Elena woke the next morning with sunlight splashing across the massive bedroom’s glass walls. The Blackwell estate was quiet, too quiet for her taste. No early-morning clatter of maids in her family’s home, no familiar hum of her mother’s favorite radio station—just silence, expensive and cold.

She sat up in the king-sized bed, glaring at the other side. Empty. Of course Adrian Blackwell would vanish at dawn like some phantom CEO with better things to do than acknowledge his new wife.

“Figures,” she muttered, swinging her legs to the floor. Her robe slid over her bare shoulders, soft as clouds, but she wasn’t here to enjoy luxury. This marriage wasn’t a fairytale. It was a chess move, and Adrian thought he was the grandmaster.

Last night replayed in her mind like a flashing reel: the ex-girlfriend clawing at Adrian on the driveway, shouting about how the marriage couldn’t be real; Elena grabbing him, kissing him hard enough to shut them both up; the bodyguards hauling the screaming woman off. Adrian’s stunned face as Elena dragged him inside and slammed the door behind them.

And that infuriating question—“Are you jealous?”—still echoed in her ears. She’d snapped back, “I’m just protecting what’s mine,” and stomped off before he could smirk. Because Adrian Blackwell would smirk. The man probably came out of the womb with that smug little curl of the lips.

Elena tied her robe tighter, determined not to think about how warm his lips had felt under hers. No way. Not going there.

Downstairs, the smell of coffee drew her to the sunlit kitchen. Adrian was already at the island counter, crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled, phone pressed to his ear, looking like a magazine cover—annoyingly perfect. He barely glanced up when she entered, which made her blood boil.

“Yes, shift the Shanghai meeting to next week,” he said into the phone, voice low and smooth. “And tell Parker to finalize the hotel acquisition by Friday.” He ended the call, finally letting his gaze settle on her.

“You’re awake late,” Adrian said, lips twitching at the corners. “I thought feisty little heiresses liked to start their days with a fight.”

“Careful,” Elena shot back, pouring herself coffee. “I might pick you as today’s sparring partner.”

“After last night,” Adrian replied calmly, “I’m not sure if I should expect another kiss or a slap.”

Elena turned sharply, nearly spilling her coffee. “Don’t flatter yourself, Blackwell. That was strategy.”

He leaned back, crossing his arms. “Oh? Strategy involves dragging me inside and nearly taking my breath away?”

“Your ex was making a scene,” she said hotly. “I had to shut her up. And you looked too busy enjoying her attention to do anything yourself.”

Adrian’s gray eyes darkened with amusement. “Jealous, Elena?”

She set her cup down with a sharp clink. “I don’t get jealous. I claim what’s mine.”

“Interesting choice of words,” Adrian murmured, moving closer. “Mine?”

Elena refused to back away even as he stepped into her space. “Don’t twist it. This marriage is public now. You don’t get to play games with ex-girlfriends while I stand there like a trophy.”

He studied her for a beat too long, then smiled faintly. “Noted.”

Before she could respond, a maid entered timidly with a silver tray. “Mrs. Blackwell, Mr. Blackwell—your parents have arrived. They’re waiting in the sitting room.”

Elena froze. Her parents? At nine a.m.? That could only mean trouble.

*******

The sitting room was all marble and glass, with her mother perched on the edge of a velvet sofa, eyes sharp, and her father checking his watch like the world was ending.

“Sweetheart!” her mother exclaimed as Elena entered with Adrian at her side. “You didn’t tell us you were home already. We came to congratulate you properly.”

“Congratulate?” Elena arched a brow. “Or interrogate?”

Her father gave a thin smile. “We simply wanted to see how you’re settling in.” His eyes flicked to Adrian. “And to thank Adrian for… supporting the family during these difficult times.”

Adrian’s expression was polite, unreadable. “I take care of what belongs to me.”

Elena shot him a look. Was that a jab at her earlier words? The man was insufferable.

Her mother clasped her hands dramatically. “Darling, this marriage—”

Elena cut her off, voice icy. “Mother, if you came to talk business, say it outright. Don’t dress it up as family concern.”

Her father cleared his throat. “The board meeting is next week. If Adrian attends as your husband, it will calm investors.”

