Elena's POV
I delete the threatening text for the third time, but it keeps reappearing in my mind.
Hope the groom survives the wedding.
I should tell Adrian. Warn him. But what would I even say? Some anonymous person texted me a threat hours before our fake wedding? He'd probably think I'm trying to back out of the deal.
Besides, I haven't slept. My brain isn't working right.
The bedroom he gave me is bigger than my old apartment. I showered for thirty minutes just because I could. Found expensive clothes in the closet that fit perfectly, he had someone buy them for me. A simple white dress hangs on the door.
For the wedding.
My hands shake as I zip it up. The fabric is soft, elegant. Nothing like the courthouse wedding I imagined having with Derek someday.
Derek. Who dumped me yesterday. Was that really only yesterday?
A knock on the door. We leave in ten minutes, Adrian calls.
I take one last look in the mirror. The woman staring back looks fragile. Scared. Nothing like the confident analyst I used to be.
Get it together, I whisper to my reflection. This is survival. Nothing more.
City Hall is gray and bureaucratic. No flowers. No music. No guests.
Just Adrian in a dark suit, and me in a white dress that cost more than my last paycheck, standing before a bored clerk who's already done six weddings this morning.
Two strangers Adrian hired stand as witnesses. They smile politely and don't ask questions. Probably because he's paying them very well not to.
Do you, Adrian Nathaniel Blackwell, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?
Adrian's voice is flat. I do.
The clerk turns to me. Do you, Elena Marie Martinez, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?
My throat is dry. The threatening text flashes through my mind again. Should I stop this? Walk away before someone gets hurt?
But then what? Prison? Homelessness? Steven Palmer wins while I lose everything?
I do, I whisper.
By the power vested in me by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife. The clerk doesn't even look up from his papers. You may kiss the bride.
I tense. We didn't discuss this part. Didn't practice.
Adrian turns to me. His gray eyes are cold. Empty. He leans in, and for a second I think he'll actually kiss me.
Instead, his lips brush my cheek. Quick. Clinical. The touch of a stranger.
Congratulations, the clerk says, already moving to the next couple.
That's it. We're married.
I follow Adrian out of City Hall in a daze. Cameras flash, reporters somehow found out we were here. Questions fly at us from all directions.
Mr. Blackwell, who is your bride?
Is this related to the board hearing?
How long have you known each other?
Adrian's hand finds mine. His grip is firm, possessive. He pulls me close and faces the cameras with a cold smile.
This is Elena, my wife. We've kept our relationship private, but we're very happy. Now if you'll excuse us, we have a honeymoon to begin.
Honeymoon. Right. Another lie.
He leads me to the waiting car. The door closes, sealing us in silence.
The driver pulls away from the chaos. Adrian releases my hand immediately, like touching me burns.
That went well, he says emotionlessly.
I stare at him. People threatened you last night. I got a text
I know. He doesn't look surprised. I get threats daily. Ignore them.
Ignore death threats?
Yes. He scrolls through his phone. Now listen carefully. Rules for this arrangement: One, maintain the fiction in public. You're madly in love with me. Two, stay out of my way privately. We live separate lives in the penthouse. Three, don't ask about my past. Four, don't expect romance or kindness. This is business.
Each word is a sharp edge. Cold. Cutting.
Got it, I say quietly. You're my husband in name only.
Exactly. He finally looks at me. Can you handle that?
Can you? I shoot back. Because you're the one who needed a wife desperately enough to marry a stranger.
His jaw tightens. For a second, I think I've gone too far. Then his lips curve into something that's not quite a smile.
You have fire, he says. Good. You'll need it dealing with my family.
The penthouse looks different in daylight. Brighter. But still cold. Everything is expensive and perfect and completely untouched, like no one actually lives here.
Adrian leads me down a long hallway. Your bedroom is here. He opens a door. The room is huge, with its own bathroom and walk-in closet. My room is at the opposite end. We won't disturb each other.
How thoughtful, I mutter.
