POV: HIM
I don't remember her.
That should bother me more than it does.
The problem isn't that I've forgotten Evelyn Hale it's that forgetting people is a skill I perfected years ago. Names, faces, pleas… they blur when you run companies the size of countries. When you make decisions that erase lives with a signature.
Still.
She stands in my office like she belongs there.
Not impressed. Not intimidated. Smiling like she knows a secret I don't.
I hate that.
"You have ten seconds," I say, pulling the contract from the table, "to explain how my legal team let you crawl into my life."
"Eight," she corrects, sitting down without invitation. "You wasted two glaring."
My jaw tightens.
The lawyer clears his throat. "Mr. Blackwood, the contract was executed under Clause 17B marital alliance for hostile acquisition prevention."
I skim the page.
My blood goes cold.
Clause 17B is a failsafe. A relic from an old war one I wrote myself. It allows an immediate legal marriage to prevent a takeover by locking controlling shares into a spousal trust.
The hostile bidder vanishes the moment the marriage is filed.
Which means
I look up slowly.
Evelyn Hale is the bidder.
"You planned this," I say.
She shrugs. "You're not stupid. I assumed you'd figure it out eventually."
Eventually.
The word irritates me.
"You leveraged shell companies," I continue, flipping pages, recognizing patterns too familiar to be coincidence. "Foreign accounts. Silent partners. You forced my board into triggering a clause they didn't even know existed."
Her smile sharpens. "You taught them to ignore details. I just used the blind spot."
I should be furious.
Instead, something electric coils in my chest.
Interest.
"You still haven't told me who you are," I say.
She leans forward, resting her chin in her palm. "That's because you won't like the answer."
"Try me."
Her eyes dark, steady, too aware lock onto mine.
"Seven years ago," she says, "your subsidiary Blackwood Urban Renewal acquired a neighborhood called Kingsway."
I freeze.
Kingsway was… insignificant. A line item. A demolition. A profitable redevelopment.
"I lived there," she continues calmly. "My mother ran a clinic. My brother worked night security."
I already know where this is going.
I've heard variations of this story before.
"You cut funding," she says. "Sold the land. Evicted the residents. The clinic closed. My brother got fired."
She tilts her head.
"Three months later, he was stabbed walking home."
The room goes silent.
I exhale slowly. "If this is an attempt at emotional leverage—"
"He died," she says flatly. "Don't interrupt me."
Something in her tone snaps the air.
I don't speak.
"My mother drank herself into a stroke," she continues. "I dropped out of school. I worked three jobs. I learned how men like you think."
She sits back.
"And then I decided I wanted you."
Not justice. Not compensation.
Me.
"You're blaming me for a crime I didn't commit," I say.
"I'm blaming you for a system you profit from," she replies. "And I'm not here to punish you."
My eyes narrow. "Then why are you here?"
Her gaze drags over me, slow and deliberate, like she's undressing something more fragile than flesh.
"Because ruining you from the outside would be too easy," she says. "I want a front-row seat."
I laugh.
It slips out before I can stop it.
"You think marrying me gives you power?" I ask. "It makes you vulnerable."
She stands.
Steps close.
So close I can feel her heat.
"I already was vulnerable," she whispers. "You can't threaten me with what I've survived."
For the first time in years, I don't have a response ready.
Her phone buzzes.
She glances at it, then back at me, eyes gleaming.
"Oh," she adds casually. "And Adrian?"
"Yes?"
"You have seventy-two hours to announce our engagement to the press."
My pulse spikes. "Or?"
She smiles slow, wicked.
"Or I leak the audit trails that suggest your company knowingly displaced protected residents."
That would
Destroy me.
She turns and walks out.
The door closes softly behind her.
I stare at the contract in my hands.
At her signature beside mine.
I don't believe in ghosts.
But I'm starting to think the past has teeth.