BENEATH THE GLASS TOWER

The municipal annex was empty, save for an elderly man in judicial robes and two armed private bailiffs standing by the oak double doors. Rain had begun to patter against the high, arched windows, casting long, somber shadows across the mahogany courtroom.

Clara stood before the bench, her fingers ice cold. Lily sat quietly in Julian’s arms near the back row, fascinated by the old brass buttons on the majordomo’s coat.

""Do you, Christian Vance, take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife?"" Judge Mercer asked, his voice gravelly with age and fatigue.

Christian didn't hesitate for a fraction of a second. ""I do.""

""And do you, Clara James, take this man to be your lawful wedded husband?""

Clara looked up at Christian. He was looking down at her, not with the cold calculation of a billionaire striking a corporate merger, but with an intense, steady solemnity that made her throat tighten. She was signing her life away to a titan she didn't know, binding herself and her daughter to an aristocratic blood feud. But when she thought of Marcus’s cold, cruel hands, the choice vanished.

""I do,"" Clara whispered.

""By the power vested in me by the State of New York, I pronounce you husband and wife. Sign the registry.""

Christian took the gold fountain pen first, signing with a sharp, bold flourish. Clara took the pen from him, her hand shaking so hard the nib scratched against the thick parchment. As she finished writing her new name—Clara Vance—Christian slipped the platinum ring onto her left ring finger. It was heavy, perfectly sized, and shockingly cold.

""You may kiss your bride,"" Judge Mercer said, closing the leather ledger.

Clara froze, her breath hitching. Christian paused, reading the sudden panic in her eyes. Instead of claiming her lips, he leaned down with agonizing slowness, cupping the side of her neck with one warm hand, and pressed a firm, lingering kiss against her temple, right above her hairline.