ADRIAN

“You think you can run this company while living like a libertine?” My father’s voice sent a shrill down my spine.

Just a few hours ago, I had been stopped on my way to my study by Mr. Gerald Wolfe, his words like sharpened knives slicing through the brief calm I had managed to carve for myself in France.

I had assumed, foolishly, that the quiet I’d maintained overseas would shield me from his scrutiny, that my life in Paris; long nights, reckless indulgences—would remain my secret. But no. Somehow, he’d found out.

His presence filled the room with an authority I couldn’t ignore. His eyes, icy and calculating, bore into me. “I’ve watched you spiral, Adrian. You’re reckless. Immoral. And I won’t allow it to taint Wolfe Enterprises. Effective immediately, I am stepping you down as CEO and handing over control to my brother.”

My blood had gone cold at that word. Every instinct screamed that my uncle had orchestrated this entire ambush.

He had been waiting for a single misstep, a single indulgence, to undermine me, to paint me as unfit to lead the empire I had fought so hard to inherit. And now, my father, swayed by whispers and lies, was ready to believe him.

I tried to reason with him, to temper the storm. “Father, I’ve changed. I’m not that man anymore,” I said, my voice steady but laced with urgency. “I’m… I’m serious about my future. About responsibility. About…”

“About what? You’ve not had a stable girlfriend since you moved back to the states. Is this what you want to do with the rest of your life?”

I didn’t know what else to say to salvage the situation.

So I lied, the smoothest lie I could craft: “I have a fiancée. Someone I intend to marry, start a family with. We’re… committed.”

He froze. His eyes narrowed, sharp and cold. “A fiancée? And somehow we never heard of this fiancé until this moment?”

“I wanted to keep it away from the media's eyes until I was sure it was something serious. And it is,” I lied so effortlessly

“Who is she?” His words were not just a question; they were a challenge, a dare. “I want to see her. Today. Regardless of where she is. If you fail to prove this to me, I will take action.”

I had no time. No contingency. No way to conjure a woman from thin air who could withstand the scrutiny of the Wolfe family and convince my father of her existence. And then, as if fate had thrown me a lifeline wrapped in perfect chaos, Elena Hart arrived.

She walked into the room with a fire I hadn’t seen since France—the same fire that had first made her impossible to ignore. In that moment, I knew she was the solution I hadn’t dared to imagine. Unaware, unprepared, yet perfectly poised to become my lifeline.

I leaned toward her, careful to keep my voice low, barely a whisper. “Play along,” I murmured when they weren’t looking , my eyes locking onto hers.

Her eyes widened, disbelief etched across her features. I could see the storm brewing–anger, suspicion, and that sharp brilliance that always made her impossible to underestimate. I swallowed my amusement. She wasn’t the type to bend easily. Good. That would make this far more interesting.

The questioning began almost immediately. My uncle’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Dating someone you’ve just met and already engaged to her? Really, Adrian? You expect us to believe this?”

I held her gaze, steady and calm. “We knew each other before the scandal. We were in the same fashion school in France.” I said simply. The truth. A fragment of our past, carefully placed, giving weight to a narrative they couldn’t discredit outright.

Questions followed. Sharp, pointed, intrusive. My fayher and my uncle were relentless. They probed Elena—testing her knowledge of Paris, of me, of our supposed interactions. And she answered. Every question she could, with intelligence and poise, surprising me with her quick wit. For the few gaps she couldn’t fill, I filled in details quietly, seamlessly. Every nod, every small smile, every piece of corroboration solidified the illusion.

By the end of the dinner, I knew we had survived.

My father, partially satisfied, was less inclined to intervene immediately. My uncle, however, had only been stoked by our audacity. But I had the upper hand. Elena was a wild card, brilliant and unpredictable, and I was beginning to realize how much I enjoyed her fire.

Later, after the formalities and the stifled smiles, Elena confronted me. The moment the door closed behind the last of my family, she turned, hands clenching, eyes alight with fury. “You! What you just did… you can’t just declare me your fiancée! Do you know how utterly insane that is?” Her voice cracked slightly, the raw emotion beneath the outrage palpable.

I studied her, my chest tightening from the sheer force of her intensity. “I didn’t have a choice,” I said evenly. “And frankly, it wasn’t just about the family. It was about you.”

