"I am not a library book," Cinthia said. Her voice was shaking, but the words were clear. She pushed herself up from the floor, her hands stinging from where the glass dust had pressed into her palms. "You can't just 'borrow' a person."

Adrian arched a brow. It was a micro-movement, the only sign that he had heard her at all. He didn't look at her. He kept his gaze fixed on Carter.

"This is the only offer on the table," Adrian said flatly. "Take it, or I have Miles dial the precinct. The NYPD response time for this district is under four minutes."

Carter scrambled up from his knees and grabbed Cinthia by the shoulders. His fingers dug into her flesh through the thin trench coat.

"Are you crazy?" Carter hissed, spit flying onto her cheek. "That's Adrian Clemons! Do you know who he is?"

"I know who he is," Cinthia snapped, trying to pry his hands off. "That's why I'm saying no! Carter, he's talking about human trafficking!"

"He's talking about saving my life!" Carter shook her. "Think about the debt, Cinthia! Think about Mom and Dad's loans! Think about Casey! If I go to jail, who pays for his meds? You? With your assistant salary?"

Cinthia went still.

Casey.

Her little brother. He needed the insulin. He needed the specialized therapy. Carter was a mess, a gambler, and a liar, but his income-however shady the source-covered half the bills. If he went away, the house of cards would collapse. Aunt Linda would throw Cinthia out. Casey would suffer.

She looked at Carter's face. It was twisted with fear and selfishness. There was no love there. He was looking at her like she was a winning lottery ticket he had just found in the gutter.

"Please," Carter whispered, dropping his voice to a pathetic whine. "Just one year. It's probably just... cleaning or something. Look at him. He doesn't want you for... that."

Cinthia felt a wave of nausea. She looked at Adrian.

He was checking his watch. A Patek Philippe. Worth more than her life insurance policy.

"I'm on a schedule," Adrian said. "Miles?"

Miles raised the phone again, his thumb hovering over the call button.

Cinthia closed her eyes. She took a breath that tasted of stale whiskey and despair.

"Fine," she whispered.

"Speak up," Adrian commanded.

She opened her eyes and glared at him. "I said fine. What do you need me to do?"

Adrian didn't smile. He didn't show triumph. He just nodded to Miles, who lowered the phone.

"Come with me," Adrian said. He turned on his heel and walked toward the door, not waiting to see if she followed.

Cinthia hesitated. She looked back at Carter one last time. He was slumped against the wall, wiping sweat from his forehead, already pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He didn't look at her. He was safe. That was all that mattered to him.

Something inside Cinthia broke. A small, fragile tether that had bound her to her older brother snapped cleanly in two.

She turned and followed the black suit out of the room.

The cold air outside the club hit her face like a slap. A black Rolls Royce Phantom was idling at the curb, its engine a low, purring beast.

Miles opened the rear door.

Cinthia paused. The interior was cavernous, upholstered in cream leather. Adrian was already inside, sitting on the far side, typing on a tablet.

"Get in," Adrian said without looking up. "Or go back inside and wait for the handcuffs."

Cinthia climbed in. She pressed herself against the door, putting as much distance between them as the luxury car allowed.

The door thudded shut, sealing them in a vacuum of silence.

"City Hall," Adrian said to the driver.

Cinthia whipped her head around. "City Hall? Why are we going to City Hall?"

Adrian continued typing. The blue light of the screen illuminated the sharp angles of his face.

"To get a license," he said, as casually as if he were ordering lunch.

"A license for what?"

He finally stopped typing. He turned his head slowly, his dark eyes boring into hers.

"A marriage license," he said. "We're getting married."

The Rolls Royce glided through the Manhattan traffic like a shark through water.

Cinthia's brain was misfiring. "Married?" she choked out. "Mr. Clemons, this is insane. We don't even know each other."

"I don't need to know you," Adrian said, turning back to his tablet. "I need a signature on a piece of paper. And I need a body at family dinners."

Miles, sitting in the front passenger seat, turned around and slid a thin folder through the partition gap.

