The house felt different the next morning—quieter, heavier, as though it had absorbed the tension from the night before and was holding its breath. Ivy woke with a dull ache behind her eyes, the kind that came from thinking too much and sleeping too little. Adrian's words constantly replayed in her mind, each one leaving a deeper mark.
"Our marriage may not last as long as you think."
She stared at the ceiling, her heart thudding slowly, painfully. For the first time since the wedding, the reality of the arrangement pressed down on her with terrifying clarity. This wasn't just about surviving a contract anymore. There was a clock ticking somewhere, unseen but relentless.
When she finally got out of bed, she moved through the morning like a ghost.
Breakfast passed without Adrian. The staff said he had left early for the office. Part of her felt relieved; another part felt unsettled. Their conversations were no longer shallow exchanges or guarded silences. They were standing at the edge of something dangerous—truth.
Ivy decided she wouldn't hide in the house today.
She dressed carefully, choosing a deep blue dress that made her feel steadier, stronger. If she was going to face this world as Adrian Blackwood's wife—even temporarily—she would do it on her own terms.
The drive into the city was quiet. Buildings rose around them like steel sentinels, cold and imposing. When the car pulled up in front of Blackwood Enterprises, Ivy's breath caught. The building was massive, glass reflecting the sky, dominance etched into every line.
"So this is where power lives," she murmured.
Inside, the atmosphere was brisk and efficient. People moved with purpose, eyes forward, voices low. Ivy felt every gaze slide toward her, curiosity barely concealed. She held her head high, refusing to shrink.
Adrian's assistant, a poised woman named Clara, greeted her with a polite smile. "Mrs. Blackwood. Mr. Blackwood is in a meeting, but he asked that you wait in his office."
"Thank you," Ivy replied, masking her nerves.
The office was sleek and minimalist, all dark wood and sharp edges. A wall of windows overlooked the city, sunlight pouring in. Ivy walked toward the desk, fingers brushing its surface, grounding herself.
She noticed the framed photo near the corner.
Adrian stood beside an older man, both dressed in formal attire. The resemblance was unmistakable—same eyes, same rigid posture… His father.
Ivy studied the image, trying to imagine the weight of expectation that must have followed Adrian his entire life. No wonder he wore control like armor.
The door opened behind her.
"You shouldn't be here."
Adrian's voice was sharp, but beneath it was something else—surprise.
"You told me there would be interference," Ivy said calmly, turning to face him. "I thought I should see where it comes from."
His jaw tightened. "This isn't a place for curiosity."
"Neither is marriage built on secrets," she replied sharply, matching his energy.
He studied her for a long moment, then sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You're going to complicate things."
"I already have," Ivy said softly. "Haven't I?"
Before he could respond, Clara reappeared, her expression tense. "Mr. Blackwood… your uncle is here."
Adrian's shoulders stiffened. "Send him in."
Ivy felt the shift immediately—the air thickened, charged. Moments later, a tall man entered, his smile polished and cold.
"Adrian," he said smoothly. "And you must be the wife."
Ivy met his gaze, refusing to be intimidated. "Ivy Grant. Adrian's wife."
The man's eyes flickered with interest. "Lucian Blackwood. Family."
Adrian's voice was clipped. "What do you want, Lucian?"
Lucian chuckled. "Straight to business. I like that. I've come with a friendly reminder." His gaze slid back to Ivy. "Family agreements are delicate things. They require… compliance."
Ivy felt Adrian's tension spike.
"Speak plainly," Adrian said.
Lucian stepped closer, lowering his voice. "The board is growing impatient. Medical evaluations. Public appearances. Proof that this marriage is… effective."
Ivy's stomach turned.
"And if it's not?" she asked.
Lucian smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Then the inheritance clause activates. Control shifts."
Silence followed, heavy and ominous.
Adrian dismissed him shortly after, his restraint razor-thin. When the door closed, he turned to Ivy, frustration etched across his face.
"You shouldn't have heard that."
"But I did," Ivy said. "And now I know what's at stake."
"This is exactly why I tried to keep you out of it."
"No," she countered. "You tried to protect yourself."
Adrian exhaled slowly. "You don't understand how ruthless my family can be."
"Then help me understand," Ivy said. "Because whether you like it or not, I'm already stuck in the middle of all this."
He looked at her then—really looked at her—and something shifted.
---
That night, the house felt less cold.
They sat in the living room, the city lights glowing beyond the windows. Adrian held a glass of whiskey he hadn't touched. Ivy curled her legs beneath her, heart racing.
"There are conditions tied to my health," Adrian began. "Assessments, timelines. If I fail to meet them, everything I've built goes to Lucian."
"And the marriage?" Ivy asked.
"It's proof of stability," he said quietly. "Normalcy."
Ivy laughed softly, without humor. "We're terrible at pretending."
"Yes," Adrian agreed. "We are."
A pause settled between them, different from before. Less hostile. More fragile.
"I don't want to be a pawn," Ivy said. "But I won't walk away either."
Adrian frowned. "Why?"
She met his gaze. "Because I know what it feels like to be sacrificed for someone else's comfort. And I won't let them do that to you."
His hand tightened around the glass.
"You shouldn't care this much."
"Maybe," she said. "But I do."
Something in his expression cracked.
That night, sleep came slowly.
Ivy lay awake, aware of every sound, every breath. When she heard footsteps outside her door, her heart skipped. The door opened hesitantly.
"Adrian?" she whispered.
"Yes," he replied quietly. "I couldn't sleep."
Neither could she.
He stood there, uncertain, as if unsure where he belonged. Ivy sat up, the silence stretching between them.
"You can sit," she said softly.
He did, perching on the edge of the bed, tension radiating from him.
"I keep thinking," he admitted, "that involving you was a mistake."
"Then why are you here?" Ivy asked.
"Because," he said, voice low, "you make it harder to lie to myself."
Her breath caught.
The air shifted—charged, dangerous. She could feel the pull between them, undeniable and terrifying.
Adrian reached out, then stopped, his hand hovering inches from hers.
"We can't," he murmured.
"I know," Ivy whispered.
But neither of them moved away.
The distance between them felt unbearable, every second stretching thin. When their fingers finally brushed, it was accidental—or maybe inevitable.
The touch sent a jolt through Ivy's body.
Adrian inhaled sharply, pulling his hand back as if burned. "This can't happen," he said, standing abruptly. "It complicates everything."
"But it already has," Ivy replied, heart pounding.
He looked at her, conflict raging in his eyes. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't," she said, though she wasn't sure if it was true.
Adrian turned away, leaving without another word.
Ivy lay back against the pillows, her heart racing, her thoughts spiraling. The lines between obligation and emotion were blurring faster than she'd expected.
And somewhere in the shadows, forces beyond their control were watching—waiting for them to slip.
She closed her eyes, a single thought echoing through her mind:
If the marriage ended tomorrow, what would hurt more—the loss of safety, or the loss of him?