Her brow furrowed. “Me? You’re using me, aren’t you? Just like every other woman you’ve ever—”

“No,” I interrupted firmly, my voice low but unwavering. “Not this time.” I stepped closer, lowering my tone, allowing only a fraction of the intensity I felt to surface.

“But I need you to play a role. A very specific one. A contract. A fake marriage, it’s temporary And you—” I paused, studying her reaction. “You set the terms.”

She blinked, utterly gobsmacked. “A… a fake marriage contract? You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” I said evenly, masking the twinge of vulnerability I didn’t dare show. “We just have to pretend for a while. And no attachments.”

She crossed her arms, jaw tight.

“And you can ask for anything. Any amount of money you need, I’ll write a Cheque immediately.” I added, hoping to persuade her.

I smirked, expecting the usual demands, the standard outrageous terms. But she surprised me. Her eyes were fierce, unwavering. “I don’t care about money. I want to bring down my ex-fianc. I want my name cleared. And I want your help to do it.”

My heart skipped. Not for the reasons she expected. This was a woman who refused to be bought, who refused to bend. My ego, bruised and exhilarated, felt the strange thrill of challenge. “Bring him down? And clear your name? That’s… ambitious.”

She nodded. “Ambitious, yes. But possible with you, with your influence. I need your support. Find whoever set me up that night. Expose them. And then we deal with him. Publicly. Professionally. Personally. It doesn’t matter. He hurt me, and I will make sure he pays.”

I couldn’t help the smirk that crept across my face. “Consider it a done deal.” Two reasons motivated me more than any money or status. First, she had saved me once, in France. That act alone had marked her as someone extraordinary. Second… I couldn’t resist digging into the dirt of the powerful and arrogant. If Clifford had orchestrated this… he would regret it. Deeply.

We shook on it, the pact silent but potent. Her fire, my cunning—a recipe for chaos.

~~~

Elena’s designs had been brought to life under my direction. Every seam, every fold, every brushstroke of color was a statement, a declaration that she was more than the scandal that had consumed headlines.

And now, the day had arrived.

The grand hall of the fashion event glittered with wealth, power, and expectation. I watched as Elena moved through the crowd, every head turning, every eye following her. She wasn’t just my employee today, she was my fiancée. Our hands intertwined naturally, a silent agreement that we would face this together.

The stares were immediate. Whispers trailed behind us like shadows, some admiring, some envious, most curious. And then we saw them.

Clifford and Lenora.

Clifford’s eyes widened in horror. Lenora’s smugness faltered, replaced by unease, a shadow of uncertainty crossing her features.

We didn’t speak. Our fingers remained entwined, our posture flawless, confident. The world was watching, and Elena Hart had transformed from a scandalized, broken woman into a figure of power, control, and defiance.

I leaned slightly toward her, whispering with a touch of amusement and satisfaction. “Ready?”

Her eyes met mine, sharp and brilliant. “More than ever.”

ELENA

I felt Clifford’s stare long before I allowed myself to acknowledge it.

That sharp, familiar burn pressed against the side of my face every time his eyes cut toward me. I didn’t look at him. I refused to.

Not tonight, not after everything he’d taken and certainly not when I finally had a chance to reclaim something for myself.

Adrian stood beside me, tall, composed, hand warm against mine. To any outsider, we looked like a united front, two people who belonged to each other. But on the inside, my nerves were a vibrating wire.

Still, I held my chin high, smiled at strangers, and I ignored the whispers and the occasional flash of cameras.

Because tonight was not about surviving, it was about winning.

Music and murmurs filled the air as designers took turns presenting their collections. Each piece was accompanied by heartfelt explanations; heritage, heartbreak, nostalgia, rebellion.

I listened politely, but my mind buzzed with anticipation. The minutes crawled until finally—

“Wolfe Designs, please take the stage.” My pulse kicked.

Adrian squeezed my hand lightly, a silent you’ve got this, before we stepped forward.

The lights dimmed.

The spotlight snapped on.

My models walked out with a grace that made the room ripple with awe.

Fabric sculpted like liquid gold, silhouettes sharp yet feminine, colors bold but elegant. Every stitch, every curve, every bead was intentional. Every look told a piece of my story; resilience, rebirth, defiance.

But most importantly…

None of this had Clifford’s fingerprints on it, this was mine. And the audience felt it.

Murmurs rose. Gasps followed. A few stood. Phones lifted to record. I caught sight of my ex-fiancé’s jaw tightening, the tendons straining. Lenora’s painted smile faltered, cracking around the edges.

Good, let them watch, and let them fucking choke on it.

When the final model exited, the applause was thunderous. Adrian looked at me with that unreadable, dangerous glint; part pride, part something deeper I wasn’t ready to name.

We returned to our seating positions and watched the remaining designers display designs that didn’t come close to mine.

Then came the announcement.

“And the award for Best Overall Collection goes to… Wolfe Designs!”

A roar erupted, my breath hitched and Adrian’s arm circled my waist firmly, grounding me as the crowd swarmed.

I barely remembered stepping onstage, all I remembered was the overwhelming wave of validation.

The applause, the flashes, the whispers of admiration.

People who had written me off, who had smeared my name across headlines, were now applauding my work.

Not the company I designed for.

Not Clifford.

Me.

For the first time in months, I felt alive.

