Night had not yet fully surrendered to dawn when Seraphina Moretti shattered.
The Harrington guest wing—once a symbol of opulence, a place she once bragged about staying in to her friends—felt like a padded cell that night. A gilded cage for someone who could no longer tell if she wanted to escape it or throw herself against its walls until the world ended. The chandeliers glowed softly above her, their warm lights melting into the silk-draped walls, but nothing warmed her. Nothing anchored her.
Her parents' ultimatum echoed in her skull like a curse:
"If he annuls it, don't bother coming home."
She had never been loved by them. She knew that. But she had never expected the day they would so openly toss her into the abyss—hand her over to a man she once hated, a man she once mocked, now transformed into someone she couldn't understand, couldn't stop staring at, couldn't influence, couldn't control. Someone who looked at her as if she were a ripple in a pond he had long since drained.
And somewhere inside her—where her vanity and arrogance once thrived—something cracked wide open.
She curled up on the edge of the guest bed, shaking, chewing the skin of her thumb until she tasted iron. Each breath was a broken thing. Her chest felt too small, too tight, too fragile to contain the hurricane building inside.
"Why did he change?" she whispered into the silence. "Why does he act like I'm nothing now? Why won't he just—just—"
She didn't know what she wanted. For him to love her again? For him to hate her again? For him to want her at all?
Nothing made sense.
She felt like a ghost haunting a future that didn't belong to her.
And then—
Slowly, frighteningly—her despair began to twist into something darker.
Her eyes drifted toward the balcony outside the guest room. The curtains danced gently with the night wind. The railings gleamed faintly under moonlight.
A drop.A fall.An end.
The thought arrived like a whisper from someone standing just behind her.
Seraphina inhaled sharply.
If I die… he might regret everything.
If I die… they might wish they'd treated me differently.
If I die… the world might finally stop spinning out from under my feet.
The idea did not terrify her.
It soothed her.
She stood, barefoot on the cold floor, her breath trembling. Step by step, she walked toward the balcony curtains. Her fingers curled around the fabric. Her heart beat so violently that it hurt.
Just one step.
Just one—
The doorknob of her room clicked.
She froze.
Slowly, the door opened.
A tall shadow entered, framed by the dim corridor light.
Adrian.
His expression was unreadable, severe as always, but there was a tension in his shoulders—a storm in the stillness—that hadn't been there earlier. He took in the sight instantly: her position near the balcony, her swollen eyes, her unsteady breathing.
The air changed.
He closed the door behind him.
"What," he said, voice like a blade scraping stone, "the hell are you doing?"
Seraphina's lips trembled, but she couldn't speak. Her throat had closed, her heart clawing to escape her chest. She shook her head violently, trying to breathe, trying not to fall apart—
But having already fallen apart.
He stepped closer, not fast, not loud, but with a gravity that pinned the entire room to him.
"Speak."Cold.Commanding.A tone she could not ignore.
Her voice cracked as it forced its way out.
"I—I can't—Adrian, I can't do this—my parents—they'll throw me away—I didn't think— I can't lose everything— you hate me now— I'm losing everything— I don't have anyone— I don't have anything— I just— I—"
He grabbed her wrist before she could finish the sentence that would have ended everything. Not rough, but firm. Firm enough to show her he was not letting go.
"Stop."His voice shook. Barely, but it shook.
"Just stop."
She looked up at him, tears streaming, and for the first time in her life she saw fear in Adrian Vale Harrington's eyes.
Not for himself.
For her.
For the possibility—the unbearably real possibility—that he would open this balcony door tomorrow morning and find her gone from the world, another body, another person he had failed to keep alive.
Another death on his hands.
A second death he would blame himself for until the end of time.
He dragged a hand over his face and let out a breath that rattled his ribs.
"What the hell is wrong with you," he whispered. "Why would you even think—why—why would you even try something that stupid? As if I don't have enough—"
He stopped abruptly, jaw locking.
She stared at him. He looked exhausted. Shaken. Haunted. His hand still gripped her wrist, and there was bruising pressure in it—but not anger.
Terror.
She had terrified him.
And that realization broke something inside her.
"I don't know what to do…" she whispered, voice so small it barely existed.
He closed his eyes briefly, then released her wrist with a slow, trembling exhale.
"Don't," he said quietly. "Don't ever put me through that again."
He turned from her, walking to his work bag resting on the chaise lounge. He rummaged through it, pulled out a thin folder, and tossed it onto the bed.
"Take it."
She blinked in confusion.
"What… what is this?"
"A marriage contract."
Her pulse stopped.
He didn't look at her as he began speaking, his tone steady but hollow, like a man carving out pieces of himself with every word.
"You will get nothing if we marry. No rights. No access to any asset of mine. No claim to anything I own. Not even if you stab me in the back or run off with someone else." His eyes flicked to her for a second—cold, assessing. "And if I want to divorce you, I can. Instantly. No contest. No compensation. No argument."
Seraphina's breath shook.
It was a chain disguised as a ring.A cage where he alone held the key.
It was power like she'd never seen—raw, unyielding, absolute.
"And… me?" she whispered. "If I want a divorce…?"
"You won't get one," he said simply. "Unless I allow it."
Something inside her tightened, twisted, contracted into a trembling knot.
"Why…" she whispered, "why would you do this?"
He turned to her fully, and for a heartbeat she saw past the man he forced himself to be—the chairman, the iron-fisted ruler of a multi-trillion-dollar empire. She saw the hollow boy inside him, starving for forgiveness, drowning in guilt.
"Because," he said quietly, "the annulment is almost approved. And if it goes through—you go home."
She froze.
He continued.
"And if you go home… you won't last a week."
The truth hit her like a physical blow.
His voice softened even further—a tone so rare she almost didn't recognize it.
"I'm not letting another death happen because of me."
Her breath caught.
He looked away as if ashamed. His fingers curled, knuckles whitening.
"So I cancelled it," he said. "The annulment. It's gone. They can't process it. You're safe from your parents' wrath."
Silence fell over them like snow.
"You're… marrying me," she whispered.
"No," he corrected softly."I'm keeping you alive."
Her heart jolted.
He stepped back, putting distance between them as if her presence burned him.
"Sign the contract. Or don't."His voice steadied into its usual cold, emotionless cadence."If you stay, you stay under my rules. If you refuse—I'll send you somewhere safe where your parents can't reach you. But you're never standing on a balcony like that again."
Seraphina pressed a trembling hand to her mouth.
He was protecting her.Not out of love.Not out of devotion.Not out of obligation.
But because the thought of losing one more life—
even hers—
was something he could not endure.
Adrian's eyes met hers, unreadable and dark.
"Now go to sleep," he murmured hoarsely. "And stop adding problems to my life."
He left the room before she could say a single word.
But the imprint of his terror—his honesty—his desperation not to lose her—stayed.
And Seraphina Moretti stood trembling in the quiet room, staring at the contract on her bed—
the thin, pale paper that would bind her to the coldest man alive.
And yet, for the first time in her life—
she wondered if maybe…
just maybe…
he wasn't as cold as she thought.