The address on the black card led Claire to a building that did not exist on maps. It stood on a narrow street where the river curved away from the city's brighter lights, its façade a plain sheet of dark stone broken only by a brass doorbell. No sign. No reception. No hint of what happened inside.
She pressed the bell. The lock clicked. A camera watched without blinking as she stepped through a short vestibule and into a quiet room that smelled faintly of cedar and rain.
Evan was already there.
He sat at a low table near a wall of glass, a sheaf of papers in front of him, his jacket folded across the chair beside him. Kangwoo stood a few steps away, a still figure with a shadow for a face. The river moved beyond the glass like a black ribbon catching stray threads of light.
"You came alone," Evan said.
"I was not told to bring a chaperone."
"Sit," he said. "We are short on time."
She did not move at first. "You keep saying that."
"Because it is true."
She took the chair opposite him. The papers were neatly arranged, a series of contracts and summaries clipped with surgical precision. He slid the top page toward her. She did not touch it.
"You could have emailed this," she said.
"You would have ignored it," he replied. "And I do not want your decision in writing. I want it from you."
His eyes were cool and watchful, but there was a tension in his posture she had not seen before, a wire pulled tight beneath polished habit. He needed an answer. He wanted it fast.
"Then say what you brought me here to hear," she said.
He did not ease into it. "Marry me within seventy two hours."
Her breath caught before she hid it. "You expect me to agree tonight, and now you add a clock."
"I am telling you what the board will accept, and what will stop the man you met on the rooftop from moving first. Delay helps him. Speed helps us."
"Speed helps you," she said. "You keep using the word us as if I chose it."
"You keep using the word choice," he returned, "as if you still have one."
Silence pressed between them. Claire broke it before it hardened.
"What does he want," she asked, "specifically. Not in hints. In words."
Evan watched her for a count that felt deliberate. Then he spoke, each sentence clean and measured.
"He wants your father to sign a transfer agreement that looks like a bridge loan but assigns control of key assets when the first covenant is missed. He wants you to be the lever. He will tell your father that only you can unlock the terms. He will tell you that only he can protect your father if you leave me. He will make you choose, and the choice will be false."
She did not look away. "How do you know."
"Because he did the same thing ten years ago to a man who thought he was too careful to be trapped. He married his daughter off to a safer name to kill the leverage. He is not fond of losing to history."
"Who was the safer name," Claire asked.
Evan did not answer that. Instead, he pushed another document across the table. It was a timeline, dates stacked against names she recognized and names she did not, each entry notated with a brisk hand.
"This is his pattern," Evan said. "He finds a company with a founder who will not survive scandal, then he finds the weakest hinge. You are not the weakest. You are the hinge that will not break if we lock it."
"You want me to be a lock," she said, almost laughing. "That is your version of safety."
"I want you to be untouchable," he said, and there was no heat in it, only iron. "I want him to realize that if he moves against you, he moves against me, and that the cost is higher than his appetite."
"And in exchange," she said, "I cost you nothing."
"That is not what I said."
"You did not have to."
For a moment he looked as if he would argue. Instead, he folded his hands and let the silence shift.
"I cannot give you a love story, Claire," he said at last, the words even. "I can give you leverage. I can give you time. I can give you the space to rebuild what your father almost lost. But I will not pretend this is anything other than a contract with consequences."
She surprised herself by appreciating how blunt he was. Blunt was easier than charm. Blunt did not ask to be forgiven.
"Then I want my terms in return," she said.
"Good," he said. "State them."
"My father remains board chair for the year and steps down only on his own terms, not yours. Full audit transparency for Yoo Industries with independent oversight I choose. No public appearances unless I approve them first. No interference with my private life, no surveillance masquerading as protection, and if either of us breaches, the financial penalties do not touch the company. They touch you."
Kangwoo's gaze ticked toward Evan at that last line. Evan did not flinch.
"Accepted," he said.
"Every one of them," she asked.
"Yes."
"You did not even pretend to negotiate."
"I am not here to posture," he said. "I am here to close."
"Why seventy two hours," she asked.
"The board meets Monday at noon. They will accept the engagement if it comes with a date and a joint statement. If not, they will demand alternatives I will not give them."
"What alternatives."
"A merger you would not tolerate," he said. "An alliance he would exploit. Both cost more than I am willing to pay."
Her throat tightened. "You keep talking like I am your shield."
"In this, you are," he said. "And I am yours."
Something in his tone reached past her defenses, not soft, not kind, but certain in a way that calmed more than comfort could. She hated that it worked on her for a heartbeat.