~~~~

After the event, the hall shifted into the typical post-award chaos; networkers approaching, reporters shouting questions, designers embracing or sulking.

Adrian had been pulled away by investors, leaving me alone for a moment near one of the decorative pillars. I exhaled, finally allowing myself a small smile.

Of course, the peace didn’t last more than ten seconds.

“Well, well,” a voice sliced through the air. “If it isn’t the queen of scandals herself.”

Lenora.

She stood there in her floor-length emerald dress, lips curved in that patronizing smile she’d perfected. She looked me up and down, slowly, as if cataloging flaws that didn’t exist.

“Joining my husband’s rival to get back at him?” she sneered. “How creative. Desperate, but creative.”

I crossed my arms, my expression calm. “And you’re still talking like you weren’t the woman warming his bed while he promised me a wedding?”

Her face jerked.

Good.

“You should really thank me,” I said sweetly. “I cleared the spot for you. Though honestly, you must be truly cheap to settle for a man who cheats on his fiancée.”

Her nostrils flared. “Clifford chose me. You were—”

“A placeholder?” I finished for her. “Funny. Because if I were a placeholder, you wouldn’t be so bothered by my existence.”

Her face reddened, fury twisting her features.

I leaned forward, lowering my voice. “Don’t worry, Lenora. He’ll use you and dump you just like he did to me. Leopards don’t change their spots. You just got the version he doesn’t bother hiding.”

The slap came so fast the sound echoed.

CRACK.

A hot sting exploded across my cheek, and I stumbled back. Gasps erupted around us. Heads turned. A few cameras lifted.

Lenora looked triumphant for exactly one second.

Because that was when Adrian appeared.

His expression was murderous—cold, sharp, and barely restrained.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growled, stepping between us. His voice didn’t rise, but it cut like steel.

“She…she provoked me…” Lenora stammered.

“Who the fuck do you think you are to lay hands on my fiancée?”

The room froze.

Whispers spread like wildfire. Fiancée? Fiancée?

I blinked. Adrian said it so naturally, so fiercely, like it was an undeniable fact rather than a staged arrangement.

Clifford spun around, face draining of color. “Fiancée?” he echoed, stunned. I didn’t even notice him get here.

Adrian didn’t even look at him yet. His fury was still pinned on Lenora.

“You’ll be hearing from my lawyers,” he continued, voice glacial. “You assaulted my woman in public. That alone is grounds for a lawsuit. And trust me, I will make an example of anyone who thinks they can disrespect her.”

My breath caught.

He said “my woman” like he meant it.

Not like a line in our fabricated contract, not like an act for the cameras.

No.

He said it with a possessive certainty that sent a shiver down my spine—equal parts alarming and… something else.

Something I didn’t want to name.

Lenora’s mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air, but before she could spit out whatever excuse she was scrambling for, Clifford finally found his voice.

“So this is what you’ve been doing?” he snapped at me, his face blotchy with anger and humiliation. “Running into the arms of my biggest rival? Pathetic, Elena. Absolutely pathe—”

Adrian turned toward him with the slow, deadly precision of a man who could end someone without raising his voice.