"Ms. Wise," Miles said, his voice apologetic but firm. "This is a temporary Non-Disclosure Agreement. It covers the next two hours."

Cinthia took the folder. Her hands were shaking so badly the paper rattled.

"If you leak a word of this," Adrian added, his voice devoid of threat but heavy with promise, "the deal with your brother is void. And I will sue you for breach of contract until your grandchildren are paying off the legal fees."

The car pulled up to the side entrance of City Hall. It wasn't the grand steps where happy couples took photos. It was a grey metal door near the loading dock.

"Let's go," Adrian said.

He moved fast. Cinthia had to jog to keep up with his long strides. He didn't hold the door for her.

Inside, the fluorescent lights buzzed. A clerk was waiting at a small counter in a private office. He looked nervous, sweating slightly as Adrian entered.

"Mr. Clemons," the clerk stammered. "Everything is ready."

Adrian didn't make small talk. He just tapped the counter. "Papers."

The clerk slid the marriage license application forward.

Cinthia stood there, feeling like she was in a fever dream. The smell of old paper and floor wax made her dizzy.

"Is this... voluntary?" the clerk asked, looking at Cinthia. He saw the tear in her coat, the mess of her hair.

Cinthia opened her mouth.

Adrian turned his head slightly. He didn't say anything. He just looked at her. It was the same look a wolf gives a rabbit before the snap. Think about the debt. Think about the jail cell.

Cinthia swallowed the bile in her throat. "Yes," she lied. "It's voluntary."

She picked up the pen. It felt heavy, like a lead weight. She signed her name. Cinthia Wise.

Adrian took the pen from her fingers. His hand brushed hers for a millisecond, and she felt him flinch. He signed quickly, a sharp, jagged scrawl. Adrian Clemons.

The clerk stamped it. Thump. Thump.

"Done," Adrian said. He didn't wait for the certificate. "Miles, handle the filing."

He turned and walked out.

"Wait!" Cinthia called out, running after him. "What now?"

They were back at the car. Adrian stopped with his hand on the door handle.

"Now?" He looked at her with genuine confusion. "Now you go back to work. Or whatever it is you do. Don't think being Mrs. Clemons means you get to sit around eating bonbons."

Cinthia blinked. "Go back to work?"

"Yes. Miles will drop you off."

He got into the back of the Rolls Royce. "I have a meeting. Take the sedan," he told Miles.

Before Cinthia could say another word, the heavy door slammed shut. The Rolls Royce peeled away, merging into traffic.

She was left standing on the sidewalk with Miles.

"Ms. Wise," Miles said, gesturing to a black Lincoln sedan that had pulled up behind the Rolls. "Where should I take you? Do you have a job?"

Cinthia stared at the empty space where Adrian had been. He didn't know. He genuinely didn't know she worked in his building. He hadn't even bothered to ask for her resume.

"Yes," she said softly. "I have a job."

She got into the sedan.

"Where to?" Miles asked from the driver's seat.

"Clemons Media Tower," Cinthia said. "42nd and 8th."

Miles looked at her in the rearview mirror. His eyebrows shot up. "You work... at the Tower?"

"Junior Executive Assistant. 14th floor."

Miles was silent for a long moment. He didn't smile, but his eyes softened just a fraction. "I see."

He didn't ask why she hadn't told Adrian. He was a good assistant. He knew when to keep his mouth shut.

Cinthia looked down at her left hand. It was bare. No ring. Just a faint smear of ink on her pinky finger.

She was married. To a stranger. To a monster.

And now, she had to go back to his office and pretend she wasn't.

The Clemons Media Tower was a monolith of glass and steel that pierced the Manhattan sky. To Cinthia, standing at the base looking up, it looked like a giant, glittering cage.

She swiped her badge at the turnstile. Beep. It flashed green. Just like yesterday. The security guard, Ralph, 's eyes flickered up from his newspaper for a fraction of a second, a flicker of recognition-or was it confusion?-before he looked away, pretending he'd seen nothing.

"Morning, Ralph," she whispered. He didn't answer.

Sixty floors up, in the penthouse office, Adrian Clemons stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the ants crawling on the pavement.

