"Sign here," Adrian said, sliding the document across the table like a final verdict.
The pen glinted under the warm office light. A single stroke stood between them and the next step of their tangled arrangement, their wedding.
Mia looked at the stack of paper, then at him. "You have a habit of making everything sound like a business deal."
He didn't even look up from his laptop. "That's because it is."
Her lips parted slightly, irritation mixing with disbelief. "Marriage?"
His gaze finally lifted, dark, steady, and deliberate. "A contract. With emotional side effects."
Mia let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "You make it sound like a bad investment."
Adrian leaned back in his chair, his eyes flicking briefly over her. She was still in her ivory dress from the morning's photo fitting, soft silk against her skin, hair pinned in a loose chignon that framed her neck. He tried not to notice, but he did. "Some investments cost more than they're worth," he murmured.
Her pen hovered above the dotted line. "And yet you're still buying in."
For a heartbeat, silence filled the air, charged, thick, and suffocating.
He spoke again, his tone quieter this time. "Let's just say I'm willing to pay the price."
The words hung between them longer than he intended.
Mia's throat tightened. She didn't want to ask what he meant, didn't want to care. But the flicker in his voice, that barely-there edge of something human, unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.
She signed her name. The sound of pen against paper felt final and Irrevocable.
"There," she said, pushing the papers back toward him. "You have your contract, Mr. Drake."
Adrian's jaw tightened slightly. "Adrian will do."
"I prefer keeping things professional."
"You won't be able to once the press gets involved," he replied, scanning her signature. "They'll want a story, one that looks real."
Her brow furrowed. "And what story are we selling?"
He closed the folder with a quiet snap. "The perfect union. The grieving heiress who rebuilt her life with the man who saved her family empire."
"Touching," she said flatly.
"You'll need to look like you believe it," he added. "The public announcement goes out tomorrow. Photos, interviews, a joint statement. Our PR team has everything arranged."
Mia's pulse quickened. "You mean I have to act like I'm in love with you?"
He didn't smile, but there was something cruelly amused in his eyes. "You'll manage. You're good at pretending."
Her hands balled into fists. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing." He stood, adjusting his cufflinks. "Just an observation."
She followed him with her eyes, anger simmering beneath the surface. Adrian Drake had a way of twisting words until they scraped at her skin. And yet, what infuriated her most was the part of her that wanted to know why he looked at her like that, like he saw more than he should.
"Dinner's at seven," he said as he walked toward the door. "We'll be photographed leaving together. Make sure you wear something that says Mrs. Drake."
When he left, Mia sat back, exhaling sharply. The walls of his penthouse felt colder the moment he was gone.
By seven, the city had slipped into dusk, skyscraper lights blinking against the fading gold of the horizon.
Mia descended the grand staircase in a black satin dress that clung to her curves, her heels clicking softly against marble. She'd chosen the dress deliberately, bold but elegant, power wrapped in grace.
Adrian was waiting in the foyer, dressed in a charcoal suit that looked as though it had been tailored from sin itself. His gaze swept over her once, unreadable.
"You're late," he said.
"You said seven," she replied coolly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"I meant six-fifty-nine."
"Then you should've said that."
The corner of his mouth twitched,not quite a smile, but close enough to make her heartbeat stumble. "You always have to win, don't you?"
"It's the only language powerful men understand."
"Then maybe that's why we understand each other so well."
The chauffeur opened the door, breaking the tension. They slid into the backseat, the air between them taut and electric.
Mia turned toward the window, pretending to admire the city lights, but she could feel Adrian's gaze lingering on her profile.
"You don't trust me," he said suddenly.
She met his eyes. "Should I?"
"No." He leaned back, tone almost lazy. "But you should trust that I'll keep my word."
"And what exactly is your word worth, Adrian?"
He didn't answer right away. His hand brushed against hers on the leather seat, not intentional, not accidental either. "More than you think."
She pulled her hand away, though the warmth lingered long after.
The restaurant was a blend of luxury and art, low lighting, glass walls overlooking the skyline, violin music playing softly in the background.
They were seated at a private table already lit for the perfect photograph. Mia could feel the flash of cameras outside, journalists stationed discreetly beyond the velvet ropes.
"Smile," Adrian murmured. "You look like you'd rather stab me."
"I would," she whispered through her teeth, forcing a polite grin.
He chuckled quietly, his voice like velvet against her nerves. "You're better at this than I expected."
"You underestimate me," she said, raising her glass.
"I wouldn't dare."
They toasted for the cameras, their movements choreographed but strangely intimate. To the outside world, they looked flawless, the powerful mogul and the elegant designer, a match born of strategy and fate. But beneath the table, her foot brushed against his by mistake, and the brief contact sent a spark through her she didn't have words for.
