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."