Married to a Stranger

The organ music reverberated through the limestone arches of Trinity Church on Wall Street, solemn, regal, and chillingly devoid of joy. Five hundred members of Manhattan's economic elite sat in the carved mahogany pews, witnessing the transactional union of two historic dynasties.

Camilla Laurent stood at the altar in an off-the-shoulder gown of French Chantilly lace, her veil held in place by a tiara of heirloom Laurent diamonds. Beneath the lace, her fingers were clasped so tightly her knuckles were bloodless. Her violet eyes, framed by honey-gold curls, were fixed on the man standing beside her.

Zachary Blackwood.

At thirty-one, Zack Blackwood was Wall Street’s undisputed Ice King. Standing six-foot-four in a bespoke charcoal tuxedo, he looked like a statue carved from sunless granite—chiseled aristocratic cheekbones, a severe, aristocratic jawline, and eyes the color of arctic sea ice. He hadn't smiled once since entering the cathedral. When the priest asked for his vow, his voice had been flat, deep, and chillingly concise.

"I do."

Two words that had saved Camilla’s family bank from predatory liquidation by Ronald Vance’s hedge fund. In exchange for two hundred million dollars in recapitalization capital, Camilla had signed the Blackwood marital contract.