The espresso-stained silk of Maeva’s dress felt gritty against her skin. Soren’s gaze remained unwavering, a hint of challenge in the sapphire depth. “Provided you buy me a cup first.” His voice was a low murmur, a velvet rasp that settled deep in the quiet alley. This wasn’t the response she’d anticipated from a man she presumed was a professional escort, certainly not one who’d just agreed to a sham marriage. But then, nothing about Soren Altara was quite as she’d anticipated. “Fine,” Maeva snapped, pulling her wallet from her satchel with more force than necessary. “But make it quick. We’re on a schedule.” They found a small, independent espresso stand two blocks down, its roasted chicory aroma a welcome shield against the lingering scent of damp garbage. Soren ordered a dark roast, no sugar, no cream, a stark simplicity that oddly suited him. Maeva, still vibrating with a mixture of caffeine withdrawal and rage, opted for another triple shot. The barista, a young woman with a septum piercing and a rainbow-dyed undercut, eyed them with unconcealed curiosity. Maeva felt the heat rising in her cheeks, but she met the stare with a defiant glare. Twenty minutes later, they stood before a harried-looking officiant in a quaint, ivy-covered chapel tucked between a bustling dry cleaner and a bespoke hat shop. The air inside was thick with dust motes dancing in the stained-glass light, smelling faintly of old wood and forgotten promises. Maeva still wore the soiled dress, a dark brown stain blossoming across her ivory fabric like a grotesque flower. Soren, however, looked impeccably composed in his simple, dark attire, as if he’d simply stepped out of a magazine. “Do you, Maeva Corliss, take this man…” The officiant droned on, his words blurring into a meaningless hum. Maeva’s mind raced, a chaotic kaleidoscope of blueprints, Garrick’s sneering face, and the impossible Altarin commission. This was a means to an end. A prop. A shield. Nothing more. “I do,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady. She risked a glance at Soren. His eyes, fixed on her, held an unusual intensity. A flicker of something she couldn’t quite decipher—amusement, certainly, but also a deeper, more unsettling emotion. “And do you, Soren Altara, take this woman…” “I do,” Soren replied, his voice firm, resonant, cutting through the chapel’s quiet. It felt… real. Too real. The officiant cleared his throat, adjusting his spectacles. “Then by the power vested in me…” Maeva barely registered the final pronouncement. Her focus narrowed on Soren as he turned to face her, his hands reaching out. She flinched, expecting him to take her hand, maybe a chaste peck on the cheek for appearances. Instead, his fingers cupped her jaw, startlingly warm. His thumb grazed her cheekbone, wiping away a phantom smudge of coffee she hadn't even noticed. His head dipped, slowly, deliberately. His sapphire eyes, previously so guarded, softened, reflecting the dusty light from the windows. They held an unmasked, quiet invitation. Her breath caught. He wasn’t playing a role anymore. Or if he was, he was doing it with an unnerving conviction. She felt a strange flutter in her chest, a sensation she hadn’t experienced in years, not since Garrick had shattered her trust. No, she couldn't allow it. Couldn't feel anything. Her pride, a fierce, protective wall, rose instantly. This was a transaction, a performance. Nothing more. His lips met hers. It was a soft, hesitant contact at first, then deepened with an unexpected tenderness that set the world off its axis. He tasted faintly of coffee and something uniquely his own, a clean, subtle spice. It was a kiss that disarmed her, a gentle invasion she hadn't braced for. Her body, despite her mind’s fierce resistance, leaned into him for a fleeting fraction of a second, her fingers clenching the cheap fabric of his suit jacket. Then, the realization of her own vulnerability crashed over her. She pulled back sharply, a gasp tearing from her throat. Her face burned. Soren’s hands fell, his expression unreadable, but the dangerous spark in his eyes was back, hotter now. “Right,” Maeva said, her voice thin, her heart thrumming against her ribs. She fumbled for the marriage certificate, signing her name with a shaky hand. “That should do it. Now, the gala.” The Zenith Design District shimmered under the city lights, a forest of chrome and glass. The gala was held in the Pentastar Tower’s Sky Atrium, a cavernous space with a panoramic view of the glittering metropolis. Maeva, now changed into a sleek, charcoal gown she’d kept stored in her office, felt a renewed surge of determination. Soren, by her side, had exchanged his simple suit for a perfectly tailored tuxedo, the deep blue of the fabric making his eyes seem even more arresting. He looked like he belonged, not merely attending, but presiding over such an event. The moment they stepped onto the polished onyx floor, a ripple went through the gathered industry elite. Maeva felt their stares, the whispers. They knew. They always knew. Garrick, inevitably, was waiting. He stood by the champagne fountain, a smarmy smile fixed on his face, Lissette, his fiancée, clinging to his arm like a decorative appendage. “Maeva,” Garrick purred, his voice dripping with feigned concern as they approached. “Darling, what an… unexpected pleasure. I heard you were having some trouble, after… well, after our unfortunate parting. It must be difficult, keeping your head above water.” He paused, letting his gaze drift pointedly to her empty left hand, searching for an engagement ring that wasn't there. His eyes flicked to Soren, dismissive, sizing him up as a mere accessory. Maeva felt the familiar prickle of rage, her nails digging into her palms. But before she could unleash the sharp retort already forming on her tongue, Soren stepped forward, his hand slipping around her waist, pulling her closer. It was a possessive, intimate gesture that spoke volumes. His thumb brushed her hipbone, a silent reassurance. “Garrick, is it?” Soren’s voice was smooth, deceptively polite, yet it carried an underlying edge of steel. “Maeva has told me so much about you. Not all of it flattering, I must confess.” He offered a small, disarming smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But I assure you, my wife is far from ‘keeping her head above water.’ She swims, Garrick. She always has. And now, she does so with all the resources of a very devoted husband at her disposal.” The word ‘wife’ hung in the air, a shocking pronouncement. Garrick’s smug expression faltered, replaced by a flicker of disbelief and then, something uglier: jealousy. Lissette, sensing the shift in attention, gave Maeva a saccharine smile. “Oh, Maeva! How wonderful for you!” Lissette trilled, her voice falsely sweet. She extended her hand, flashing an impossibly large diamond necklace that glittered under the atrium lights. “Garrick has told me all about your… modest beginnings. But look at you now! So resourceful.” She turned to Garrick, her smile widening. “Darling, tell them about our plans for the Seraphos Towers. It’s going to be absolutely divine. Garrick’s firm, Lydell & Associates, has secured the contract, you know. An exclusive, multi-billion credit project. And darling, aren’t those Altaran diamonds simply breathtaking?” Maeva felt a cold dread settle in her stomach. Seraphos Towers. That had been her passion project, the one she’d poured her soul into during her last months at Lydell. She met Soren’s gaze, her anger warring with a sudden, sinking despair. He merely arched an eyebrow, a subtle, almost imperceptible shift in his expression. As Lissette continued to preen, rattling off details about her supposed Altaran heritage, Soren leaned down, his lips brushing Maeva’s ear. The scent of him, clean and intoxicating, filled her senses. “The woman on Garrick’s arm,” Soren whispered, his voice a low, amused rumble, “is Lissette, our lowest-ranking palace archivist. And that diamond necklace she’s so proudly displaying? A well-known imitation. Not even a good one, at that.” He straightened, a cool glint in his eyes. Just as Garrick, recovering his composure, beamed at the assembled crowd. “And that’s not all, folks! Lydell & Associates is also proud to announce we’ve just finalized the acquisition of the prestigious Solara Spire tender. The very same venture our dear Maeva was so desperately hoping to secure for her… fledgling firm.”

Vows and Vipers