The elevator ride to Adrian Volkov's penthouse felt like an ascent into another world. The glass walls reflected Emma's pale face back at her, every flicker of hesitation written across her features. Outside, the city glittered in late-night neon, as if mocking her. Somewhere far below, life continued for people who weren't about to sign their soul away for a brother's life.
Adrian stood beside her, a towering presence in a black tailored suit, hands buried in his pockets like a king surveying his empire. He didn't look at her. He didn't need to — his very silence pressed against her ribs like a vice.
When the elevator stopped, the doors slid open to reveal a space that was part penthouse, part fortress. Expansive windows displayed the skyline, the air rich with the faint scent of expensive cologne and power.
"Sit," he ordered, his voice low but carrying that tone that made refusal feel dangerous.
Emma obeyed, her legs moving on instinct toward the sleek black leather sofa. A glass table separated her from the man now standing across from her, setting a thin folder down with deliberate precision.
"This," he said, flipping it open, "is the contract. Every term. Every expectation. Every consequence."
She swallowed hard. "Consequences?"
One corner of his mouth lifted in what might have been called a smile — if smiles could cut skin. "Emma, you didn't think marrying me would be… consequence-free?"
Her fingers curled in her lap. "I'm doing this for Leo. That's all."
"And I'm doing this for my own reasons," he countered smoothly, "which means protecting my investment. In you. In our… arrangement."
He slid the papers toward her, the crisp sound of paper on glass echoing in the vast room.
Emma's eyes skimmed the first page — legal jargon, clauses about confidentiality, conduct in public, joint appearances at events. Then she reached the third page. Her stomach tightened.
"You want control over my… schedule?" she asked, her voice faltering.
"I want control over what the public sees," Adrian said. "You'll attend functions with me. Smile at the right cameras. Play the perfect wife. In exchange, your brother walks free and your debt is erased."
"And if I refuse something?"
His gaze locked on hers, sharp as a blade. "Then the deal dissolves. And you know what happens after that."
Leo's face flashed in her mind — scared, pale, trapped. She forced herself to keep reading.
There it was — the clause that made her throat go dry. Physical proximity as deemed necessary for public image.
She looked up. "What does this mean exactly?"
"It means," he said without hesitation, "that when I take your hand, you don't flinch. When I kiss you in front of a room full of reporters, you kiss back. And if a gossip site happens to catch us on the balcony of my villa… you'll act like a wife who wants her husband."
Emma's breath caught. "That's not—"
"That's the deal," he interrupted, leaning closer. His shadow fell over her. "And you've already agreed in principle. This is just putting ink on paper."
Her pulse hammered in her ears. This wasn't a marriage; it was a performance. A high-stakes illusion with rules she didn't fully understand yet.
Adrian reached into a drawer beneath the table and pulled out a black fountain pen, placing it between them.
"Read it all," he said, his voice softer now, but no less commanding. "But know this — the longer you hesitate, the closer your brother comes to a prison sentence he won't survive."
Emma's hand hovered over the contract. The clock on the wall ticked — each sound a countdown.
She forced her eyes back to the pages. Clauses about privacy, about exclusive loyalty — a bitter laugh almost escaped her. As if loyalty could be bought. Then she saw it: a final clause, near the end, written in smaller print.
Her brow furrowed. "What's this?"
Adrian's expression was unreadable. "It's a protection clause. For me."
"It says I can't… discuss the nature of this arrangement… with anyone, under threat of…" Her voice trailed off as her eyes widened. "You're threatening to sue me for five million dollars if I speak about this?"
"I'm not threatening," Adrian said smoothly. "I'm securing. The moment this marriage becomes a weapon in someone else's hands, we both lose. But you'll lose more."
Emma shut her eyes for a moment, breathing through the weight pressing against her. She had no choice. She never did.
When she opened them, Adrian was still watching her — calm, patient, dangerous.
Her fingers closed around the pen. She signed the first page, then the second. Each stroke felt heavier than the last, like she was writing herself into a cage she could never leave.
By the final page, her hand was trembling. She scrawled her name one last time and set the pen down.
Adrian took the contract, slid it back into the folder, and closed it with a snap. "Done," he said.
Her voice was barely above a whisper. "So that's it?"
"That's the beginning," he corrected.
He walked toward a bar cart in the corner, pouring two glasses of deep amber liquid. "To partnerships," he said, handing her one.
She didn't take it. "I don't drink."
His eyes narrowed slightly, then softened into something unreadable. "Then pretend."
Her fingers brushed the cool glass. She lifted it, but before she could bring it to her lips, Adrian clinked his own glass against hers.
The sound echoed like the toll of a bell.
"You're mine now, Emma," he said softly, almost too soft to hear. "And I protect what's mine."
She met his gaze, her grip tightening on the glass. "Protection feels a lot like possession."
"Sometimes," he murmured, "they're the same thing."
Outside, the city lights burned against the dark — a thousand eyes watching, waiting. And Emma knew that from this moment forward, every move she made would be on display.
And every mistake would cost her dearly.
Zara felt the sting of his words as if they were deliberate cuts, each one calculated to test how far she'd go before breaking.
Adrian leaned back in his chair, his fingertips pressed together like a man weighing a chess move that would end the game.
"Since you've agreed," he said slowly, "we'll need to set the rules. I don't want surprises. Not from you."
She tilted her head, a faint smirk ghosting her lips. "Rules? Or shackles?"
His eyes narrowed. "They're the same thing when you sign yourself over to an enemy."
The air between them seemed to darken, heavy with unspoken histories and mistrust. Zara clasped her hands in her lap, willing herself not to show the flicker of doubt trying to claw its way to the surface. She had said yes—reluctantly—but yes was still yes.
"What kind of rules?" she asked, her tone sharp but even.
Adrian's mouth curved in something that wasn't quite a smile. "For starters, our engagement will be public within the week. We'll stage a dinner with the right people, leak it to the right channels, and control the story before anyone else does."
"That's manageable."
"You'll move into my penthouse."
Her breath caught. "Excuse me?"
He didn't blink. "An engagement where we live separately will invite suspicion. Reporters will pick it apart. Rivals will sense the weakness. We can't afford that."
Zara's nails dug into her palm. "You mean you can't afford that."
His gaze sharpened. "Neither can you. You want your startup saved, don't you? You want the contracts I can secure?"
The reminder was a deliberate knife twist. She hated that he was right. Hated that the floor under her feet felt like his territory now.
"You're a control freak," she said.
"And you're reckless. That's why this works—if we stay in line."
The conversation twisted, pulling her into territory she hadn't prepared for. This wasn't just about appearances anymore. Adrian was laying the groundwork for something deeper—something dangerously close to real entanglement.
He poured himself a drink, the amber liquid catching the city lights outside. "You'll also be expected at every corporate and social event I attend."
"That sounds more like a job than an engagement."
"It's both," he said coolly. "And since I'm the one funding your lifeline, you'll follow my lead."
Zara's jaw clenched. "And what do I get besides my company's survival?"
His eyes locked on hers. "Access. Influence. Power you can't buy on your own." He leaned forward, voice low enough to make her pulse quicken. "And… my protection."
The word protection dripped with implications—none of them comforting.