Mia Hart had seen luxury before but not like this.
Drake Tower's penthouse wasn't a home. It was a statement carved in marble and glass, every surface polished until it reflected power back at itself.
The elevator doors opened directly into the living room, revealing a panoramic view of the city, sleek skyscrapers bleeding gold under the setting sun. Somewhere below, her old life still existed. But up here, she felt like she was trespassing in a god's domain.
"You're early," came Adrian's voice from behind her.
She turned to find him leaning casually against the kitchen island, sleeves rolled, tie loosened. No jacket, no armor. Just the man beneath, confident, unreadable, and far too composed for her liking.
"I thought I'd get settled before the cameras arrive," she said.
He arched a brow. "You think I'd invite the press into my home?"
"With you, I'm not sure what's real anymore."
He gave a low chuckle the kind that vibrated through the room, deep and controlled. "You'll learn."
"Learn what?" she asked, crossing her arms.
"That I'm a man of boundaries. And this" he gestured around them "isn't a marriage. It's a transaction."
"Then I'll keep receipts," she shot back.
Adrian smiled slightly, impressed despite himself. "Your room's down the hall. Second door on the right. You'll find a closet stocked with clothes in your size. Appearances matter."
Mia followed the corridor, heels tapping against black marble. The walls were bare, no family photos, no warmth. It felt less like someone's home and more like a cage lined with designer furniture.
Her new room was elegant, understated, too perfect. On the bed, a silk robe rested beside a note in Adrian's precise handwriting.
Dinner at eight. Formal.
Mia exhaled sharply. "Of course," she muttered.
By the time she entered the dining area later that evening, the city lights shimmered through the glass walls like constellations. Adrian was already there, pouring wine.
"You look… appropriate," he said, eyes gliding over her navy dress.
"Appropriate?" she echoed, sitting opposite him. "You make it sound like a job interview."
"In a way, it is. You'll be introduced as my fiancée at tomorrow's gala."
She stiffened. "Tomorrow?"
He nodded. "It'll be our first public appearance. You'll need to smile convincingly.
"I can fake it better than most."
"Good. Then we're halfway there."
Dinner passed in uneasy silence. The food was exquisite, but neither seemed hungry. Mia toyed with her glass before finally asking, "Why me, Adrian? You could've chosen anyone. Someone with less… baggage."
He looked up, gaze unreadable. "Because you have something they don't."
"What's that?"
"A reason to fight."
Her throat tightened, but she masked it with sarcasm. "And you enjoy watching people fight?"
"No," he said quietly. "I respect those who survive."
For a moment, neither of them moved. There was no hostility in his tone, just a kind of quiet truth that unsettled her more than any insult could.
She set her fork down. "You know, I keep wondering if this is revenge or pity."
"Neither," he replied. "It's necessity. The merger demands stability. You provide that illusion."
"An illusion," she repeated bitterly. "So that's all I am?"
He leaned forward slightly. "You wanted a chance, Mia. I gave you one. Just remember who you asked it from."
Her pulse skipped. "You really think power gives you the right to play God?"
He didn't flinch. "Power doesn't give me the right. It gives me the means."
She rose abruptly, chair scraping the marble. "Dinner's over."
"Mia—"
She turned, eyes burning. "Don't."
For a second, something flickered across his expression not anger, not arrogance, but something almost gentle. Regret, maybe. But it vanished as quickly as it came.
"Goodnight, Mrs. Drake," he said softly.
She hesitated, then walked away, every step echoing in the silence.
When she reached her room, she slammed the door and pressed her back to it. Her reflection in the mirror stared back, strong, composed, furious.
"Legacy" she whispered to herself.
Outside, the rain began again, streaking the windows like yesterday's storm reborn.
Later that night, Adrian stood alone by the glass wall, city lights painting him in gold and shadow. Leon's voice echoed faintly from the phone speaker.
"She's not what you expected, is she?"
"No," Adrian said quietly. "She's worse."
Leon chuckled. "And yet you sound… intrigued."
Adrian's lips curved faintly. "Curiosity isn't weakness."
"Maybe not. But you're playing with fire."
He glanced toward the closed hallway door — the one hiding the woman who'd already unsettled his perfect control.
"Then let it burn," he murmured.
Mia couldn't sleep. She sat by the window, city lights switching against her skin. Somewhere between anger and confusion, she realized what terrified her most wasn't Adrian's power
It was the part of her that wanted to understand him
She hated that.But she also couldn't look away.