with commanding, unwavering certainty. His deep voice filled the quiet room with a powerful guarantee, completely masking the cold, strict six-month secret deal we had just signed away our lives for.

My dying father began to nod slowly. Silent, hot tears rolled down his sunken, heavily wrinkled cheeks. I could see the immense physical pain radiating through his frail body, rendering him entirely unable to speak at length.

"He needs rest," the hired nurse suddenly exclaimed from the corner of the room.

I nodded, tears finally breaching my eyelashes and rolling down my own cheeks. I looked down at my father as he slowly, with agonizing effort, lifted his shaky, heavily bruised hand. I leaned in close, helping him rest his trembling palm against the top of my head in a final, silent blessing. I turned my head and softly kissed his bony knuckles.

"I love you so much, papa," I whispered, my voice breaking completely.

He nodded weakly. "God bless you," he rasped shakily.

Roman stepped forward, moving seamlessly to my side. With the absolute last of his rapidly fading strength, my father reached out for the towering billionaire. Gently, with trembling fingers, my father took my small hand and placed it directly into Roman’s massive, warm palm. He looked up at my new husband, his eyes desperate and pleading.

With a shaky, heartbreakingly final plea, my father muttered, "Take care of her."