Elena glared. “Unbelievable. I’m not a bargaining chip.”

Adrian spoke before her father could respond. “We’ll be there,” he said smoothly. “Together.”

Elena whipped around. “Excuse me? Don’t decide for me—”

“Relax,” Adrian said, low enough only she could hear. “You wanted this marriage. Now you’re going to play the part.”

Her fists clenched, nails biting her palms. He was right, and that made her even angrier.

When her parents finally left, Elena stormed back into the hallway, heels clicking like gunshots on marble. Adrian followed, hands in his pockets, calm as ever.

“Stop walking away from me,” he said.

“Stop being impossible!” Elena shot back. “You think you can just control everything—me, my family, this marriage? Newsflash, Adrian Blackwell, I don’t take orders.”

He caught her wrist, not roughly but firmly enough to make her spin around. “Good. I don’t give them. I expect partnership.”

Her breath hitched. He was too close again, his voice dropping to a murmur. “But last night… that kiss didn’t feel like strategy, Elena.”

Her cheeks heated, which only made her scowl harder. “Keep dreaming, Blackwell.”

Adrian smiled lazily. “If you say so.”

Before she could fire back, his phone rang again. He let her go and answered, walking toward his office. Elena stood in the hallway, fuming, pulse racing.

She hated him. And worse, she hated that she didn’t actually hate him at all.

>>>>>>>>>

That evening, as twilight painted the estate gold, Adrian returned home early—a rarity. Elena was on the terrace, legs curled under her, laptop open. She didn’t look up when he approached.

“We need to talk about appearances,” Adrian said, sitting across from her. “If you’re going to kiss me in public, at least warn me next time.”

Elena snapped her laptop shut. “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t schedule my jealousy to fit your calendar.”

“So you admit it?” His lips curved.

Her glare could have cut glass. “I admit nothing. I told you—I was protecting what’s mine. End of story.”

Adrian leaned forward, elbows on his knees, gaze locked on hers. “You’re a terrible liar, Elena.”

“Good thing I’m not lying.”

Silence stretched between them, thick with tension. For one dizzying second, she thought he might lean in and kiss her just to prove a point.

Instead, Adrian stood smoothly. “Get ready. We’re dining with investors tomorrow night.”

Elena narrowed her eyes. “Order me around again, and I’ll throw you into that fountain.”

He chuckled, walking away. “Looking forward to it.”

She swore under her breath, but a small, traitorous part of her smiled.

Elana had barely slept a wink.

The morning sunlight streamed across the luxurious bedroom, but the brightness did nothing to ease the knot in her stomach. She rolled over, glaring at the spot beside her — cold and empty. Adrian was already gone. Again.

She pushed the sheets aside and padded barefoot to the window. Down below, a few black-suited men were unloading crates from a truck — bodyguards, assistants, drivers. Always moving. Always working. Adrian Blackwell never stopped, and now she was married to that relentless machine.

Elana groaned, raking a hand through her tangled hair. What kind of husband vanishes at dawn without even leaving a note?

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Unknown number: Check the morning news, Mrs. Blackwell. Your husband’s making headlines again.

Elana’s eyes narrowed. She grabbed the remote and flipped on the giant flat-screen mounted opposite the bed. A slick news anchor’s voice filled the room.

> “—spotted last night outside the Blackwell Group headquarters. Adrian Blackwell, the elusive CEO, was seen leaving with an unidentified woman. Speculation suggests this woman could be an old flame—”

The footage rolled: Adrian stepping out of his Bentley, a woman in a scarlet dress following close behind, almost brushing his arm. The camera flash caught Adrian’s stone-cold face as he ignored the paparazzi — but the woman had smiled as if she wanted to be seen.

Elana felt her jaw tighten. Why won't they leave her husband alone, huh?

She didn’t waste time dressing up — just pulled on a pair of ripped jeans and a white T-shirt, tied her hair into a messy ponytail, and stormed out of the room.

Downstairs, the Blackwell estate was bustling. A few staff members froze when they saw her barreling through, but no one dared to speak. Elana grabbed her car keys from the marble counter.

“Mrs. Blackwell,” one of the butlers began carefully, “should I inform Mr. Blackwell you’re—”

“Don’t bother,” she snapped, shoving the door open. “I’ll inform him myself.”

