Married

The crisp rustle of thick parchment broke the heavy silence in the room. Camilla bit her lower lip, her gaze fixed on the dense legal jargon printed across the pages. Maximus Sinclair sat across from her desk, the faint, rich aroma of his dark roast coffee drifting through the air. He watched her with an unreadable expression, waiting as she reviewed the terms of their so-called marriage of convenience.

Before she could voice the questions forming in her mind, her phone vibrated violently against the polished wood of her desk. The screen lit up. Donovan.

It was his second attempt in the last ten minutes. With a quiet sigh, Camilla swiped the screen and brought the phone to her ear. "I am in the middle of a meeting," she said, keeping her tone flat and professional.

"How about we grab dinner together? After your meeting, of course," Donovan’s voice echoed through the speaker, laced with a sudden, desperate eagerness that caught her off guard.

"Donovan, look—"

"Sorry," he interrupted, his breath hitching slightly. "I was just... I missed you."

A hollow ache threatened to form in her chest, but she quickly crushed it down. Two days ago, those words would have sent her heart racing. Now, they just sounded like a cheap punchline to a joke she didn't understand. "Let's talk later. My client is here," she said coldly, pressing the end button before he could utter another syllable.

She placed the phone face down.

A low, rough chuckle rumbled from the other side of the desk. Camilla shot a glare at Maximus.

"A client?" Maximus leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "I had no idea my younger brother possessed such a clingy streak. Especially considering he has treated you like an absolute fool for the past two years."

Camilla bristled. Her fingers tightened around the edges of the contract. "Why am I not surprised you knew exactly what he was doing?" she snapped, the betrayal burning fresh in her veins. "You watched him parade around with another woman and did nothing to warn me."

Maximus offered a nonchalant shrug, his broad shoulders shifting beneath the impeccable tailoring of his suit. "It was none of my business."

His cold, calculated answer choked the breath right out of her. He was right. Before their sudden arrangement, they had only shared brief nods at elite social gatherings. He owed her nothing.

"Then why get involved now?" she demanded, leaning forward.

Maximus met her gaze, his dark brown eyes sharp and unyielding. "You already know the answer to that."

She did. The business world was small, and gossip traveled faster than light. Maximus had just executed a brutal corporate coup, forcefully ousting their father to claim the chairman seat of the Sinclair Empire. The board of directors was furious, a nest of vipers waiting for him to show a single moment of weakness. To cement his iron grip on the company and silence the older generation, he needed undeniable leverage. He needed the Stratton family name, their immense wealth, and their powerful shares.

He needed her.

Refusing to let him see how much his presence unnerved her, Camilla shifted her attention back to the legal document. She expected the standard clauses: mandatory cohabitation, a rigid prenuptial agreement, and strict confidentiality until they deemed it beneficial to go public.

Then her eyes landed on a specific paragraph near the bottom of the second page. The text was bolded. Emphasized.

*Physical intimacy between the parties is permitted, but mutual consent is an absolute requirement.*

A sudden rush of heat flooded her cheeks. She had convinced herself this arrangement would remain strictly on paper—a sterile business transaction forged in a boardroom. The stark reality of living under the same roof with this man, sharing a private space, and the looming possibility of actual physical closeness caught her entirely off guard.

She thought back to Donovan. Despite dating for years, they maintained separate apartments. Donovan always claimed he wanted to move in, but he never pushed the issue. Camilla used to believe he respected her need for space to focus on her design career. Now, the sickening truth was clear: he kept his distance so he could keep Vanessa in his bed.

This contract demanded the exact opposite. Maximus was laying all the cards on the table. They were adults. Physical boundaries were subject to negotiation, not assumptions.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Camilla let her gaze drift upward. She studied the man who was about to become her husband. He wore a perennial black suit, the crisp lines highlighting his broad chest and commanding posture. His dark hair was swept back, exposing the sharp, masculine angles of his jaw and a face that could easily command the cover of any magazine. He sat with one long leg crossed over the other, radiating a quiet, dangerous elegance.

Maximus caught her staring. His lips curved into a dry, teasing smirk. "Satisfied?"

Camilla’s heart gave a traitorous jolt. Humiliation settled heavy in her stomach as she realized she had been blatantly checking him out. She quickly schooled her features, forcing down the blush threatening to overtake her face.

"I appreciate your thoroughness regarding the details," she said, her voice steady, refusing to acknowledge his taunt.

Maximus gave a slow nod, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement.

Silence stretched between them again, broken only by the hum of the city traffic outside her office window. Camilla stared at the signature line. This was the point of no return. Marrying Maximus meant diving headfirst into a war zone, but it also meant securing her own future and delivering a devastating blow to the people who had humiliated her.

She picked up her pen. "Let's proceed."

Maximus smiled. It wasn't a smirk this time, but a genuine curve of his lips that transformed his harsh features. "Perfect timing. The officiant is waiting right outside."

Camilla blinked, her pen hovering over the paper. "The officiant? Here?"

"You didn't think I would leave without securing the deal, did you?" he mused, already standing up to open the office door.

Before Camilla could process the sudden shift in reality, a stern-looking man with a leather briefcase stepped into her office, followed by two of Maximus’s silent assistants who served as witnesses. The ceremony was blindingly fast. There were no flowers, no sweeping vows, and no music. It was a cold, pragmatic exchange of signatures and legal affirmations.

She signed her name. Maximus signed his.

Just like that, the registry was sealed. A strange, hollow dizziness washed over her. Since she was a little girl, Camilla had dreamed of a breathtaking wedding. She wanted to walk down a long aisle in a stunning gown, her stepfather by her side, toward a man who looked at her like she was the only woman in the world.

Instead, she was standing in her office wearing a black pencil skirt, legally bound to a corporate tyrant who treated their union like a merger. A brief burst of self-deprecating laughter escaped her lips. The sheer absurdity of the situation felt like a wild mistake, yet somehow, it also felt like the most logical decision she had ever made.

To mark the occasion, Maximus had one of his assistants pour two glasses of vintage red wine. Camilla drank hers quickly, the smooth liquid providing a much-needed warmth to her frayed nerves.

"Are you ready to head to my house to celebrate?" Maximus asked, his deep voice pulling her from her thoughts.

Camilla looked at him. The alcohol hummed in her veins, chasing away her lingering anxiety and replacing it with a sudden, daring surge of confidence. She set her empty glass on the desk and tilted her chin up, meeting his intense stare.

"Is there a problem with a wife going to her new husband's house?" she countered, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

Maximus raised a brow, noting the empty glass. "You just drank two glasses of wine in record time." His sharp gaze swept over her, taking in the flush on her cheeks.

"I can handle myself perfectly fine, Mr. Sinclair," Camilla said, stepping around her desk. The distance between them closed. "You should really stop underestimating your new wife."

Maximus’s eyes darkened instantly. The playful amusement vanished, replaced by a raw, hungry interest. He let his gaze travel slowly down her body, lingering on the crisp, tailored lines of the skirt that hugged her hips and thighs.

"Wife," he murmured, testing the weight of the word on his tongue. A slow, wicked smirk spread across his face. "I like the sound of that."

Camilla held her ground under his heavy scrutiny, refusing to back down. She crossed her arms over her chest, echoing the exact same tone he had used on her just twenty minutes ago.

"Satisfied?" she asked.