He dragged her into his private study and locked the door. The sound of the deadbolt sliding home was final.

"Strip," he ordered.

"What?" She clutched her sweater.

"Show me the mark. I want to see your 'accident'."

She didn't move.

Adrien crossed the room in two strides. He grabbed the collar of her sweater and yanked. The wool tore.

The bruise on her neck was ugly, purple and yellow against her pale skin.

He stared at it, his jaw working. "You let me do that."

"I fought you!" she screamed. "You were drunk!"

"I remember you tasting like defiance," he sneered. He walked to the liquor cabinet, and this time he did grab a bottle. And two glasses.

"You like playing games, Clarice? Let's see how you handle a real negotiation."

"Adrien, no. I'm not drinking with you."

"Drink it."

He forced the glass of scotch to her lips. She clamped her mouth shut, but he pinched her nose. Instinct took over. She gasped, and he poured the liquid down her throat.

She coughed, sputtering, the bitter, burning taste coating her tongue.

"Now," he said, sitting in his leather chair, watching her. "Let's talk about your future. You can either be a prisoner in this house, or a partner. But partners are equals. Show me you have the stomach for it."

The liquor hit fast. Her blood turned to lava. Her skin felt too tight. The room began to warp at the edges.

Adrien looked... different. The monster faded. He became a beacon of power in a chaotic world.

She fell to her knees, clawing at the carpet. Her body was screaming from the shock and the alcohol.

"Ask me," he commanded. "Ask me for what you want. A way out? Money? Power? What is your price?"

She bit her tongue until she tasted copper. No. She would not give him the satisfaction.

She curled into a ball, shaking violently. A whimper escaped her throat, but she clamped her hand over her mouth.

Adrien watched. He was waiting for her to crawl to him. To become the whore he thought she was.

But she stayed on the floor. She dug her nails into the wood until they bled.

"Clarice?" His voice changed. The anger wavered.

She was gasping for air, sweat soaking her clothes. "Go... to... hell."

Adrien stood up. He walked over to her. "Stop acting."

She looked up at him. Her vision was blurring, but the hate in her eyes was clear. "Don't... touch... me."

Then the darkness took her.

Adrien caught her before her head hit the floor. Her skin was clammy and cold.

"Shit," he cursed.

He scooped her up in his arms. The anger was gone, replaced by a sudden, sharp fear. He ran toward the bathroom.

The water was luke-warm.

It hit them gently. Adrien stood under the spray, fully clothed, holding her against his chest.

She gasped, her eyes flying open. The shock forced air into her lungs.

"Breathe," Adrien ordered, his voice rough. "Stay with me."

She was shivering, her teeth chattering, but the chill in her bones was deep. She instinctively pressed closer to him, seeking the only source of warmth.

"Cold," she moaned, burying her face in his wet shirt.

Adrien stiffened. Her body was soft, yielding, and despite the tepid water, the heat between them was undeniable.

"Clarice," he warned. "Don't."

She didn't know what she was doing. The alcohol and the terror had stripped away her inhibitions. She reached up, her fingers tangling in his wet hair. She pulled his face down.

"Adrien," she whispered.

He broke.

He crushed his mouth to hers. This wasn't the confused, drunken assault of the blackout. This was deliberate. Possessive. He kissed her like he wanted to devour her.

She wrapped her legs around his waist. The water pounded around them, steam rising from their skin despite the cool setting.

His hands were everywhere. On her hips, her back, her hair.

The bathroom door slammed open.

"Adrien!"

They froze.

Adrien spun around, shielding her with his body. He grabbed a towel from the rack and draped it over her in one motion.

Victoria Sargent stood in the doorway. She was leaning on her cane, her silver hair perfectly coiffed, her face a mask of disgust. Alfred stood behind her, looking at the floor.

"Grandmother," Adrien said, wiping water from his eyes. His voice was steel. "Get out."

"Have you lost your mind?" Victoria pointed her cane at them. "In the house? With the ward? Like animals?"

"She's not a child," Adrien snapped.

"She is a liability!" Victoria yelled. "And now she is a scandal. If the Board sees this..."

She looked at her, shivering in the towel, her neck bruised, her eyes wild.

"Clean this up," Victoria hissed. "Living room. Ten minutes. Or I call the shareholders."

She turned and marched out.

Adrien turned off the water. The silence was deafening.

He looked at her. There was no lust in his eyes now. Only a grim calculation.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

She nodded, pulling the towel tighter. She felt sick.

"Get dressed," he said, turning away. "We have a war to fight."

The fire in the hearth was the only warm thing in the room.

Victoria sat in the high-backed velvet chair, looking like a queen passing a death sentence. A stack of photos sat on the table. Grainy, low-light shots of Adrien carrying her into the bathroom.

"Explain," she said.

"She had a medical episode," Adrien said. He was standing straight, hands clasped behind his back.

"Does medical protocol involve ripping her clothes?" Victoria tapped a photo. "This is leverage, Adrien. For your enemies. The stock will drop ten percent by morning if this leaks."

"It won't leak," Adrien said.

"It already has," Victoria lied smoothly. "Unless we control the narrative."

She looked at her. "You are a Howe. Your family is ruined, but the bloodline is old. Acceptable."

"Acceptable for what?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"Marriage," Victoria said.

"What?" Adrien and she shouted in unison.

"It solves everything," Victoria continued, ignoring them. "It explains the cohabitation. It explains the intimacy. It turns a sordid affair into a passionate romance. The public loves a redemption arc."

"I won't do it," Adrien said.

"Then I freeze your voting rights," Victoria said calmly. "I will back the board's motion to oust you."

Adrien went still. That was his death sentence.

Victoria turned to her. "And you, dear. If you agree, I will make a call. Alfred will be moved to a private cottage on the estate grounds. You can see him every day."

Her heart stopped. Alfred. Safe.

She looked at Adrien. He was staring at her, his eyes pleading no. He didn't want this. He didn't want to be tied to her.

But she saw the file in her mind. The trust. The secrets. If she was his wife... she would own half of it. She would have access.

"I'll do it," she said.

"Clarice!" Adrien snarled. "Are you insane?"

"For Alfred," she said, looking him in the eye. "I would walk through fire. Even hell."

"Excellent," Victoria said, standing up. "The jet is ready. We go to the courthouse tomorrow."

She left them alone.

Adrien walked up to her. He loomed over her, his shadow consuming her.

"You think you've won?" he whispered. "You think this is a game?"

"I think," she said, stepping closer until their chests touched, "that I'm tired of being the victim, Adrien."

"Fine," he said, his lip curling. "You want to be Mrs. Sargent? Then you better be ready for the duties that come with it."

"Bring it on, darling," she said.