When the photographers finally left them alone, the silence between them grew heavier.
"Why did you choose me?" she asked suddenly, setting her glass down.
Adrian's gaze flicked up, sharp and searching. "Because you're not afraid of me."
She blinked. "That's it?"
"It's enough."
Her pulse raced. She wanted to demand more, to ask what haunted him, why he looked at her sometimes like she reminded him of something he'd lost. But she didn't. Not yet.
"Be ready tomorrow," he said instead, standing. "We meet the board at noon. The announcement will go public right after."
"And then?"
"Then we become husband and wife, officially."
He walked away before she could respond, leaving her breathless, furious, and more confused than ever.
Mia sat there, staring at the half-empty glass in front of her. The restaurant hummed faintly with laughter and clinking glasses, but it all sounded distant, like she was underwater.
Then we become husband and wife.
The words echoed long after Adrian left, settling heavy in her chest. She wasn't sure which unsettled her more, the deal itself, or how easily her pulse betrayed her every time he said wife in that calm, unreadable tone.
She pressed a hand to her temple and let out a shaky breath. "Get it together, Mia."
But even as she tried, the scent of his cologne clung to her skin, cedar, smoke, something dangerously masculine. It made her remember the brush of his hand earlier in the car, the way his voice dipped low when he said trust me.
She flagged the waiter and signed the bill before leaving. The flash of paparazzi lights followed her out into the night, reflecting in her eyes like fire.
When she returned to the Drake penthouse, it was almost midnight. The city outside glimmered through the glass walls, a thousand tiny stars burning in the dark.
Adrian was in the study when she entered, jacket off, sleeves rolled, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He didn't look up right away.
"You stayed late," he said without turning.
"Had to make sure my smile looked convincing," she replied dryly, setting her clutch on the counter.
He looked up then, eyes tracing her face as if searching for something he couldn't name. "It did."
"Glad to hear your investment's paying off."
"Mia," he said quietly. "It's not always going to be like this."
Her laughter was soft but bitter. "What? Pretending to love the man who practically owns me?"
His jaw tightened. "I don't own you."
"Could've fooled me."
He set his glass down with a sharp clink. "You think this is easy for me? You think I enjoy walking into rooms full of people who whisper that I'm marrying for power?"
Her eyes snapped to his. "Then why do it?"
For a moment, his mask slipped, something raw flickered in his expression. "Because I needed you."
Mia froze. "Needed me?"
He stepped closer, voice low, almost a confession. "You were the only one who could make this look real. The only one strong enough to stand next to me and not disappear."
Her heart stuttered. She wanted to ask what he meant, if this was still business or something else entirely. But before she could, he took another step closer.
The air between them pulsed.
"You shouldn't say things like that," she whispered.
"Why not?"
"Because it sounds like you actually care."
Adrian's gaze darkened. "Maybe I do."
The silence that followed was deafening. He was close enough now that she could see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, the glint of restrained emotion in his eyes.
"You don't," she said softly, though her voice trembled. "You just like control."
He didn't answer. Instead, his hand lifted, slow, deliberate and brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek. The touch sent heat coursing through her veins.
"Maybe," he murmured. "Or maybe I just don't know what to do with you."
Her breath caught. "Then stop trying."
He smiled faintly, tragic and beautiful. "If it were that simple, I would've done it already."
Mia stepped back, needing air, distance, anything to break the current between them. "Goodnight, Adrian."
But as she turned, his hand caught her wrist, gently
"You don't believe me," he said quietly. "But one day you will."
Her pulse thundered beneath his fingers. "Believe what?"
"That this… whatever it is between us, it's not an act."
Her eyes met his — and for a second, the room disappeared. No contracts. No cameras. Just two people standing in the wreckage of their pride, dangerously close to crossing a line neither of them could undo.
"Let me go," she whispered.
Slowly, he did. But not before his thumb brushed the inside of her wrist a single, fleeting touch that burned like a promise.
She turned away and hurried upstairs, her heartbeat too loud, too quick.
Inside her room, she closed the door and leaned against it, her breath shallow.
What scared her wasn't Adrian's words. It was how much a part of her wanted to believe them.
She pressed her fingers to her wrist, where his touch still lingered, and whispered to herself, "Don't fall for him. Don't you dare."
But somewhere below, she heard movement, the faint sound of Adrian pacing, the quiet clink of glass against wood.
And then, his voice, low, rough, and meant for no one but the shadows.
"I can't lose her too."
Mia froze.
Her hand slipped from the doorknob, heart hammering. Lose her too?
Before she could think, she opened the door, but the hallway was empty.
Only the echo of his words remained, and with them, a question she wasn't ready to ask.