Hundreds of Chicago’s wealthiest guests watched in stunned silence as Sloane Harrington grabbed Clara Bennett’s gown and ripped it open from her shoulder to her waist.

Clara pulled back, her heart racing so violently she felt lightheaded.

“Don't do that,” she whispered.

Roman let his hands fall, though his gaze never left hers. “Do what?”

“Don't confuse the script, Roman. We had terms. We had boundaries.” Clara wrapped her arms around her waist, turning toward the window, watching the rain blur the skyline of the city she had lived in her entire life. “You don't get to look at me like that. Not when we both know how this ends.”

“And how does it end, Clara?”

“With me returning to Bridgeport. With Toby in remission. With you securing Raines Maritime and marrying someone whose pedigree doesn't embarrass the board.”

Roman let out a short, humorless bark of laughter. He walked to the kitchen island, picked up his coffee, and took a slow sip.

“Pedigree,” he murmured, the word tasting like poison on his tongue. “Sloane Harrington has pedigree. Her family’s pedigree built three generations of slumlords and tax evaders. If that is the pedigree you think I desire, you haven't been paying attention.”

Before Clara could answer, the security intercom on the wall chimed with a shrill, urgent tone.

Roman pressed the receiver. “What is it, Vance?”

His head of security’s voice came through, metallic and clipped. *“Mr. Raines, we have a situation at the lobby entrance. Marcus Harrington just arrived with three attorneys and a process server. They have a court injunction demanding an emergency deposition regarding the validity of the Raines Trust marriage qualification.”*

Roman didn't blink. “Tell them I’ll be down in ten minutes.”

*“Sir... they also brought reporters from the Chicago Sun-Times. They’re claiming Clara Bennett was paid off to commit corporate fraud.”*

Clara felt the floor tilt beneath her feet.

*Corporate fraud.*

If Marcus Harrington could prove that the marriage was a sham intended solely to deceive the board trustees, the Raines Trust would be frozen, Roman would be stripped of his executive voting power, and Clara... Clara could face federal charges for conspiracy.

“They found the financial transfers,” Clara whispered, the blood draining from her lips. “The clinic payments. They’re going to frame it as a bribe.”

Roman shut off the intercom. He turned to her, his expression transforming back into the cold, calculating mask of the apex predator.

“They can claim whatever they want,” Roman said calmly. “They don't have the contracts. Those are locked in a vault they will never breach.”

“Contracts don't matter in the court of public opinion, Roman! Look at the front page! Look at what they’re already writing about me!” Clara walked toward him, her hands trembling with frustration. “They’re calling me a gold-digger. They’re calling me a fraud who traded her pride for a billionaire’s favor!”

Roman set his mug down. He reached out, his hand cupping the side of her neck, his thumb resting right over the frantic pulse fluttering beneath her jaw.

The heat of his touch sent an electric shock straight through her veins.

“Then we show them what a real marriage looks like,” Roman said softly.

“What does that mean?”

“It means you don't hide in this penthouse while I fight Marcus Harrington in the lobby,” Roman replied, his eyes dark and resolute. “It means you put on a suit, you take my arm, and we walk down those elevators together. We look Marcus Harrington in the eye, and we make him choke on his own threats.”

Clara stared at him. She saw no hesitation in his eyes. No regret. Only an iron fortress, waiting for her to step inside.

“And if I can't do it?” she whispered. “What if I’m just the girl from Bridgeport who doesn't know how to fight people like them?”

Roman leaned down until his forehead brushed against hers.

“You didn't run when Sloane ripped your dress,” he murmured, his voice thick with an emotion he could no longer hide. “You stood there like a queen in a room full of jackals. You have more spine in your little finger than the entire Harrington dynasty combined.”

He stepped back, offering his arm.