“Careful,” Adrian murmured, brows lowering. “You’re talking to my fiancée.”

The word hit Clifford again like a blow, and he actually staggered.

His anger, his pride, his need to dominate—none of it could quite mask the shock swirling behind his eyes.

“What is wrong with you?” Clifford hissed. “You’re really going to associate yourself with her? After all the headlines? The scandal? The tape—”

Oh, he shouldn’t have said that.

Adrian’s jaw twitched, a silent warning.

“You mean the tape you conveniently benefited from?” Adrian asked softly, dangerously. “Because I find it hard to believe you had no hand in ruining her career and reputation after she left your precious company.”

Clifford stiffened. “You’re accusing me—?”

“Yes,” Adrian snapped. “I am, and here’s the thing. When I uncover evidence proving you orchestrated that setup, when I find the ones who filmed her without consent, drugged her or coerced her, or whatever the hell you allowed to happen…”

He stepped closer, so close Clifford had to tilt his chin upward.

“I will bring your company to its knees. And you know I can.”

A hush rippled across the hall, phones angled discreetly.

Clifford swallowed, fury shifting into something tighter; fear.

“You don’t have proof,” he said, but the words came out small, uncertain.

“Not yet,” Adrian murmured. “But I will.”

He let that hang, heavy and lethal.

Then he turned his cold glare back to Lenora, who visibly flinched.

“And as for you,” Adrian’s voice sharpened, “touch my fiancée again, even breathe in her direction the wrong way, and I’ll ensure you regret it more than he will.”

The possessiveness in his voice, the fury in his stance, it didn’t feel like acting anymore. And the most terrifying part?

I wasn’t sure I wanted it to be.

“Let’s go,” he said finally, turning to me with a gentle hand on my lower back—an intimate contrast to the lethal storm he aimed at them.

I let him guide me away, still dazed, still processing the whiplash of emotions. His touch was steady, warm, grounding, and the room parted for us like we were royalty.

ELENA

The moment the glass doors of the venue slid shut behind us, the noise of the crowd fell away, swallowed by the night air. I exhaled shakily, adrenaline still buzzing under my skin like electricity.

My cheek throbbed where Lenora’s hand had connected, but honestly, the sting was nothing compared to the satisfaction of watching her face crumple when Adrian stepped between us like a damn storm in a suit.

We walked toward the waiting car—well, Adrian walked; I floated somewhere between shock and denial.

The chauffeur opened the door, and the second I slid inside, Adrian followed immediately and shut it behind him.

Before I could even buckle my seatbelt, his hands were on me.

Not on me, on my face.

Warm palms, careful fingers. Touching like I was something fragile he was terrified of breaking.

“Elena,” he murmured, voice lower than usual, edges rough. “Are you alright?”

His brows were pinched together, eyes sharp and searching as he tilted my face toward the soft glow of the overhead light. His thumb brushed just under my cheekbone, analyzing the spot where Lenora had struck me. His jaw ticked the longer he stared.

I swallowed. Hard.

“I’m fine,” I said lightly, or tried to. “It’s just a slap. I’ve had worse.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

His eyes snapped to mine, and something dangerous flickered inside them. “You shouldn’t have worse.” His voice was a low growl. “People don’t get to hurt you. Not anymore.”

My heart did a weird flip, and I immediately smothered it. Don’t read into it, I told myself. He’s just being decent. Human. Protective because it serves his purpose.

Fake fiancée. Fake marriage. Mutual benefit.

Nothing more.

He touched my cheek again, lighter this time. “Does it burn?” he asked.

“It… stings.” More than I wanted to admit.

His fingers drifted down, feather-light, tracing the outline as if memorizing it. “I swear,” he muttered, voice thick with suppressed rage, “she’s lucky I didn’t put her head through a wall.”

Despite myself, I laughed—a small, startled sound. “You didn’t have to defend me like that.”

“Yes,” he said immediately, without hesitation. “I did.”

The certainty in his voice slammed into my chest like a weight. I looked away quickly, staring out the window as the driver pulled onto the main road.

“It’s part of the arrangement,” I whispered, reminding both him and myself. “You’re just… playing the role.”

