Chapter 2

The dark lounge was everything my father hated. It was tucked into a basement in the Meatpacking District, smelling of expensive bourbon, clove cigarettes, and the kind of secrets that didn't belong in a world I was used to.

"Slow down, Ivy," Mila whispered, catching my wrist as I signaled the bartender for my third gin and tonic. "You’re going to pass out before you even find a candidate for this crazy mission of yours." She sighed, looking at me with concern.

"I definitely can't do this when I'm sober. So I need to drink a bit to be brave," I snapped, my voice trembling. The image of Elena’s smug face against that mahogany desk was burned into my retinas. I would show her, and wipe that damn smug look off her stupid face.

"My father thinks I'm a liability? Fine. I’ll be the biggest liability he’s ever seen." I slurred.

"But a husband? By tomorrow?" Mila scanned the room, her eyes landing on a group of frat-boy heirs in the corner. "Maybe one of the Crawford twins? They’re always looking for an excuse to piss off their parents anyway." She shrugged.

"No." I shook my head, my gaze drifting toward the back of the lounge. "The Crawfords are puppies. My father would crush them in an hour. I need someone… heavier." I said, still looking around.

That’s when I saw him. The back booth was shrouded in shadow, guarded by two men who looked like they’d been carved out of stone. In the center of the darkness sat a man who didn't belong in a bar, he looked like he belonged on a throne made of skulls.

He was leaning back, a crystal glass of amber liquid held loosely in one hand. Even from across the smoky room, I could feel the gravity he pulled. He wasn't talking. He was just watching, his dark eyes tracking the room with the predatory stillness of a shark in shallow water.

"Who is that?" I breathed.

Mila followed my gaze and gasped, pulling her hand back as if she’d been burned. "Ivy, no. Absolutely not. That’s the VIP section. Those guards don't let anyone near so he must be someone really powerful." She cautioned.

"He looks like he could handle my father," I whispered, the gin singing a reckless song in my veins which I probably shouldn't have listened to.

"That’s because he probably owns your father’s debt," Mila hissed. "I don't know his name, but I know the rumors about him. He’s the one they call the Vulture. They say he doesn't build companies, but he feasts on their carcasses."

The Vulture? Sounds terrifying, but in a way I liked. I didn't hear the warning, all I heard was he had power.

I stood up, smoothed the silk of my white gala dress and began to walk towards him. Mila tried to stop me but I shrugged her off stubbornly. I had made up my mind. This was my target.

My heart was beating so fast in my ears, but my steps didn't falter as I moved like I was too confident.

The guards stepped forward as I approached, their shadows looming over me. "Private table, lady. Move along." One hissed.

"I have business with your boss," I said, my voice lacing with a confidence I didn't feel.

From the shadows, a low, smooth baritone cut through the air. "Let her through."

The guards stepped aside instantly. I walked into the booth. Up close, he was even more devastatingly handsome. His hair was dark, swept back from a face with lines so sharp they looked lethal. He wore a dark blue suit that probably cost more than my car, and his eyes, a deep, piercing charcoal settled on me with a flicker of dark amusement.

"A Sterling," he said, his voice like velvet over gravel. "A long way from the ballroom, aren't you, Little Bird? You still have confetti in your hair."

I reached up, brushing a stray gold flake away, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. He knew who I was. Of course he did, everyone could probably recognise me from all the news and hype about my wedding that's cancelled now.

"I’m not here for small talk," I said, sliding into the booth across from him. The scent of his cologne hit me hard and the smell was intoxicating.

I reached into my clutch, pulled out my black titanium credit card, and slid it across the table until it tapped against his glass.

He looked down at the card, then back at me, one eyebrow arched. "Are you trying to buy me a drink? Or is this a very poor attempt at a bribe?"

"I’m buying your time," I said, leaning forward until I could see the gold flecks in his dark irises. I let my gaze drop to his lips for a lingering second before meeting his eyes again. "I need a husband. Someone to sign a license and stand next to me at a board meeting tomorrow morning."

His hand reached out, his long fingers hovering over my card but never touching it. Instead, he reached forward and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His touch was electric, his skin surprisingly warm against my cold face.

"A husband," he mused, his thumb grazing my jawline. "And what makes you think I'm for sale?"

"Everyone has a price," I countered, my breath hitching as his hand lingered. "So name yours. Hourly, daily, I don't care. I have a trust fund that unlocks tomorrow if I’m married. You’ll be well compensated."

This man, who I would soon realize was the most dangerous predator in the city tilted his head as the amusement in his eyes turned into something darker, something hungry. He leaned in, his face inches from mine, his breath ghosting over my lips.

"You’re daring, Ivy Sterling. Daring and very, very desperate." He picked up my credit card, flipping it between his fingers before sliding it back to me. "I don't want your money. You don't have enough zeros to interest me."

My heart sank at his words. "Then I'll…"

"But," he interrupted, his voice dropping to a whisper that sent a shiver down my spine. "I’ve been looking for a reason to get inside the Sterling vault. And you just handed me the key."

He stood up, towering over me, then he offered a hand, his eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made me feel watched.

"I'll take the job. He grinned. “And lucky for you, the courthouse in Vegas is open 24 hours."

I looked at his hand. He had agreed? Just like that?

“What are you daydreaming about? Let's go.” He said, still signalling for me to take his hand.

I looked up at him. This was the point of no return. I was inviting a monster into my home to scare away the wolves, but I had no choice.

I took his hand, his grip was firm and possessive.

"One year," I whispered. "That's the contract."

Roman pulled me close, his arm winding around my waist as he led me toward the exit. "One year. But remember... once you're a Voss, I don't let go of what's mine easily."