ADRIAN POV
I shouldn't be watching the security feed.
My office monitor showed Iris in the guest room, sitting on the bed with her mother's photo box open in her lap. She was crying silently, shoulders shaking, one hand pressed against her mouth to muffle the sound.
Like she was still trying not to take up too much space. Still trying to be invisible.
It made me angry. Angrier than I expected.
I turned off the monitor with more force than necessary. This wasn't part of the plan. Feeling anything for her wasn't part of the plan.
She was a tool. A means to an end. The perfect weapon to destroy Damien and secure my inheritance.
That's all.
My phone buzzed. A message from my lawyer, Catherine: *Contract ready for review. You're sure about this?*
I typed back: *More sure than I've ever been.*
*She could refuse,* Catherine replied. *Walk away tomorrow when she's thinking clearly.*
*She won't.*
*How do you know?*
Because I'd read two years of her blog posts. I knew how Iris Chen's mind worked. She was logical, strategic, capable of seeing ten steps ahead. She'd spend tonight running through every option, and by morning, she'd realize this was her best choice.
Her only choice, really.
*Just have the papers ready by 9 AM,* I sent.
My grandmother called. I ignored it. She'd been calling all week, asking about my "progress" on the marriage front. Soon I'd have excellent news for her.
I poured a scotch and stood at the window, looking out over the city lights.
Somewhere out there, Damien was playing husband to a woman who'd manipulated him into marriage. Poetic justice, really. He'd spent his whole life taking the easy way, using people. Now someone was using him.
But he'd thrown away Iris to do it.
That was the part that kept bothering me. Damien was weak and spoiled and useless, but I hadn't expected him to be that stupid. Iris Chen was brilliant. Her marketing strategies had built his company from nothing. Her ideas, her work, her sacrifice—all of it wasted on someone who couldn't see her value.
Just like my father couldn't see my mother's value. Just like the Hartwells had always treated anyone without their precious last name.
My jaw clenched.
Three days. In three days, I'd marry Iris and start the final phase of my revenge. Damien would see her on my arm, wearing my ring, bearing my name. He'd realize what he'd lost.
And it would destroy him.
Perfect.
Except...
I pulled up the security feed again. Couldn't help myself.
Iris had stopped crying. She was reading her mother's journal now, fingers tracing the words like they were precious. Her face looked different without all that fake happiness she'd been wearing for years. Harder. Sharper.
More real.
"Sir?" My head of security, James, appeared in the doorway. "The lawyer's here early. Should I send her away?"
"No. I'll meet with her now." I needed the distraction anyway.
Catherine Ross was the best contract lawyer in Manhattan and one of the few people who wasn't intimidated by me. She walked into my office with her briefcase and a disapproving look.
"This is a terrible idea," she said by way of greeting.
"Hello to you too."
"Adrian, I'm serious. Contract marriages are legally tricky. If she decides to contest it, claim coercion or fraud—"
"She won't."
"You don't know that."
I met her eyes. "She needs this as much as I do. Maybe more. And I'm offering her a fair deal—five million for one year of her time. That's better than most real marriages."
Catherine sighed and opened her briefcase. "I drafted it exactly as you requested. But I added some protection clauses. If either party breaks the terms—emotional attachment, infidelity, breach of privacy—there are consequences."
"Good. What consequences?"
"For you? You forfeit the five million and she gets ten instead. For her? She gets nothing and must repay any money already spent." Catherine handed me the papers. "It's ironclad. But Adrian, are you absolutely certain about this woman? You've known her for six hours."
"I've known her for two years."
"You've known OF her. That's different."
Maybe. But I'd read every word she'd ever written on that blog. I'd watched how she handled pressure, how she thought, how she saw through lies. I knew her mind better than most people knew their spouses.
"She's perfect for this," I said. "Smart, motivated, angry enough to go through with it. And she has nothing to lose."
"Everyone has something to lose," Catherine warned. "Even people who think they've lost everything."
I didn't answer. She was wrong. Iris had lost it all today—her fiancé, her home, her family, her money. She was starting from zero.
Which made her dangerous. Which made her exactly what I needed.
"Just have the papers ready for nine AM," I said. "She'll sign."
Catherine left with another disapproving look. She didn't understand. Nobody did.
This wasn't just about money or inheritance or business. This was about proving that Adrian Thorne—the bastard son, the unwanted child, the boy who'd been thrown away—was worth more than all the Hartwells combined.
And Iris would help me prove it.
My phone buzzed. A text from my private investigator: *Damien and Vivienne checked into the Plaza's honeymoon suite. Should we proceed with surveillance?*
*Yes. I want daily reports.*
Another message came through, this one from an unknown number. My blood ran cold when I read it.
*I know what you're planning with the Chen girl. It won't work. —M.W.*
Marcus Westbrook. My father's old business partner. The man who'd pushed my mother down those stairs twenty years ago and made it look like an accident.
The man I'd been hunting for evidence to destroy.
How did he know about Iris?
I made three calls in rapid succession. First to my security team—sweep the building for bugs. Second to my IT department—check all digital communications for breaches. Third to my investigator—find out everything Marcus Westbrook has done in the last forty-eight hours.
Something was wrong. Marcus shouldn't know about Iris yet. I'd been careful, planning in secret, making sure—
Unless.
Unless someone had been watching me the same way I'd been watching Iris.
