Chapter 3 Please Be My Groom

One month earlier, Sienna had woken from death screaming.

She had been in her childhood bedroom at the Carlton estate, her body uninjured and her phone showing a date six years before her murder.

For three days, she had barely slept.

On the fourth, she had gone to Ronan Walsh.

He received her after midnight in a private office above one of the Walsh shipping terminals. Armed men guarded every entrance. Cargo cranes moved beyond the windows while black SUVs came and went below.

Ronan had listened without interrupting as she made an impossible request.

"Arnold will leave our wedding for Delia," she told him. "When he does, I want you to take his place."

His expression had not changed.

"You want to marry your fiancé's uncle."

"You're Ranger's adopted son. You and Arnold aren't related by blood."

"That won't stop people from talking."

"No one talks about you unless they want trouble."

That earned the smallest movement at the corner of his mouth.

Ronan had once promised her a life in exchange for the one she saved. Years ago, she had found him bleeding after an ambush and treated him before his enemies could return. No one knew the full story except them.

He believed that was why she trusted him.

After her death, she had seen what no one else had seen.

Ronan had carried her ruined body out of the warehouse. He had arranged her funeral. He had sat beside her memorial for three nights.

The man everyone called heartless had been the only one who mourned her.

"Why me?" Ronan had asked.

"Because Arnold is afraid of you."

"That isn't the whole answer."

"Because you keep your promises."

For a long moment, his dark gaze had held hers.

Then he had said, "I'll do it."

Over the next month, they completed the legal paperwork required for the marriage and finalized a private agreement neither family knew about.

Now, inside Suite 3001, Ranger looked from Sienna to Ronan.

"Last chance," the old man said. "Once those ballroom doors open, there will be no pretending this was a favor."

Sienna stepped into the room. "I'm not pretending."

Ronan remained beside the window. His black suit had been tailored for him, not borrowed for an emergency. A white rose rested in his lapel.

He had truly prepared.

On the table lay their private marriage agreement. Sienna had drafted the first version, offering Ronan a clean exit after one year. He had rejected it and sent back a longer contract.

His version protected her assets, guaranteed her independence, and gave her the right to leave if he betrayed or harmed her.

But it also required them to present a united marriage before both the public and the Walsh Syndicate.

No public separation. No lovers. No using divorce as a threat.

And every intimate act required mutual consent.

Ronan picked up the agreement. "Have you read the final page?"

"Three times."

"Then say what it means."

Sienna met his eyes. "In private, we respect each other's boundaries. In public, no one is allowed to question our marriage."

"Including Arnold."

"Especially Arnold."

Ranger gave a satisfied grunt.

Beside the contract sat a second document bearing the seal of Walsh Group. Ranger had designated Sienna to receive five percent of the company's voting stock, along with revenue interests in two Walsh-controlled waterfront terminal operations.

Arnold had always assumed marrying her would make those interests his.

He was wrong.

Years ago, Sienna had recognized the signs of a hidden aneurysm and forced Ranger to seek treatment before it ruptured. He called the five percent a thank-you gift.

"The shares follow Sienna," Ranger said. "Not whichever fool happens to marry her."

"Arnold won't accept that."

"Arnold abandoned his own wedding. Today, he gets nothing."

Sienna signed the final page of the marriage agreement.

Ronan watched the pen move, his face unreadable.

When she finished, he added his name beneath hers.

"You understand something else," he said.

"What?"

"I will never force you into my bed. But outside that bedroom, you do not get to treat me like a costume you put on to punish another man."

Heat climbed slowly along Sienna's neck.

"I wouldn't do that."

"Good. Because if you walk into that ballroom on my arm, every ally I have will protect you."

His voice lowered.

"And every enemy I have will learn your name."

The warning should have frightened her.

Instead, she remembered cold concrete, unanswered calls, and Ronan's arms lifting her body from the floor.

"I'm ready."

Ranger signed the share directive and closed the folder.

"Then let's give Boston something worth talking about."

An assistant entered carrying two velvet ring boxes. Behind him, hotel staff wheeled away a framed photograph of Sienna and Arnold. Another portrait waited beneath a protective cloth.

Sienna reached for Ronan's arm.

He did not move.

"You still haven't asked me face-to-face," he said.

Her breath caught.

He had already signed. He was already dressed. Yet he waited as if the next words mattered more than all the documents on the table.

Sienna stepped closer.

"Ronan Walsh, please be my groom."

His gaze dropped briefly to her lips.

"No," he said.

Her heart stopped.

Then he opened the ring box.

"I'll be your husband."