The engagement ring felt heavier than metal had any right to be.It sat on my finger like a shackle—smooth platinum, flawless cut, a masterpiece designed to dazzle the world. But to me, it was the sound of a cell door locking shut.
The press conference announcing our engagement had ended only thirty minutes ago. The media's cameras had flashed so hard that my retinas still burned. Adrian had played his part perfectly—his arm wrapped around my waist in public possession, his lips brushing my temple for the cameras, his deep voice calling me his fiancée.
It should have been the most romantic moment of my life.Instead, it felt like a coronation for my captivity.
"Keep your head high," Adrian's voice brushed against my ear as we stepped into the elevator leading to his private penthouse. "You look like you're marching to the gallows."
I didn't bother to hide the bitterness in my tone. "Maybe I am."
He chuckled, that low, dangerous sound that always made my pulse skitter—not from attraction, but from awareness. Adrian Blake was the kind of man who could destroy reputations with a single phone call. And now, I was bound to him for the next year by a contract neither of us could break.
The elevator doors slid shut, sealing us into a mirrored box. Our reflections stared back at me—his broad-shouldered figure in a tailored charcoal suit, my smaller frame in a scarlet dress that screamed expensive hostage.
My gaze caught on the ring again.Five carats. Cushion-cut diamond. Worth more than my entire startup.The price of my freedom.
"You hate it," he said, not as a question, but as a statement.
"I don't hate it," I said slowly. "I just… know what it represents."
"Good," he replied smoothly. "You should never forget it."
Something in his tone made me glance up sharply. "And what exactly does it represent to you?"
His eyes—stormy grey, sharp enough to cut—held mine in the mirrored glass. "Ownership."
The word hit me like a slap.He didn't even flinch when he said it.
"You think this is some medieval auction where you get to own a woman?" My voice rose, anger heating my skin.
"No," he said, calm as a glacier. "I think this is a high-stakes game where you decided to sign your soul over to win."
I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood. Because he was right. I had agreed. I had signed. I had told myself it was only a year, that I could endure anything for twelve months to save my company.
But the ring on my finger didn't feel like a one-year sentence. It felt permanent.
When the elevator doors slid open into the penthouse, I stepped out quickly, needing distance from him. The space was massive—floor-to-ceiling windows spilling golden city lights across marble floors. Every surface was polished, every detail meticulous.
But there was something colder than glass in here.It was the feeling of being in his domain.
Adrian followed me in, closing the door behind us. "You'll stay here from now on," he said, tossing his suit jacket onto a leather armchair.
I froze. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," he said, loosening his tie. "You're my fiancée now. The press will expect us to live together. My staff will be informed by morning."
I turned to face him fully. "That wasn't in the contract."
His lips curved, but it wasn't amusement—it was the kind of smile a predator wore when the prey thought it found a loophole. "The contract said you would act the part of my fiancée. Cohabitation is part of the role."
"I have a life, Adrian."
"Not anymore."
The words hit harder than they should have, and something in my chest twisted painfully.
"You make it sound like prison," I said.
"Prison is somewhere you're sent against your will," he countered. "You walked into this with your eyes open."
I hated that he was right again. I hated even more that part of me wondered if he'd planned this exact trap—offering me salvation for my company, then tightening the leash day by day.
I took a step closer, not because I wanted to, but because I refused to back away from him. "And what if I decide I don't want to play the obedient fiancée?"
His eyes darkened, the temperature in the room dropping. "Then, Zara," he said softly, almost kindly, "I'll remind you what's at stake."
For a moment, we just stared at each other. The city glittered behind him like a wall of diamonds, but it was his presence that felt unbreakable.
The silence stretched—thick, charged—until a knock at the door broke it.
Adrian didn't move. "Come in."
A man in his early thirties stepped inside—tall, lean, wearing an immaculate black suit. His eyes flicked to me, assessing, before he addressed Adrian. "The documents are ready for her signature."
My stomach dropped. "What documents?"
Adrian took the folder from him, flipped it open, and placed it on the marble coffee table between us. "Prenuptial agreements. NDAs. Financial disclosures. Everything that cements what we just announced to the world."
I glanced at the stack of papers. It wasn't just legal—it was binding in ways I hadn't even considered.
"You want me to sign this now?" I asked, my voice low.
"You're already wearing my ring," he said, leaning against the couch with infuriating calm. "The rest is just… sealing the deal."
It was more than a signature.It was a metaphorical signed in blood moment—because if I put my name on those pages, walking away wouldn't just ruin my company. It would ruin me.
"Take your time," Adrian said, handing me a sleek black pen. "But not too much. The lawyer has other appointments."
My fingers tightened around the pen. The air in the room felt thicker, pressing in on me. This wasn't just business anymore. This was Adrian Blake staking his claim in a way that couldn't be undone.
