Chapter 4
LENNOX
Wife.
The word echoes in my head. Sebastian Drake: owner of resorts along the California coast, and my boss. My fucking boss. He wraps his hand around my hand and leads me off the stage. I’m not a girlfriend or a companion. For fuck’s sake, not even a mistress.
Wife. As horrified as I am by this, there is no doubt that he is the most gorgeous man I have ever seen. Hard, domineering, and the sight of his very large hand wrapped around mine is almost enough to make me forget the illogical situation I’ve found myself in.
God, I was so stupid to think that this was like an escort contract.
High-end, exclusive, fucked up beyond belief, but still just a sexual transaction.
Two years of my life in exchange for keeping Janie safe.
I would survive it the way I’ve survived everything else thrown at me, and then I’d go home.
But marriage?
Marriage is legal and permanent. Marriage means he doesn’t just own my time; he owns me.
“What do you mean wife?”
He looks at me, his dark eyes unreadable. “That’s the legal framework for the contract. Surely you knew that.”
I stare at him. “I absolutely didn’t know that.”
“Really?” His tone suggests he doesn’t believe me. “The auction rules were very clear. Two-year marriage contract. Full legal rights and protections for both parties.”
“I never…” I stop, gulping for breath. “Janie didn’t say anything about marriage. All she said was there was a contract. An arrangement.”
“An arrangement made legally binding through marriage,” he corrects smoothly. “It’s the only way to ensure compliance and provide legal protection. Otherwise, it’s simply prostitution, which remains illegal in California despite certain jurisdictions’ tolerance.”
The irony isn’t lost on me. I left Montana eight months ago specifically to escape this kind of trap.
My father had started making noises about suitable matches, about neighboring ranches that would benefit from a Briggs alliance, about legacy and duty and all the things that come with being born into one of Montana’s oldest ranching families.
The Briggs name is feared and envied in Sweetwater, four generations of cattle and land, wealth that isn’t flashy but is deeply rooted.
I ran to California to be free of expectations, to figure out who I am outside of being Warren Briggs’s daughter.
And now I’m about to be owned by a man who’s paid two million dollars for the privilege.
Mrs. Sebastian Drake. For a brief moment I wonder if I could keep my name and nearly burst out laughing—no chance of that.
A man with Sebastian Drake’s reputation will never allow that.
He’s said to be demanding and firm, and if something belongs to him, the world knows it.
My father is going to lose his mind.
The backstage area is dimmer than the stage, my eyes struggling to adjust after the blinding spotlights.
Sebastian keeps walking, his grip on my hand firm but not painful.
Possessive. The handler who dressed me earlier appears with the silk robe I left on stage, and Sebastian takes it from her without a word and drapes it over my shoulders.
“Put this on,” he says quietly. There was still no “please,” or “I think you should”; it’s just a statement. “You’ll be more comfortable.”
I pull the robe closed over the lingerie, tying the belt with hands that want to shake off my body. Adrenaline coursing through my veins, uncertainty of what happens next, and oddly enough anticipation of what the future holds with this stranger beside me.
We walk down a hallway lined with dark wood paneling and oil paintings, ships in storms, hunters with dead game, men on horseback surveying endless land.
Old money. The kind of wealth that doesn’t just buy things; it owns them for generations.
The same type of portraits that hang in my father’s study back home, except they show Montana mountains instead of whatever coast these ships sailed on.
Sebastian stops at a heavy wooden door at the end of the hall. He knocks twice, and a voice from inside calls, “Come in.”
The room is set up like a study, with leather chairs, a massive desk and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with leather-bound first editions that are probably priceless antiques.
The auctioneer sits behind the desk, and next to him stands a woman in her fifties, wearing a severe black suit and her silver hair pulled back in a tight bun.
“Mr. Drake,” the auctioneer says as he stands. “Congratulations on your purchase. This is Margaret Thornton, our legal counsel, as you know. She’ll be handling the paperwork.”
Purchase. Like I’m a fucking grand champion heifer at a stock show. All I’m missing is an ear tag since I had the lot number.
Sebastian guides me to one of the leather chairs in front of the desk and takes the seat beside me.
His hand finally releases from mine, but he doesn’t pull away.
His presence fills the space next to me, tall, broad-shouldered, radiating the kind of casual power that wins men like him everything they want.
