Chapter 5

Vincent Saint-Clair was an insufferable man.

Sloane told herself that multiple times as she exited the conference room, her steps sharp and deliberate, the signed contract clutched between her fingers. He had agreed to her terms too easily, and that irritated her more than she cared to admit. Vincent Saint-Clair didn't just accept deals. He twisted them, manipulated them, made them work entirely in his favor.

Which meant he was playing a longer game.

She hated that she couldn't yet see the full board.

"Ms. Montgomery?" Marco fell into step beside her as she walked down the hall. "That… went well?"

Sloane didn't break stride. "Define well."

Marco hesitated. "He agreed, didn't he?"

"Exactly," she muttered, pressing the elevator button.

She stepped inside, and Marco wisely didn't follow. The moment the doors slid shut, she exhaled, shoulders stiff with irritation. She should be relieved—this was a win, wasn't it? She had secured her expansion, on her terms.

And yet, the way Vincent had looked at her at the end of that meeting…

She had gone in expecting to fight, to have to tear the deal out of his cold, calculating hands. But he had leaned back, smirked like he knew something she didn't, and handed it to her like it cost him nothing.

Sloane didn't believe in gifts. Not from men like him.

The elevator opened directly into her penthouse, and she dropped the contract onto the marble countertop, rubbing her temples. A glass of wine would be a smart idea. Maybe a bath.

Her phone buzzed.

She ignored it at first, but when it vibrated again, she grabbed it.

Vincent Saint-Clair.

Her jaw tightened as she stared at the name flashing on her screen. He had never called her before. She debated ignoring it, but that would mean he won this round, and she refused to give him even a fraction of control.

She answered. "What?"

His voice was maddeningly smooth. "You sound tense, sweetheart."

Her nails curled against her palm. "Is there a reason you're calling, or did you just want to hear my voice?"

A low chuckle. "I wouldn't call it a pleasure, exactly."

She rolled her eyes, pacing toward the windows. "Then get to the point, Saint-Clair."

A pause.

"Dinner. Tomorrow night."

Sloane's steps halted.

She turned, gripping the phone tighter. "Excuse me?"

"We're engaged now, aren't we?" Vincent's voice was all mock innocence, but she wasn't fooled. "It's time we made our first public appearance."

She let out a sharp laugh. "Absolutely not."

His sigh was exaggerated. "Sloane, Sloane. What will people think if the future Mrs. Saint-Clair is already avoiding her husband-to-be?"

Her teeth clenched. "We are not married."

"Not yet," he mused. "But the engagement announcement goes live in less than a week. We need to sell the story."

She pressed her tongue against her molars. He was right, of course. The moment the news hit the press, they would have cameras on them at all times. Their families expected them to make their rounds, to attend events as a unit, to convince the world this was real.

She hated it. She hated him.

And yet, refusing wasn't an option.

Finally, she exhaled. "Fine."

"Good girl."

Her eyes narrowed. "I hope you choke on your overpriced steak."

Vincent chuckled. "I'll send you the details."

The line went dead.

Sloane threw her phone onto the couch and stalked toward her walk-in closet. If she was going to be forced into playing the part of his fiancée, she was going to make damn sure she was the only thing the world could talk about.

She reached for the dress she had been saving for an occasion just like this.

If Vincent Saint-Clair wanted a show, he was going to get one hell of a performance.

The next evening, Sloane stepped out of the sleek black Rolls-Royce like she had been born for the spotlight.

She knew exactly how this worked. The second her designer heels touched the pavement, cameras flashed, voices called her name, and all eyes turned toward her. And that was exactly what she wanted.

The moment Vincent saw her, she wanted him to know he had made a mistake inviting her here.

She had chosen a dress designed to command attention. Midnight black, silk that clung to her every curve, a neckline low enough to scandalize Monaco's elite, and a thigh-high slit that hinted at just enough danger. Her hair fell in loose, effortless waves, her lips painted in the same deep red he had smirked at the night before.

The maître d' recognized her immediately, stepping forward with a gracious bow. "Ms. Montgomery. Mr. Saint-Clair is already waiting for you."

Of course, he was. Vincent Saint-Clair wasn't the kind of man who waited for anyone, except to prove a point.

Sloane walked into the restaurant with slow, deliberate steps.

And then she saw him.

Vincent was seated in a private, candlelit section at the back, a glass of whiskey in hand, watching her with infuriatingly lazy amusement. Unlike the perfectly poised businessmen surrounding them, he looked almost bored, like he had been expecting every part of this.

His gaze dragged over her, unhurried and assessing, and she swore his fingers tightened around his glass.

Good.

She slid into the seat across from him, crossing her legs with practiced ease, and smirked. "You're staring, Saint-Clair."

Vincent leaned back, that damn smirk still in place. "I'd be a fool not to."

She picked up her menu, pretending the warmth in her chest was irritation. "Flattery won't make this dinner any less unbearable."

Vincent hummed, setting his whiskey down. "It's not flattery. Just an observation."

Their waiter arrived, all polished professionalism, and Vincent ordered without hesitation, some obscenely expensive steak, because of course he did.

When the waiter turned to her, Sloane smiled sweetly. "I'll have the seafood special."

Vincent's brow lifted slightly. "You don't eat seafood."

Her eyes narrowed a fraction. "And how would you know that?"

His smirk deepened. "I do my research."

She set her menu down, holding his gaze. "So do I. And from what I've gathered, you prefer your dinner guests to be… compliant."

Vincent exhaled a soft laugh, shaking his head. "Sweetheart, if I wanted compliance, I wouldn't have agreed to marry you."

There it was.

That infuriating, impossible, dangerous spark between them, the one she refused to acknowledge, but couldn't ignore.

Before she could fire back, a voice interrupted them.

"Sloane? Darling, is that you?"

She turned, instantly plastering on her most dazzling smile.

Emma Saint-Clair.

Vincent's cousin. One of the most well-connected socialites in Europe, with a reputation for being as charming as she was deadly.

"Emma, darling." Sloane stood, kissing her on both cheeks. "It's been too long."

Emma's knowing gaze flickered between her and Vincent, lips twitching. "I'd say so. The last time I saw you, you were decidedly not engaged to my cousin."

Sloane barely blinked. "Things change."

Emma's gaze sharpened. "Indeed, they do."

She lingered for another moment before flashing a smile. "Well, I won't keep you from your… intimate dinner. But I'll be seeing you both soon, I'm sure."

And just like that, she was gone.

Sloane turned back to Vincent, reaching for her wine glass. "Your cousin doesn't seem convinced by our little engagement."

Vincent swirled the whiskey in his glass, watching her too closely. "That makes two of us."

Her fingers tightened slightly around the stem. She had one year to survive this.

And yet, somehow, she already knew.

Vincent Saint-Clair was going to make every second of it a war.