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Married To The Vulture Of Wall Street
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Married To The Vulture Of Wall Street Novel Cover

Married To The Vulture Of Wall Street

I had exactly forty-five minutes to get married, or I would lose the voting shares needed to stop my father from laundering millions through our family foundation. Everything was riding on this one legal signature at the City Clerk’s office. But just as I reached the front of the line, my phone buzzed with a high-definition photo of my fiancé, Preston, tangled in sheets with a junior associate at a SoHo hotel. The man I was about to tie my life to was a fraud, and my deadline was ticking toward zero. When I shoved the evidence in his face, he didn't even flinch. Instead, he gripped my wrist until the bone ground together, whispering that I was just a "junkie" fresh out of a Swiss clinic and that no one else would ever marry a liability with a personality disorder. My father was already standing by with a fraudulent medical affidavit, ready to force me into a conservatorship and strip me of my freedom the moment the clock hit 5 PM. They had spent years using my fake "instability" as a leash, treating me like a broken doll while they bled the company dry. I was the only one with the evidence to take them down, yet I was being discarded like a sunk cost by the very men who were supposed to protect me. I looked at Preston’s smug face and realized I didn't need a husband; I needed a predator. I scanned the room and spotted Dominik Mack, the "Vulture of Wall Street," a man who specialized in hostile takeovers and stripping men like my father of everything they owned. I walked straight up to the most dangerous man in New York and offered him a business transaction. "Do you want to get married?" I asked. He looked at my trembling hands, then at the man chasing me, and adjusted his collar with clinical detachment. "Deal," he said. I didn't just find a groom; I found an accomplice. This wasn't a wedding anymore—it was a declaration of war.
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Chapter 5

The door of the Maybach closed with a solid, hermetic seal. The noise of Broadway was instantly cut off, replaced by the hum of the climate control and the smell of conditioned leather.

Dominik leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. He tapped his index finger against the armrest. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Ari sat across from him, clutching his tablet like a shield.

"Dominik," Ari said, his voice rising. "Are you insane?"

Dominik didn't open his eyes.

"The legal exposure," Ari continued, counting on his fingers. "Community property laws. The media fallout. The investors. We are in the middle of the acquisition of Cobalt Tech. If they find out you just married a... a liability..."

"She's not a liability," Dominik said.

"She's Ivy Mcneil! The tabloids say she's a drug addict. She's been in and out of rehab for years."

Dominik opened his eyes. They were clear, cold.

"She's not an addict," he said.

Ari blinked. "What?"

"Her pupils were reactive. Her hands were steady until the adrenaline hit. Her logic was flawless. She calculated the time window, the leverage, and the solution in under three minutes." Dominik reached for a bottle of sparkling water from the console. "It's a cover."

"A cover? For what?"

"Survival." Dominik cracked the seal on the bottle. He remembered the way she had gripped his arm. It wasn't the grip of a woman looking for comfort. It was the grip of a woman pulling herself off a ledge.

"Even if she is sane," Ari argued, "why? Why her? Why now?"

Dominik took a sip of the water. The bubbles burned his throat.

"I need access to the Foundation's charter," he said.

"The Miller board seat?"

"The Miller Foundation," Dominik corrected. "Their books are cooked. I've been tracking a stream of dirty capital for six months. It leads right into Harris Miller's charity. The son-in-law clause is the only loophole that grants a non-board member standing to demand a full audit."

Ari sat back, exhaling. "A Trojan Horse. You're using the marriage for corporate espionage."

"It's a defensive acquisition," Dominik said.

But he knew that wasn't the whole truth.

A memory flashed in his mind. Zurich. Five years ago. A courtyard covered in snow. A girl in a thin hospital gown, shivering, smoking a cigarette with a black eye. She hadn't cried then, either.

He owed her. But Ari didn't need to know that.

"Kill the story," Dominik ordered. "I don't want this on Page Six tomorrow morning."

"And Preston Hayes?" Ari asked, tapping on his tablet.

Dominik's eyes narrowed. "Short his father's company. Squeeze them until they bleed."

Ari grinned. "Now that sounds like you."

Dominik's phone buzzed. It was a text from an unknown number.

Thank you. My lawyers will send the paperwork in an hour. - Ivy

Dominik stared at the screen. A small, dry laugh escaped his lips.

Ari looked up, startled. He hadn't heard his boss laugh in years.

Dominik typed back.

Looking forward to it.

He deleted the message and tossed the phone onto the seat.

"Game on, Ivy," he whispered.

Continue to next part

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