I know that type. I grew up around them. Men who think their last name holds more power than it truly does. But those men have nothing on Sebastian Drake. He makes them look like boys playing at being powerful.
Margaret opens a leather portfolio and removes a stack of documents. “Let’s begin with the financial transaction, shall we?”
She slips a paper across the desk toward Sebastian. I catch a glimpse of it: bank routing numbers, wire transfer authorizations, and the number $2,000,000 in bold print.
Two million dollars. For me.
My father once told me that our prize bull, a Red Angus champion, had cost the ranch forty thousand. That seemed like an obscene amount of money for a single animal.
Two million makes that look like pocket change.
Sebastian removes his phone, types something quickly, and within seconds, Margaret’s laptop chimes. She looks at the screen and nods with satisfaction.
“Payment received and verified. Thank you, Mr. Drake.” She makes a notation on the document, then shifts her attention to me. “Now, Miss Turner—”
“Briggs,” I say automatically. “My name is Lennox Briggs. Rather, Kathryn Lennox Briggs.”
Something shifts in Sebastian’s expression, just for a second. Recognition, maybe.
Margaret’s eyebrow rises slightly and she glances at the auctioneer, who just shrugs.
“There was a substitution,” he explains. “Miss Turner was unable to attend. Miss Briggs took her place.”
“Briggs? Are you from a ranching family in Montana?” Sebastian asks quietly, his eyes fixed on me now with new intensity. “Your family runs about ten thousand head on what, two hundred thousand acres?”
My heart decides this is the moment it should stop. He knows. Of course he knows.
“Three hundred thousand,” I correct him without thinking about it. Pride is stupid right now, but if he thinks he knows everything, I’m happy to prove him wrong. “And we run closer to twenty thousand head.”
He smiles slowly, almost predatorily, and irritatingly satisfied. “You’re Warren Briggs’s daughter.”
It isn’t a question.
“Yes.”
“Well.” He leans back in his chair, looking a little too pleased with himself. “This just got significantly more interesting.”
Margaret clears her throat. “Shall we proceed with the paperwork? I’m sure you’re both eager to finalize things.”
“By all means.” Sebastian gestures for her to continue, but his attention stays on me.
“Though I think we need to update more than just the documentation. My family will want to know I’m marrying Montana ranching royalty, not some anonymous girl from guest relations. We will need to do a press release.”
Ranching royalty. The phrase makes my skin crawl, even though it is technically accurate.
The Briggs name carries weight in Montana.
My great-great-grandfather built the ranch from nothing, and every generation since has expanded it, protected it, turned it into an empire that rivaled some of the biggest operations in the country.
And I walked away from all of it to serve coffee to tourists and smile at arrogant assholes.
“My family doesn’t know I’m here,” I say tightly. “And they’re not going to. I will not agree to a press release, and since it wasn’t part of the contract, I’m not bound to it.”
“Really?” Sebastian’s tone is amused. “You don’t think your father is going to wonder where his daughter disappeared to?”
“I’m twenty-nine years old,” I say. “I don’t report my every movement to my father.”
“No, you just flew across the country to escape him.” Sebastian’s eyes are too knowing.
“Let me guess, he wanted you to marry some neighboring rancher’s son.
Continue to build the empire. And you wanted nothing to do with arranged marriages or duty or any of the things that come with being born into a legacy like that. ”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to. He can see the truth written all over my face.
“The irony here is delicious.” He smirks. “You ran from one ranching dynasty straight into another.”
“Can we please proceed?” Margaret’s irritation is fully displayed through the tone of her voice. “Miss Briggs, we need to update the documentation with your correct legal name. Do you have identification with you?”
I shake my head. “It’s back at my apartment.”
“We can retrieve it later,” Sebastian says. His voice is calm, measured, like we are discussing dinner reservations instead of marriage. “Let’s proceed.”
Margaret pulls out another set of documents, thicker this time, multiple pages stapled together. She sets them in front of me with a pen.
“This is the standard contract,” she explains. “It outlines the terms of your arrangement with Mr. Drake for the next twenty-four months. You’ll need to read and sign each page.”
I pick up the papers with numb hands. The first page is dense with legal language, full of “heretofore” and “party of the first part.” I force myself to focus, to actually read what I agreed to.