Thirteen Years of Obsession

Signed off

My fingers trembled so violently the pen almost slipped from my grip.

“Thirty seconds, Miss Langford,” the lawyer said coldly. “Sign, or your father is arrested tonight.”

I stared at the thick contract on the mahogany table. The words “Marriage Agreement” burned into my eyes like a brand.

One year.

Live with him.

Share his bed.

Belong to Lucian Voss.

My father sat beside me, face ashen, sweat dripping down his temples. The once-powerful Reginald Langford now looked like a broken man.

“I didn’t do it,” he whispered. “They framed me.”

The lawyer didn’t blink. “Mr. Voss doesn’t offer mercy. Sign.”

I hated my father in that moment. Hated how he had gambled everything away and was now selling me to save his own skin.

But I lifted the pen anyway.

The scratch of ink felt like chains locking around my throat.

Seraphina Langford.

The lawyer exhaled. “Congratulations, Mrs. Voss. The wedding is tomorrow at ten. A car will collect you at eight. Mr. Voss expects full obedience.”

I shot to my feet, heart pounding. “I’m not his yet.”

“You became his the moment you signed.” He slid a black folder toward me. “Welcome to Voss International. Try not to anger him.”

I snatched the folder and stormed out of the conference room, legs shaking.

The elevator ride down felt like falling into hell.

Outside, the cold night air hit me hard. I leaned against the marble pillar, breathing fast, the folder clutched to my chest like a shield.

My phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

I answered with a shaky breath.

A deep, velvet-dark voice slid into my ear like sin itself.

“Seraphina.”

That voice. Low. Controlled. Deadly.

“Who is this?” I demanded.

“You know exactly who I am.” A soft, dangerous pause. “Your husband.”

My knees nearly buckled.

Lucian Voss.

“I just signed,” I said, forcing steel into my voice. “That doesn’t make me yours.”

A low, amused chuckle sent unwanted heat curling down my spine. “Tomorrow it will. Sleep well tonight, little wife. Dream of me. Because when I finally get my hands on you, I won’t be gentle.”

The line went dead.

I stared at the phone, chest heaving.

Across the city, in his towering penthouse, Lucian Voss lowered his own phone and allowed a cold, predatory smile to touch his lips.

Phase Seven was complete.

She had just walked straight into the cage I had spent thirteen years building.

And the best part?

She still believed she was saving her family.