"Notify the Board," he said, not turning around. "I'm married. The morality clause in the trust is satisfied. My voting rights need to be reinstated effective immediately."

Miles, who had just walked in, cleared his throat. "Sir, about... the lady..."

"Don't call her 'the lady'," Adrian snapped. "Or 'Mrs. Clemons'. It's a merger, Miles. A hostile takeover of a human asset. Nothing more."

He turned, his face tight with stress. "Darryl is buying up loose shares. If I don't lock this down today, he gets the Media division. I won't let that bastard dismantle my father's legacy."

"Understood," Miles said. He hesitated. "But sir, she-"

"Coffee," Adrian interrupted. "Black. Now."

Down on the 14th floor, Cinthia slid into her cubicle. Her heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

"You're late, Wise."

Giana, the Senior Executive Assistant, dropped a stack of files onto Cinthia's desk. The thud made Cinthia jump.

"Sorry," Cinthia mumbled, keeping her head down. "Traffic."

"Whatever," Giana rolled her eyes. She was wearing a dress that cost three of Cinthia's paychecks. "The big boss is on a warpath today. He's already fired two interns. You better keep your head down."

If only you knew, Cinthia thought. I'm not just an employee anymore. I'm the liability.

The phone on Giana's desk rang. The red line. The one from the penthouse.

Giana answered it, her voice turning sugary sweet. "Yes, Mr. Clemons's office... Oh. Right away."

She hung up and turned to Cinthia, her face twisting into a sneer. "Sarah is in the bathroom and I'm busy with the quarterly reports. You take it."

Cinthia froze. "Take what?"

"The coffee. Top floor. He's screaming for it."

"Me?" Cinthia's voice squeaked. "Can't someone else-"

"Do you want to keep your job?" Giana hissed. "Go!"

Cinthia's hands trembled as she picked up the tray from the breakroom counter. The black coffee sloshed dangerously near the rim.

The elevator ride was agonizing. Every floor number that lit up felt like a countdown to execution. …55… 58… 60…

The doors opened.

Miles was at his desk outside the double oak doors. When he saw Cinthia step out holding the tray, his eyes widened.

"Ms. Wise?" he whispered. "What are you doing?"

"Giana made me," Cinthia whispered back. "She doesn't know."

"Coffee!" Adrian's voice roared from inside the office.

Miles winced. He gave Cinthia a look that was half pity, half good luck. He gestured to the door.

Cinthia took a deep breath. She pushed the door open with her hip.

Adrian was pacing behind his massive desk, phone pressed to his ear. "Tell Darryl if he even looks at the publishing arm, I'll bury him in litigation so deep he'll need a submarine to find a lawyer."

Cinthia walked softly across the plush carpet. She set the cup down on the coaster. Clink.

Adrian slammed the phone down. He spun around.

"Finally. What took you so-"

He stopped.

He stared at her. Then he looked at the door. Then back at her.

"What are you doing on this floor?" he demanded. His voice was low, dangerous.

"I..." Cinthia stammered. "I brought the coffee."

"I'm aware of where you work, Ms. Wise," Adrian said, his voice dripping with contempt as he took a step toward her. "Did you think signing a paper gave you the right to wander my headquarters? To play house? Your place is on the fourteenth floor. You are an employee. Nothing more."

"No! Sir, I-"

"Get out," he snarled. "And don't come back until I send for you. You don't belong on this floor. You don't belong in this world."

He thought she was an opportunist. A schemer who was already testing the boundaries of their arrangement. The fact that she was an employee only made it worse in his eyes-it meant she'd been under his nose the whole time, a snake in the grass.

Cinthia opened her mouth to say, Giana sent me, but the look in his eyes stopped her. It was pure hatred.

"I'm leaving," she whispered. She turned to flee.

"Wait."

Adrian's voice stopped her at the door.

"Miles!" he shouted.

Miles appeared instantly.

"Call Spencer," Adrian said, staring at Cinthia's back. "Get the Prenup over here. Now. She signs it today. Before she gets any more ideas about her 'rights'."