Chapter 6 The Secret Marriage Contract

# Chapter 6: The Secret Marriage Contract

The next morning, the Ashford estate was silent as a tomb. After our discovery in the wine cellar, Callum had been confined to the east wing under guard, while I remained in my bedroom suite, the door conspicuously unlocked—a mockery of freedom. Thomas had not come to see me, sending Mrs. Reynolds instead with terse instructions that I was to remain in my quarters until he summoned me.

I sat by the window, watching rain streak the glass, when my phone vibrated with a text from an unknown number: *Pack for three days. Business trip. Car arriving 2PM. Tell no one. —C*

My heart leapt into my throat. Callum had found a way to contact me, to plan another escape. But how? And could I trust this wasn't another trap?

As if reading my thoughts, another message appeared: *The first time I kissed you was in Italy, on a terrace under the stars. You tasted like wine and surrender.*

Only Callum would know that detail. My fingers trembled as I typed back: *Is this safe?*

The response came seconds later: *Nothing about us is safe. But I have a plan. Trust me.*

At exactly 2PM, a sleek black car with tinted windows pulled up to the front entrance. I descended the stairs with a small suitcase, half-expecting to be stopped by security. Instead, I found Thomas in the foyer, reviewing documents with Clara.

"Going somewhere?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

I lifted my chin. "The gallery called. They need me to authenticate a new acquisition."

"In the middle of our... situation?" Thomas raised an eyebrow.

"The Degas waits for no one," I replied, summoning every ounce of composure. "Unless you'd prefer to explain to the board why the gallery director is suddenly unavailable?"

Thomas studied me for a long moment. "How long will you be gone?"

"Three days at most. I'll be staying at The Dorchester."

"Very well." He turned back to his papers, dismissing me. "Clara will accompany you."

My blood froze. "That's not necessary—"

"It wasn't a suggestion," Thomas cut in, his tone brooking no argument. "Clara has business in the city as well. You can share the car."

Clara smiled, a predatory curve of red lips. "I'm happy to keep Juliette company. We have so much to catch up on."

The drive into London was excruciating. Clara sat across from me in the spacious town car, her eyes never leaving my face.

"He's not in love with you, you know," she said casually, examining her manicure. "Callum doesn't love women—he collects them. Uses them. Discards them when he's bored."

I stared out the window, refusing to engage.

"Did he tell you he wanted to run away with me once?" she continued. "Paris, I think it was. Or was it Prague? The destinations change, but the script remains the same."

Despite myself, I felt a flicker of doubt. "If that's true, why are you so determined to keep us apart?"

Clara laughed, the sound like glass breaking. "Because Thomas deserves better than a wife who spreads her legs for his son the moment his back is turned."

Her crude words stung, but I kept my expression neutral. "Is that why you replaced my birth control? To trap me?"

"Insurance," she replied smoothly. "The Ashford line must continue, after all. Thomas is getting older, and Callum..." She smiled thinly. "Callum needs a leash."

Before I could respond, the car pulled up to The Dorchester. As we entered the lobby, Clara kept close to my side, her hand on my arm like we were dear friends rather than adversaries.

"I have meetings until seven," she informed me as the bellhop took our luggage. "I expect to find you in your room when I return. We'll have dinner together."

"And if I have gallery business?" I challenged.

Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "Reschedule it."

As she walked away, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. Another text from Callum: *Room 712. Now.*

Heart pounding, I took the elevator to the seventh floor, scanning the corridor before knocking softly on door 712. It opened immediately, and Callum pulled me inside, crushing me against his chest.

"Thank God," he breathed into my hair. "I wasn't sure you'd make it."

I pulled back to look at him, noting the fading bruise around his eye. "How did you get here? You were under guard."

A ghost of his usual smirk appeared. "The guards work for Ashford Enterprises. I sign their paychecks too."

"Clara's with me," I warned. "She's watching my every move."

"I know." He led me further into the suite—far more luxurious than a standard room. "That's part of the plan."

"What plan?" I demanded. "Callum, what are we doing here?"

He cupped my face in his hands. "Getting married."

I stared at him, certain I'd misheard. "What?"

"It's the only way," he insisted, his eyes feverish with intensity. "If we're legally married, Father can't separate us without a scandal. And Clara can't blackmail you anymore."

"Married?" I echoed, my mind reeling. "Callum, I'm already married. To your father."

"A technicality we're going to address." He moved to the desk, where several documents were spread out. "I've been researching. There's precedent for this—a legal loophole we can use."

I approached the desk cautiously. "What kind of loophole?"

"The Consanguinity Clause," he explained, pointing to a highlighted paragraph. "In certain jurisdictions, a marriage can be considered valid despite an existing union if the first spouse gives consent—implicit or explicit—for the second marriage."

"And how exactly did Thomas give consent?" I asked skeptically.

Callum's smile was triumphant. "In the prenuptial agreement you signed. There's a clause about 'future family arrangements' that his lawyers included, intended for business mergers and adoptions. But the wording is vague enough that, with the right judge, it could be interpreted as consent for a marriage within the family."

I sank into a chair, overwhelmed. "This is insane."

"It's brilliant," he countered, kneeling before me. "And it's our only chance to be together without living in exile."

"Even if this worked legally—which I doubt—Thomas would never accept it."