He ignores my sarcasm. I have work to do. Make yourself comfortable. Order food if you're hungry. The kitchen is stocked.
Adrian
This is business, Elena. His voice cuts like ice. Remember that.
He walks away, his footsteps echoing in the empty penthouse.
I close my bedroom door and lean against it. This is my life now. Living with a stranger. Pretending to love a man who can barely stand to touch me.
My phone buzzes. I jump, expecting another threat.
Instead, it's a news alert: Adrian Blackwell Marries Mystery Woman – Board Hearing Scheduled for Next Month
So it begins.
I wake to screaming.
The clock reads 2:47 AM. For a second, I'm disoriented, where am I? Then I remember. The penthouse. Adrian. The wedding.
Another scream pierces the silence. Male. Raw with pain.
Adrian.
I throw off the covers and run down the hall. His bedroom door is closed, but I can hear him through it. Words I can't understand. Sounds of pure agony.
I should go back to my room. Follow the rules. Stay out of his way.
Instead, I open his door.
Adrian thrashes in his bed, sheets tangled around him. Papers are scattered across the floor, financial reports, photographs, documents. His face is twisted in pain, sweat dampening his hair.
No, he gasps. Father, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I failed
My chest tightens. This cold, arrogant man is having a nightmare about his dead father.
I approach the bed carefully. Adrian?
He doesn't wake. His hands clench into fists.
I should have seen it coming. Should have stopped Marcus. Should have
Adrian. I touch his shoulder.
He jerks awake so fast I stumble backward. His eyes are wild, unfocused. For one second, just one, I see past all his walls.
Pain. Grief. Guilt so deep it's drowning him.
Then his expression shutters. The walls slam back into place.
What are you doing here? His voice is rough.
You were screaming.
So? He sits up, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. That's not your concern.
You're having nightmares about your father
Get out. The words are cold. Final.
Adrian, I'm just trying
Get. Out. He stands, towering over me. But I notice his hands. They're shaking. This is my private space. You have no right to be here.
I heard you screaming
I don't care what you heard. His voice rises. We have an arrangement, Elena. A business arrangement. That doesn't give you permission to play therapist or savior or whatever this is. I don't need your pity.
It's not pity. I step closer, even though every instinct tells me to back away. You're clearly suffering—
Of course I'm suffering! The words explode out of him. I lost everything. My father's company is being run by the man who killed him—yes, killed him. Marcus's betrayal literally gave my father a heart attack. And I couldn't stop it. Couldn't save him. Couldn't save anything.
The confession hangs in the air between us.
Adrian's face goes pale. He just revealed something he didn't mean to.
Your uncle killed your father? I whisper.
Forget I said that. He turns away, shoulders rigid. Just forget everything you heard tonight.
Adrian
Get out, Elena. His voice drops to something quiet and deadly. Before I void this contract and throw you back on the street where I found you.
The threat should scare me. It doesn't. Because I saw his face when he woke up. Saw the pain he's drowning in.
This cold, arrogant man is completely broken. And he's been pretending he's fine for six months.
Okay, I say softly. I'll go.
I walk to the door. Stop with my hand on the handle.
For what it's worth, I say without turning around, you didn't fail him. They betrayed you. There's a difference.
Silence. Then
You don't know anything about it.
I know what betrayal feels like. I know what it's like to lose everything in one day. And I know you're not as alone as you think you are. I glance back at him. Goodnight, Adrian.
I close the door behind me.
Walk back to my bedroom. Climb into bed. But I can't sleep.
Because I just married a man with nightmares about murder. A man who's been destroyed by his own family. A man who's using me to get revenge against his father's killer.
And somewhere out there, someone is threatening to make sure he doesn't survive long enough to succeed.
My phone lights up on the nightstand.
Another message. Unknown number.
He should have told you the truth. Marcus Blackwell doesn't just destroy companies. He destroys people. And you just became his next target. Sleep well, Mrs. Blackwell.
My blood turns to ice.
Because whoever is sending these messages isn't threatening Adrian.
They're threatening me.