Marriage contract with the enemy

Angelica

If anyone told me I would be preparing for my wedding at twenty-two, I would have scoffed in their face. If they said I would be marrying my enemy, maybe I would have believed them because this was surprisingly exciting.

My fiancé was going off about what he could offer when I married him. When, not if. He had made that clear. He was not asking me to marry him. The benefits he was offering were only a show of politeness.

I was right about him. His life had been a roller coaster and he’d had to do as he was told for most of it. Now that he finally had a grasp on it, he was unconsciously taking his frustration out on the world by being a total jerk. He wanted to control everyone he could, especially women. Which was why, when I slipped away from him with no desire to lick his boots, he became obsessed with wanting to pin me down.

I hid my smirk at the thought that I had sucessfully weaseled my way into his penthouse while appearing to have been kidnapped. Not to toot my own