>>>>>>

The elevator doors to Adrian’s top-floor office opened with a soft chime. Elana marched in without knocking.

Adrian was seated behind his massive glass desk, sleeves rolled to his elbows, signing documents as if the world outside didn’t exist.

He didn’t look up. “You’re here earlier than I expected.”

Her lips curled. “Oh? Were you expecting me at all?”

Adrian finally glanced up, those gray eyes cool and unreadable. “You’re upset.”

“Upset?” Elana slapped her phone down on the desk, replaying the news clip at full volume. “Try furious. Who is she, Adrian?”

His expression didn’t change. “Someone unimportant.”

“Oh really?” She crossed her arms, voice rising. “Because she didn’t look unimportant when she was glued to your side. What’s wrong, Mr. Blackwell? Get bored of your wife already?”

The corner of his mouth twitched — not in amusement, but warning. “Careful, Elena.”

Most people would’ve shut up at that tone. But Elena wasn’t most people. She leaned across the desk, close enough to see the flecks of silver in his eyes. “No. You be careful. Because if you think I’m the type to sit at home smiling while you parade around with your ex—”

“Ex?” Adrian’s brow lifted. “So that’s what this is about. Victoria.”

“Elena,” a familiar feminine voice purred from the doorway. “It’s rude to talk about someone when they’re standing right here.”

Elena spun around. Standing there in six-inch heels and designer silk was the same scarlet-dressed woman from the news clip — flawless makeup, lips curved in a smug smile.

“Victoria,” Adrian said flatly, leaning back in his chair. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Victoria ignored him, stepping closer. “I came to congratulate the happy couple. Though honestly, Adrian… marriage? To her? You can’t be serious.”

Elena’s hands curled into fists. “Excuse me?”

Victoria’s gaze swept over Elena from head to toe, lingering on the T-shirt and ripped jeans. “I’m just saying… you could’ve done better.”

“Funny,” Elena shot back with a saccharine smile, “because he clearly did.”

Adrian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Victoria, leave. Now.”

But Victoria just tilted her head toward him, voice dripping sweetness. “You’ll get tired of this little act soon enough, Adrian. And when you do, I’ll be waiting.”

That was it.

Before Adrian could react, Elena marched over, grabbed him by the collar, and kissed him hard. Not a polite kiss — a full, possessive, stop-breathing kind of kiss that made Adrian’s chair scrape back against the floor.

When she finally pulled away, her eyes blazed at Victoria. “Did that look fake to you?” she snapped. “Because it sure didn’t feel fake to me.”

Adrian was still staring at her, shock flickering across his usually calm features — but before he could speak, Elena turned toward the door.

“Bodyguards!” she barked.

Two men appeared instantly.

“Escort this woman out before I throw her off the balcony myself.”

Victoria’s smirk faltered as the guards took her by the arms. “This isn’t over, Elena!” she shouted as she was dragged from the office. “He’s not the type to stay with one woman!”

Elena glared after her, chest heaving, then slammed the door shut herself.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Adrian rose slowly, smoothing his collar where she’d gripped it. His gray eyes fixed on her, sharp and unreadable. “Are you jealous, Mrs. Blackwell?”

Elena crossed her arms, chin up. “Jealous? Please. I’m just naturally protecting what’s mine. Since you don't know how to protect yourself and since you are about to turn yourself to a community husband.”

He stepped closer, voice dropping low. “Yours?”

“Yes, mine,” she said grumpily, refusing to meet his gaze. “Got a problem with that?”

Adrian chuckled softly — a rare, dangerous sound — and before Elena could move, he caught her wrist, pulling her close until their noses almost touched.

“Not at all,” he murmured. “In fact… I think I like it. Alot.”

Her breath hitched, but she shoved him away before her heart could betray her. “Good. Then stay where I can see you, Mr. Blackwell. No more surprise headlines.”

She spun on her heel and stormed toward the door, leaving Adrian staring after her with an expression somewhere between admiration and intrigue.

As the door slammed shut, Adrian sank back into his chair, lips curving slightly. For the first time in years, someone had thrown him off balance — and he wasn’t sure he hated it.