My office door opened without warning. Iris stood there in one of my robes, hair still damp, face pale.
"We need to talk," she said.
"It's late. We can discuss the contract tomorrow—"
"Someone just tried to break into the guest room."
Everything stopped.
"What?"
"I heard the door handle turning. Slowly, like they were trying to be quiet." Her voice was steady but her hands were shaking. "I pushed the dresser against the door. Then I heard footsteps running away."
I was already moving, pulling up the security feeds on my phone. The guest room hallway showed nothing. No one. But there was a three-minute gap in the footage—three minutes of blank screen right around the time Iris described.
Someone had hacked my security system.
In my own building.
"James!" I shouted.
My head of security appeared instantly. "Sir?"
"Full lockdown. Now. Search every floor. Find whoever accessed this building in the last hour." I turned to Iris. "You're staying with me tonight. In my room. It's the most secure location."
"I don't think—"
"This isn't a request. Someone just tried to get to you, which means someone knows you're here. And if they know that, they know I have plans for you." My mind raced through possibilities. "Marcus Westbrook. It has to be."
"Who?"
"Later. Right now, you need to be somewhere I can protect you."
Iris's eyes narrowed. "This contract marriage of yours just got a lot more complicated, didn't it?"
"Apparently."
"What aren't you telling me, Adrian?"
Everything. I wasn't telling her everything. About Marcus. About my mother's death. About the real reason I needed to destroy the Hartwell legacy.
But if someone was already coming after her, she deserved to know what she was walking into.
"Come with me," I said. "I'll explain everything. But first, we're getting you somewhere safe."
We took the private elevator to my personal floor—the one only I could access. My bedroom suite was fortified like a panic room. Bulletproof windows. Reinforced door. Independent security system.
If someone wanted to hurt Iris, they'd have to go through me first.
She stood in the middle of my bedroom, looking small and scared and trying hard not to show it.
"Talk," she demanded. "Right now. What's really going on?"
I poured us both a drink. We were going to need it.
"Twenty years ago, my mother died in what everyone said was an accident. She fell down the stairs at the building where she worked as a cleaning lady." I handed Iris the glass. "But it wasn't an accident. Marcus Westbrook pushed her because she'd discovered he was embezzling from my father's company."
Iris's eyes widened.
"I've spent two decades gathering evidence to prove it. And I'm close—so close. But Marcus knows I'm hunting him. And if he thinks you're important to me..." I met her gaze. "He'll use you to get to me."
"But I'm not important to you. We just met."
"He doesn't know that. All he knows is that I brought you here, that you're connected to Damien, and that I have plans involving you." I set down my glass. "Which means the contract marriage just became more than revenge. It became protection."
"Protection from a murderer," Iris said flatly.
"Yes."
She was quiet for a long moment. Then she laughed, sharp and bitter.
"This morning I was supposed to marry a tech entrepreneur. Tonight I'm hiding from a killer in a billionaire's bedroom. This has been the strangest day of my entire life."
"You can still walk away," I said, though everything in me hoped she wouldn't. "Leave tonight. I'll give you money, set you up somewhere safe, and you'll never hear from me again."
"And miss out on five million dollars and revenge?" She drained her glass. "Not a chance. But I have new terms."
"Name them."
"I want to know everything. Every secret, every plan, every danger. No more surprises." Her dark eyes were fierce. "And I want protection guaranteed in the contract. If something happens to me because of your revenge scheme, my friend Sophia gets twenty million dollars."
Smart. Making her life worth more dead than alive meant I'd have every incentive to keep her safe.
"Deal," I said.
"Then I'll sign your contract tomorrow." She set down her glass. "Now where am I sleeping?"
I gestured to the bed. "There. I'll take the couch."
"This is your room."
"And you're my future wife. The couch is fine."
Iris studied me for a long moment. Looking for lies, probably. Looking for the trap.
She wouldn't find one. Not about this.
"Okay," she finally said. "But Adrian? If whoever broke in tonight comes back..."
"They won't get past me," I promised. "I've been protecting what's mine for twenty years. I'm not stopping now."
"I'm not yours."
"Not yet." I smiled slightly. "Give it three days."
She should argue. Should be angry at my presumption.
Instead, she just looked tired. "Goodnight, Adrian."
"Goodnight, Iris."
She disappeared into the bathroom. I heard water running. Then silence.
I pulled out my phone and sent one more message to my investigator: *Find Marcus Westbrook. Tonight. I want to know everywhere he's been, everyone he's talked to, and how he knew about Iris.*
The response came back immediately: *Sir, we have a problem. Westbrook was seen entering Vivienne Lancaster's hotel room this afternoon. They met for two hours.*
My blood ran cold.
Vivienne and Marcus. Working together.
Which meant this wasn't just about my mother anymore. This was about Iris, about Damien, about everything.
They were planning something big. And Iris was caught in the middle.
I looked toward the bathroom door.
She had no idea what she'd just agreed to. No idea that signing that contract would make her a target for two of the most dangerous people I knew.
I should tell her. Should warn her before she signed.
But if I did, she might leave. And I needed her. For the inheritance. For the revenge.
For reasons I wasn't ready to examine yet.
Tomorrow she'd sign the contract. In three days, she'd become my wife.
And I'd do whatever it took to keep her alive long enough to help me destroy everyone who'd ever hurt us.
Even if it meant becoming the monster everyone already thought I was.