Silence filled the car, heavy and warm.

Then he said, quietly but firmly, “What I did wasn’t acting.”

I froze.

His hand stayed on my cheek a second longer, like he wanted to say something else—or do something else—but he didn’t. He pulled back slowly, jaw clenched, staring out the opposite window.

The rest of the drive was quiet, and I used the silence to force myself back into reality. Emotions weren’t allowed here. This was business. Strategy. A partnership wrapped in lies.

It didn’t matter how he looked at me.

Or how he touched me.

Or how he said “my woman” like I was something he’d actually claim.

It didn’t matter.

And I wouldn’t let it matter.

We arrived at his mansion twenty minutes later. The house glowed from within, warm golden lights spilling through tall windows. The moment we stepped inside, the familiar polished-wood scent wrapped around me.

But the silence inside wasn’t normal.

There were voices—low, tense.

We rounded the corner, and my steps faltered.

Adrian’s father and uncle sat at the tea table like judges in an old courtroom. Both had steaming cups in front of them, untouched. Both watched us walk in with unreadable expressions.

My stomach tightened.

Adrian’s hand found the small of my back again—a grounding touch. “Dad,” he said evenly. “Uncle. You’re still awake.”

His father’s gaze dropped to my cheek, lingering a little too long. Not in concern. In calculation. My skin crawled under the weight of it.

Adrian must have noticed, because he subtly shifted, placing part of his body between me and his father’s stare.

Mr. Wolfe set his cup down with a quiet clink. “I heard something happened at the event,” he said. “A confrontation.”

Great. Of course the news traveled faster than we did.

Adrian’s voice sharpened. “Handled. And it won’t happen again.”

His uncle scoffed. “Drama already? This is exactly—”

“Enough,” Adrian’s father cut in. His gaze swept over the two of us, assessing, piercing. “Regardless of… tonight’s complications, the engagement must proceed as planned.”

My heart stuttered.

Adrian stiffened beside me. “Planned?” he repeated cautiously.

“Yes.” Mr. Wolfe folded his hands. “You want us to believe this relationship is real? Then it must be presented as real. Publicly. Immediately.”

Oh no. No, no, no.

“I’ve arranged an engagement party,” he continued smoothly, like he was announcing a brunch menu. “Press, investors, family, board members. It will be held next Saturday.”

My throat closed.

Adrian went still beside me, so still I wasn’t sure he was breathing.

His voice, when it came, was icy calm. “You arranged a party without speaking to us?”

“To you,” his father corrected. “There was no need to consult her.”

I bristled, but Adrian spoke first, tone cool but lethal. “She is my fiancée. You will consult her.”

The uncle snorted. “Fiancée, sure.”

Adrian ignored him. “Dad, this is too sudden. There’s no reason to—”

“There is every reason,” his father snapped. “Your position at Wolfe Enterprises is precarious. Your behavior for the last few years has been unacceptable. If this engagement is real, if this woman is truly part of your life, then it is time to prove it.”

The words hit me like cold water.

Fake was one thing. Public was another.

A party meant cameras. Social media. Headlines. People digging into my past, the scandal, the humiliation, the lies Clifford had spread.

My lungs tightened painfully.

I felt Adrian’s hand press gently against my back, a silent Are you okay?

I wasn’t.

But I nodded anyway, because my voice didn’t work.

His father looked at me then, eyes sharp. “Do you have any objections, Ms. Hart?”

Did I?

Yes.

A thousand.

But I also remembered our pact. The contract. My name, my vengeance, my future were all tied to this arrangement.

So I lifted my chin, met his stare, and said, “No.”

Adrian’s head snapped toward me, surprise flickering across his features, but he said nothing. Not here. Not in front of them.

“Good,” his father said, rising from his seat. “Then it is settled.”

His uncle stood as well, smirking smugly before the two men left the room.

Silence fell the second they were gone.

A heavy, suffocating silence.

Adrian turned to me immediately. “Elena—”

But I took a step back, lifting a hand. “It’s fine,” I lied softly. “It’s part of the deal.”

His jaw clenched. “You’re shaking.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are.”

He stepped closer, voice low, eyes soft in a way they had never been before. “You don’t have to pretend you’re alright. Not with me.”

And damn it.