I looked at him—really looked—and saw the truth. He wasn't just interested in the deal. He wanted control. Over me. Over everything.
But if he thought I'd roll over and be his docile fiancée, he was wrong.I might have agreed to wear his ring.I might even sign the damn papers.But I would find a way to turn his chains into my weapon.
And when that day came, Adrian Blake wouldn't see it coming.
The car rolled through the city in absolute silence. The hum of the engine was the only sound between them, but in Emma's chest, her heartbeat was a chaotic drum.
Adrian sat next to her, his body angled toward the tinted window, long fingers tapping idly against the leather seat. He hadn't spoken a word since they'd left the restaurant, but Emma could feel his presence like gravity—pulling her in and crushing her at the same time.
The box with the ring still rested in her lap, heavier than steel.
Her thoughts spiraled.
A part of her still couldn't comprehend what she'd just agreed to. She'd signed his contract, metaphorically in blood, sealing her fate for the next year. She'd told herself it was just an arrangement, a transaction. But the ring—oh, the ring—felt like a symbol of something far more binding than any written clause.
As if sensing her unease, Adrian finally spoke."You're awfully quiet."
Emma's fingers tightened on the box. "What do you expect me to say? 'Thanks for the jewelry, can't wait to be your decorative puppet'?"
He turned his head then, his eyes locking onto hers with unnerving calm. "Puppet? No. That implies you're lifeless. I wouldn't have chosen you if you didn't have a spark. I like the spark. But don't confuse it with freedom."
Her mouth went dry. The casual cruelty of the statement struck deep. "And what exactly am I free to do?"
His lips curved faintly—not a smile, but something sharper. "Smile for the cameras. Hold my arm. Keep your opinions about me to yourself in public. And, most importantly…" He paused, leaning in slightly, "…never forget whose ring you're wearing."
The air between them felt charged, almost electric. Emma forced herself not to flinch. "What if I take it off?"
He laughed then. A soft, low sound that made her skin prickle. "You won't."
The driver took a turn, heading toward the high-rise district. Emma glanced out the window, recognizing the sleek skyline she'd only ever seen from a distance.
Adrian's voice cut through her thoughts again. "You should know something about my world, Emma. Appearances are everything. This ring is not just a piece of metal—it's a declaration. Once people see it on your hand, they'll treat you differently. Doors will open. People will listen. But…" His tone darkened. "That door can also slam shut in your face if you defy me."
The words sank into her like ice.
She was still processing when the car slowed in front of an opulent building—glass, steel, and understated wealth. Two doormen stepped forward instantly.
The moment Emma stepped out, the late evening air hit her face, along with the realization that photographers were already stationed across the street.
Of course.
Flashes erupted as Adrian rounded the car, his hand settling on the small of her back with proprietary ease. "Smile," he murmured under his breath. "They'll know if it's fake."
Emma's lips curved mechanically. It was the kind of smile that hurt more than it pleased.
Inside, the lobby was all marble and quiet wealth. A private elevator whisked them to the top floor, where the doors opened into Adrian's penthouse—a space so pristine it could have been a showroom.
Emma's steps faltered at the sheer expanse: floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city, sleek black furniture, and a faint scent of leather and cedar.
Adrian moved past her, loosening his tie. "This will be your home for the next year."
Home. The word tasted foreign here.
She set the ring box on the nearest table. "You didn't even ask if I wanted to live here."
"You didn't ask if I wanted to save your brother," he shot back without missing a beat.
Her chest tightened. "That's different."
"Is it?" He stepped closer, closing the distance until she had to tilt her chin up to meet his gaze. "Every choice has a price. You named yours the moment you agreed to my terms."
Emma swallowed hard, hating the way his nearness unsettled her. "And what exactly are your terms, Adrian? The contract said public appearances, no scandals, maintain the illusion. What else are you not telling me?"
His eyes lingered on her for a long moment before he spoke. "You'll find that in my world, the unspoken rules are the ones that matter most. And the first of those rules is this—you belong to me in the public eye, and that will be absolute."
Her pulse spiked. "And in private?"
For the first time that evening, a flicker of something—amusement, maybe—crossed his expression. "In private, you can fight me all you want. I almost look forward to it."
Before she could respond, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his features sharpening. "Stay here."
And just like that, he was gone—retreating into another room, shutting the door behind him.
Emma exhaled shakily, her gaze drifting to the windows, the glittering city lights beyond. She could still hear muffled tones of his voice from behind the closed door, low and clipped.
She didn't know what terrified her more—that she was now tied to Adrian by this contract and ring… or that a small, treacherous part of her wanted to understand him.
And as the city glittered outside, she realized something else: in agreeing to wear his ring, she'd willingly stepped into a cage. The question was—how long before she tried to break free?