"Which one looks less like a funeral?"
Mia's voice was dry as she stared at the line of gowns draped across the living room. Soft lights glowed off the silk and lace, illuminating a sea of white that seemed to mock her.
"I'd say the one that costs less," Adrian said, walking in with a glass of whiskey. "But unfortunately, they all cost more than a small country."
She shot him a glare. "You think this is funny?"
"I think it's business," he replied coolly. "Our investors are expecting a wedding, not a tragedy."
Mia exhaled sharply, crossing her arms. "And what do you expect, Adrian? For me to smile in a dress and pretend you're not blackmailing me into marriage?"
He stepped closer. "I didn't force you. You signed the contract."
"Because you left me no choice."
The words cut through the air, sharp, trembling. For a heartbeat, they stared at each other, both breathing harder than they should.
Then the wedding planner, Clara, cleared her throat. "Shall we begin?"
Mia tore her gaze away and nodded stiffly. "Fine. Let's just get this over with."
Clara clapped her hands. "Excellent! The designer sent five options. Each represents a different theme."
The first gown shimmered under the light, a sleek satin column, minimalist but daring, hugging her curves and pooling like liquid silver at her feet.
Mia stepped behind the folding screen to change. She could feel Adrian's presence even through the fabric quiet, watchful. When she emerged, the room fell still.
Clara gasped softly. "Elegant. Modern. Very Mrs. Drake."
Adrian didn't speak. He simply looked at her, his jaw set, his expression unreadable and something in his gaze made her spine tighten.
"Well?" Mia asked, lifting her chin. "Say something."
He blinked once, slowly. "It's… striking."
"That's all?" she challenged.
His voice dropped, lower. "I was trying to be appropriate."
Her breath hitched. "You're never appropriate."
The planner shifted awkwardly. "Maybe we should try the next one."
The second dress was romantic soft lace, off-shoulder sleeves, a corseted bodice that made her feel like she was trapped in a fairytale that wasn't hers.
She couldn't reach the zipper.
"Could someone…." she began, then froze when Adrian appeared behind her.
"I'll do it."
The assistants hesitated, then, at his quiet authority, slipped out of the room. Only the two of them remained, the silence thick with something neither wanted to name.
His fingers brushed her bare back as he caught the zipper, slow, deliberate. The faint scrape of metal echoed in her chest like thunder.
Mia's breath trembled. "You don't have to…."
"I want to," he said.
Her eyes met his in the mirror, the reflection a painting of contradictions. Her in lace and resistant, him in dark restraint.
"Why are you here, Adrian?" she whispered. "You have people for this."
His hand stilled halfway up her back. "Maybe I wanted to see what I'm buying."
Her head snapped toward him. "Excuse me?"
He leaned closer, his breath a whisper against her ear. "You said it yourself. This marriage is business. I'm simply checking the product."
She turned sharply, the skirt swaying around them like white smoke. "You're unbelievable."
"And you're trembling," he murmured.
"Because I hate you."
"Try again."
Their eyes locked — hers unyielding, his unreadable. The silence stretched until it hurt.
Then, quietly, she said, "You're playing a dangerous game, Adrian."
"So are you."
The third dress was a ballgown of tulle and crystals, extravagant, breathtaking, too soft for the kind of woman she had become.
When she stepped out, Adrian was on his phone, discussing investor terms. But the moment he looked up, his words died mid-sentence.
The call ended with a single click.
Mia fidgeted with the skirt, trying to ignore his stare. "Too much?"
His voice was rougher this time. "No. It's… you."
She blinked. "You don't even know me."
"I'm starting to."
Something flickered between them, quiet, electric. For a moment, it wasn't about contracts or revenge. It was about two people trying and failing not to fall.
But then Clara re-entered, breaking the spell. "I think that's the one!" she exclaimed.
Adrian stepped back, his composure snapping into place. "It'll do," he said flatly.
Mia turned toward him. "It'll do? That's all you have to say after staring at me like…."
"Like what?"
Her lips parted, but no words came.
Clara glanced between them, uncertain. "I'll give you two a moment."
And just like that, they were alone again.
The argument started small, a comment about the veil, a disagreement about the ceremony music. But it escalated fast, fueled by nerves and something darker beneath.
"You can't control every detail, Adrian!" she snapped.
"I'm trying to keep us from falling apart before the cameras even roll!"
"I'm not one of your projects!"
"Then stop acting like one!"
Mia's eyes burned. "You make it so hard to breathe around you."
He took a step forward. "You think it's easier for me?"
"Don't."
But he did, closing the distance until his breath mingled with hers.
For a heartbeat, neither moved.
Then, softly, he said, "Tomorrow, when you walk down that aisle, don't think about the contract. Just… look at me."
Her pulse skittered. "And what if I don't like what I see?"
He gave a faint, broken smile. "Then lie to me, Mia. You're good at that."
The words shouldn't have felt like a confession. But they did.
Because in that instant with her heartbeat echoing against the quiet, his hand still near hers, and the ghost of warmth where his fingers had brushed her skin, she realized something terrifying.
Hating Adrian Drake was easy.
But not wanting him was becoming impossible.