Page 11 of Declan

We turn to face the crowd, their applause loud and hollow in my ears.

I know Viviana. She won’t back down. She wouldn’t let something as simple as a kiss throw her off her game. In fact, I expect her to retaliate, and that’s exactly what makes this game worth playing. That’s why I chose her—she’ll fight me to the end of time.

As we leave for a separate room where the notary and lawyers wait, her grip is strong, her hands icy cold. She’s nervous. Good.

That makes her more dangerous, and that’s exactly what I want. I enjoy playing with fire, and she’s the flames.

Viviana signs the papers first, officially becoming my wife, taking the Callaghan name. When it’s my turn, I bend over to sign.

“Signing your death sentence, husband?” she whispers, amusement dripping from her tone, her damn smirk back in place.

“Mine or yours, wife? You’re outnumbered in this house,” I remind her.

“Am I, though?” she counters, her gaze sliding toward the lake outside the window.

What the hell did she do?

I shake my head, taking her hand and pressing hard as I lead her to the reception area.

The atmosphere shifts immediately. The space is a masterpiece of opulence, every detail meticulously curated to showcase power and wealth.

Viviana and that dress is a walking danger sign. She’s not the type of woman I’d usually lose time with—not that she isn’t stunning. Quite the contrary. She’s beautiful, but her gothic style, tattoos, and pale, vampire-like skin aren’t my type. Andyet, seeing her in that dress… Let’s just say my cock twitched the moment I saw her.

Guests float around the room, some still in shock, others in awe. Whispers grow louder—a mix of admiration and speculation. I relish the attention, and by the slight tilt of her lips, so does she.

The reception is in full swing, a lavish affair designed to make people forget what this marriage truly is. Deals are being made behind smiles, and alliances are solidified with handshakes and toasts.

But none of that interests me.

My eyes remain locked on Viviana as she sweeps through the room, every ounce of fury wrapped in that tight black dress. That fucking dress…

Her father struts beside her, clearly enjoying the attention. But Viviana? She’s seething. And that only makes her all the more captivating.

Flynn leans against the wall next to me, a glass of whiskey in his hand, watching the scene unfold with his usual amused detachment.

Connor stands on my other side, his posture casual, but I can see the tension in his shoulders—the way his eyes track Viviana’s every move.

“Think she’s planning her next move?” Flynn asks, taking a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving her.

I smirk, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. “I’d be disappointed if she isn’t.”

Viviana grabs a glass of champagne, her eyes meeting mine across the room. There’s something dangerous in her gaze—a spark that says she’s already plotting. She doesn’t just glance at me; she dissects me, analysing every expression, every shift of weight, as if she’s searching for a weakness to exploit.

Good luck with that, firecracker.

With a smirk that could be mistaken for sweetness if you didn’t know better, she raises her glass toward us. It’s a challenge—pure and simple. A silent declaration that she won’t be playing the obedient wife.

I raise my glass in response, meeting her challenge head-on. She’ll know I’m ready for whatever she’s planning.

Connor chuckles softly, shaking his head. “She’s not going to make this easy for you.”

“I don’t want easy,” I reply, my voice low and dark with anticipation. “Easy is boring.”

Kian’s grin widens. “Just don’t come crying to us when she sets the mansion on fire.”

I shoot him a sidelong glance. “Fuck, I think she actually might try.” I chuckle darkly.

Viviana turns away, dismissing us with a flick of her hair as she walks toward Selma. The move is calculated—meant to show she’s not intimidated, not the least bit concerned about what the three of us might do.

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