Elena didn't sleep that night.
The contract remained on her small kitchen table, staring back at her like a silent verdict waiting to be delivered.
Outside, the rain had stopped, but the air still felt thick—charged with the sense that something irreversible had already begun.
Seventy-two hours.
Her eyes drifted again to the bold title.
Marriage Agreement.
Who proposes marriage like it's a corporate acquisition?
Adrian Wolfe.
Of course.
Her phone buzzed without warning, making her flinch.
Unknown Number.
She hesitated, then answered.
"Yes?"
"Miss Hart."
His voice.
Low. Measured. Unsettlingly calm.
Her pulse reacted before her thoughts caught up.
"How did you get this number?" she asked sharply.
"You listed it on a charity donor form two years ago," he replied with effortless composure. "People leave more behind than they realize."
A chill slid down her spine.
"Why are you calling?"
"To save you time."
Silence stretched between them.
"The bank has already begun preliminary foreclosure paperwork," Adrian continued evenly. "They just haven't informed you yet."
Her grip tightened around the phone. "How do you know that?"
"I'm aware of anything that affects my investments."
"I'm not your investment."
"You could be."
The words lingered—balanced between promise and warning.
"What do you actually want from me?" she asked quietly.
A brief pause.
"Have dinner with me tonight."
"Tonight?"
"Yes."
"I haven't agreed to anything."
"You don't have to," he said smoothly. "Consider it… a preview."
"A preview of what?"
"Your future."
The line went dead before she could respond.
—
The restaurant was among the most exclusive in the city.
She had walked past it countless times, never imagining she would step inside.
Now, as she followed the hostess through polished marble and soft golden lighting, she felt painfully aware of her simple black dress. It was tasteful—but not tailored for billionaires.
She was led to a private dining room.
Adrian was already there.
He stood by a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the skyline, hands resting casually in his pockets, suit perfectly fitted as always.
He didn't turn when she entered.
"You're punctual," he noted.
"You said seven."
He checked his watch. "It's 6:58."
Control.
He embodied it.
She took the seat across from him at the long table.
"No small talk?" she asked.
"I prefer efficiency."
"Then be honest."
His gaze lifted to meet hers.
"About what?"
"Why me."
Candlelight flickered between them.
He leaned back slightly.
"You're desperate," he said without hesitation. "No powerful allies. No hidden agendas. No ambition tied to my company."
"That's offensive."
"It's practical."
Her jaw tightened.
"I require someone who won't betray me," he continued. "Someone the press won't scrutinize. Someone… untangled."
"Untangled?"
"No corporate affiliations. No political lineage. No leverage to exploit."
She studied him carefully.
"You talk like you're preparing for a war."
A faint curve touched his lips.
"Perhaps I am."
He wasn't joking. She could feel that much.
"What kind of war?" she pressed.
His expression cooled instantly.
"You're asking a lot of questions."
"You're avoiding answers."
Silence settled heavily over the table.
Then Adrian reached into his jacket and placed a thin folder in front of her.
She hesitated before opening it.
Photographs.
Old headlines.
Five-year-old newspaper clippings.
BUSINESS DYNASTY IN SCANDAL
HEIR DISOWNED AFTER FRAUD ALLEGATIONS
FAMILY DIVIDED IN POWER STRUGGLE
In every image, the heir's name had been blacked out.
"This family…" she murmured.
"The Whitmores," Adrian said calmly. "The most powerful corporate dynasty in the country."
Her stomach tightened.
"What does this have to do with you?"
He held her gaze steadily.
"Everything."
Her breath stalled.
"You're connected to them?"
"I was."
The shift in the room was almost tangible.
"They erased me," he said quietly. "Removed my name. My inheritance. My identity."
She stared at him.
"You're the heir."
He neither confirmed nor denied it.
"Five years ago," he continued, "they assumed I was finished. Disgraced. Forgotten."
"But you built Wolfe Holdings…"
"Yes."
Realization settled in.
"You didn't build it from nothing."
"No."
"You built it to rival them."
A faint, approving smile appeared.
"Now you understand."
Her heart pounded.
"This marriage…" she whispered. "It's part of that plan."
"Everything I do," Adrian replied smoothly, "is part of that plan."
The magnitude of his ambition felt overwhelming.
"And where do I fit into your revenge?"
He leaned forward slightly, voice lowering.
"You fit precisely where I need you."
"Because I'm desperate?"
"Because you're overlooked."
That caught her off guard.
"What?"
"No one will consider you a threat," he explained. "That makes you invaluable."
She swallowed.
"This isn't about love."
"No."
"And if I refuse?"
He studied her calmly.
"You won't."
His certainty made her pulse quicken.
"You're very sure of yourself."
"I don't take risks without knowing the outcome."
He slid a pen across the table toward her.
"Dinner is finished," he said evenly. "Make your decision."
Her heart pounded in her ears.
This wasn't merely a marriage proposal.
It was an invitation onto a battlefield built from power and legacy.
If she signed, she would tie her future to a man capable of shaking the city—
A man whose true name had been erased from history.
Her father's house.
Her stability.
Her safety.
All resting on one signature.
She looked up at him.
"Tell me something," she said softly.
"What?"
"If I marry you… will I regret it?"
For the first time since she had met him—
Adrian Wolfe hesitated.
Then he answered with complete honesty.
"Yes."
Her breath trembled.
"But you'll never be powerless again."
Silence filled the space between them.
The pen felt heavier than it should in her hand.
Outside, city lights shimmered against the dark sky.
Inside, two futures balanced on the edge of a single choice.
She lowered the pen to the paper.
And exhaled.