“Ashley, sign this.”

Ashley blinked in confusion, staring at the thick stack of papers Demitri placed in her lap.

The ink on her wedding certificate hadn’t even dried, and here her new husband was, holding a pen out to her like this was some sort of corporate deal.

Even though she knew the marriage wasn’t a love match, she was hoping for something at least.

“Excuse me?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Demitri sighed, leaning back in the plush leather chair across from her. The grand bridal suite of the hotel was supposed to be their honeymoon haven, but it felt more like a boardroom.

“Sign the contract,” he repeated, his tone flat and detached as if they hadn’t just exchanged vows in front of a hundred guests an hour ago. “You’re my wife now, and this is part of the arrangement.”

Ashley’s stomach churned. She thought back to her father’s desperate plea for her to agree to this marriage.

“It’s for the family,” her father had said. “Demitri’s generous. He’ll take care of you.”

Generous? She hadn’t even unpinned her veil, and here she was, signing a mystery document.

“What is this about?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

Demitri’s dark gaze met hers, and for a brief moment, she thought she saw a flicker of something—regret, hesitation, perhaps? But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“It’s a marriage contract,” he said simply. “It outlines the terms of our agreement.”

Ashley frowned. “Terms? I thought this was a marriage, not a business deal.”

His lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. “It’s both.”

She stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate, but he said nothing. Just handed her the pen.

“You can’t be serious,” she said, her voice rising.

“Ashley,” he said, his voice low and sharp, “if you don’t sign it now, I’ll call to ask for an annulment right away. You and your family will lose everything. Is that what you want?”

Her breath hitched. Demitri wasn’t just rich—he was powerful. If he wanted to ruin her family, he could do it with a snap of his fingers.

Her hand shook as she took the pen. “At least tell me what’s in it,” she whispered.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he replied, standing and adjusting the cuff of his sleeve.

Her stomach twisted. She should have insisted. She should have demanded to read it. But the weight of her family’s expectations pressed down on her like a boulder, crushing her resolve. Without another word, she signed her name at the bottom of the last page.

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