"He won't have a choice," Callum said grimly. "Not if he wants to avoid the scandal of his wife and son running off together."

He took my hands in his, his expression softening. "I know it's not how you imagined getting married. But I love you, Juliette. I think I have since that first night on the balcony, when you looked at me like I was the only man in the world."

My heart constricted at the memory. "Callum..."

"Say yes," he urged. "Be my wife—legally, openly."

The madness of his plan should have repelled me. Instead, I found myself nodding, caught in the gravitational pull of his conviction. "Yes."

His kiss was fierce, possessive, a seal on our pact. When he finally pulled away, he was already on his phone. "It's time. Send him up."

Minutes later, a knock at the door revealed a solemn man in clerical attire. "Mr. Ashford," he greeted Callum. "The documents are prepared as requested."

"Bishop Harrington," Callum replied, ushering him in. "This is Juliette."

I stared in confusion. "A bishop? I thought we needed a judge for this... loophole."

"We need both," Callum explained. "The bishop performs the ceremony, the judge certifies the legal standing. Judge Morris will join us shortly."

Bishop Harrington regarded me with kind but assessing eyes. "My dear, are you entering into this union freely and without coercion?"

Was I? The past months had been a whirlwind of forbidden desire and mounting consequences. And yet, looking at Callum, I knew my answer. "Yes. I am."

The bishop nodded, though something in his expression suggested concern. "Very well. Shall we proceed?"

The ceremony was brief, almost clinical in its efficiency. No flowers, no music, no witnesses except the bishop and the judge who arrived midway through. I spoke my vows in a daze, watching Callum's face as he promised to love and cherish me for all his days.

When it came time to sign the marriage certificate, Judge Morris placed additional documents before me—legal papers I only half understood in my emotional state.

"These establish the validity of your union under the Consanguinity Clause," he explained. "As well as your rights as a legal spouse within the Ashford family."

As I signed my name, Bishop Harrington leaned close to me, his voice low enough that only I could hear. "This contract... if exposed, you both will be ruined."

I looked up sharply, but his expression revealed nothing. Before I could question him, Callum was pulling me into a passionate kiss, sealing our illicit union.

After the officials left, Callum locked the door and turned to me, his eyes dark with desire. "My wife," he murmured, the words sending a shiver down my spine.

He crossed to me slowly, deliberately, like a predator approaching prey. "Do you know what I've been thinking about since Italy? Having you—all of you—without hiding, without rushing, without fear of discovery."

His hands found my waist, drawing me against him. "No more stolen moments. No more looking over our shoulders."

"Clara will be looking for me," I reminded him, even as my body responded to his touch.

"Let her look," he growled, lifting me easily and carrying me to the bed. "You're mine now. Legally. Irrevocably."

He laid me down with unexpected gentleness, his eyes never leaving mine as he removed first my clothes, then his own. In the late afternoon light filtering through the curtains, his body was all lean muscle and elegant lines, a work of art come to life.

"I am my father's legal son," he said, settling over me, his weight a delicious burden. "And now I am your legal husband."

The declaration should have horrified me—the twisted symmetry of it, the ethical boundaries we'd shattered. Instead, it ignited something primal within me, a dark exhilaration at the taboo we'd embraced.

Our lovemaking was different this time—no longer frantic and furtive, but deliberate, almost ritualistic. A consummation in every sense. When we finally lay spent in each other's arms, the room dark except for the city lights filtering through the windows, reality began to seep back in.

"What happens now?" I asked, tracing the line of his jaw.

Callum's expression grew serious. "Now we return to the estate and present the marriage certificate to my father. Together."

Fear coiled in my stomach. "He'll disown you. Divorce me."

"He can try," Callum said with grim confidence. "But the legal documentation is airtight. And if he wants to avoid scandal—which he always does—he'll have to accept our arrangement."

I sat up, pulling the sheet around me. "And what exactly is our 'arrangement'? I'm married to both you and your father. How can that possibly work?"

Callum's smile held no humor. "It won't, not indefinitely. But it buys us time and legal protection while we negotiate our terms."

"Terms?"

"Financial independence," he elaborated. "A settlement that ensures we're not destitute if he cuts us off. Rights to certain assets that are rightfully mine as his heir."

I stared at him, a cold feeling spreading through my chest. "Is that what this is about? Money? Assets?"

He caught my face in his hands, his eyes fierce. "This is about us. About being together without having to run or hide. The rest is just... practical necessity."

I wanted to believe him. But doubt had taken root, Clara's words echoing in my mind: *He's not in love with you... he collects women... uses them...*

As if sensing my thoughts, Callum pulled me back down beside him, wrapping me in his arms. "Trust me," he whispered against my hair. "After tomorrow, everything changes."

I closed my eyes, surrendering to his warmth, to the security of his embrace. I had crossed too many lines to turn back now. Whether from love or madness, I had bound my fate to Callum's, and tomorrow we would face the consequences together.

As I drifted toward sleep, I felt him press something into my palm—a small flash drive.

"Insurance," he murmured. "Keep it safe. If things go wrong, this is our leverage."

I clutched the drive, wondering what secrets it contained, what new depths of deception we had yet to plumb. And despite everything, despite the moral quagmire we'd waded into, I felt a perverse kind of peace. For better or worse, I was Callum Ashford's wife now.

God help us both.