Married To My Father's Enemy

The Condition

I waited fifteen minutes.

Then twenty.

By the twenty-fifth minute, I was done pretending I could sit quietly and trust Damian Cross to come back with answers.

He had always had a talent for making people wait.

Five years ago, I had waited for him to explain why he disappeared when my family needed him most.

He never did.

I pushed myself away from the small table near the ballroom and headed toward the private elevator.

The security guard stationed beside it stepped forward.

“I'm sorry, ma'am. This elevator is restricted.”

“I know.”

“Only authorized guests—”

“Damian Cross asked me to wait for him.”

It wasn't exactly true.

But it wasn't exactly a lie either.

The guard hesitated.

Before he could answer, the elevator doors opened.

Damian stepped out.

He looked different.

Not physically.

Something in his expression had changed.

The controlled calm was gone.

His face was tense, and his eyes immediately found mine.

“You followed me.”

“I waited.”

His gaze narrowed.

“For twenty-five minutes.”

“I was dealing with something important.”

“So was I.”

His eyes dropped briefly to my phone.

“The messages?”

I didn't answer.

“Show me.”

“No.”

“Elena.”

“You don't get to order me around.”

“I need to know what was said.”

“And I need answers.”

He stared at me.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

Then he sighed.

“My grandfather left instructions.”

“What kind?”

“Private ones.”

I almost laughed.

“Of course.”

He glanced around the corridor.

“Not here.”

“Then where?”

“My office.”

I followed him.

Not because I trusted him.

Because something told me whatever had happened upstairs was connected to the strange transfer in my folder.

And I wasn't leaving without finding out what.

---

Damian's office occupied the entire corner of the top floor.

Glass walls overlooked the city, while dark wood shelves lined the opposite wall. Everything was neat and expensive, exactly as I remembered his taste.

I stayed near the door.

He walked behind his desk and removed a document from a leather folder.

“My grandfather's revised will was signed six weeks ago.”

I folded my arms.

“And?”

“He left me controlling ownership of Cross International.”

That should have surprised me.

Instead, I remembered the look on his face when he'd returned from upstairs.

“There must be a condition.”

“There is.”

He placed the document on the desk.

“I have thirty days to get married.”

I stared at him.

Then laughed.

He didn't.

“You're serious.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Your grandfather is leaving you one of the largest companies in the country, and the condition is that you get married?”

“Yes.”

“That sounds insane.”

“It is.”

“Then refuse.”

“I can't.”

“Why?”

“Because if I refuse, control passes to my uncle.”

I frowned.

“Victor Cross?”

Damian's expression tightened.

“You know him?”

“I've seen him.”

Everyone in business knew Victor Cross.

He had spent years trying to gain a larger position within the company.

“And you don't want him to have control.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because he's not the man my grandfather wanted running the company.”

“That isn't an answer.”

“It's the only one you're getting.”

I shook my head.

“You're still doing it.”

“Doing what?”

“Deciding which parts of the truth I'm allowed to hear.”

His eyes met mine.

“And you're still assuming every secret has something to do with your father.”

“Doesn't it?”

Silence.

That silence was enough.

I stepped toward the desk.

“What did your grandfather say about Marcus Vale?”

Damian looked away.

“Nothing directly.”

“Then why did you look like that when I mentioned my father's name?”

“Because your father and my grandfather were closer than you realize.”

My breath caught.

“How close?”

“I don't know.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“I've spent the last five years trying to understand it myself.”

I froze.

“You investigated my father's case?”

His jaw tightened.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He looked at me.

“Because I didn't believe the accusations either.”

For several seconds, I couldn't speak.

Five years.

Five years of believing the Cross family had watched mine fall apart without caring.

And Damian had been investigating too?

“Then why didn't you tell me?”

“Would you have listened?”

I wanted to say yes.

But I knew the answer.

Probably not.

I had hated him too much.

Damian picked up the document again.

“There is something else.”

“What?”

“The marriage condition isn't simply about being married.”

I waited.

“The woman has to be approved by my grandfather's attorney.”

I frowned.

“That makes even less sense.”

“I haven't finished.”

He turned the document toward me.

I read the final section.

Then stopped.

My name was written there.

Elena Vale.

I looked up slowly.

“What is this?”

“My grandfather named you.”

The room suddenly felt too quiet.

“Why?”

“I don't know.”

“You expect me to believe he randomly chose me?”

“No.”

“Then find out.”

“I intend to.”

I stared at my name.

It didn't make sense.

My father had been dead for five years.

The Cross family had no reason to want anything from me.

Unless—

I looked at Damian.

“Did your grandfather know about Noah?”

His expression changed.

Only for a second.

But it was enough.

My stomach dropped.

“How did you know about him?”

“I don't.”

“You just reacted.”

“I reacted because you mentioned a name I've never heard before.”

I studied him carefully.

He was lying.

Or hiding something.

My phone vibrated again.

I pulled it out.

This time, there was no message.

There was a photograph.

My mother.

Standing outside her house.

And Noah beside her.

My blood ran cold.

Damian saw the picture.

His expression immediately hardened.

“Who sent that?”

“I don't know.”

“Give me the phone.”

“No.”

“This isn't a game.”

“I know!”

My voice cracked.

For the first time that night, the anger in his expression disappeared.

He walked around the desk.

“Where is your son?”

“With my mother.”

“Is anyone else there?”

“I don't know.”

“Call her.”

I did.

The phone rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

No answer.

My heart began pounding.

Again.

Still nothing.

Damian took out his phone.

“I'll send security.”

“I can handle this.”

“You're not handling anything alone.”

I glared at him.

“I've been handling everything alone for five years.”

His expression softened for just a moment.

“I know.”

Those two words hurt more than they should have.

I looked away.

The call finally connected.

My mother's frightened voice came through.

“Hello?”

“Mom?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you?”

“In the house.”

“Is Noah with you?”

“Yes. He's sleeping.”

I closed my eyes.

Relief washed through me.

“Lock every door.”

“What's happening?”

“Just do it.”

I ended the call.

Damian was already typing something into his phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Sending two security teams to your mother's house.”

“You don't know where she lives.”

He looked up.

“I know.”

I stared at him.

Of course he did.

The Cross family had resources I couldn't imagine.

And that frightened me almost as much as the threat.

“Why are you helping me?”

“Because someone is watching you.”

“That doesn't explain why you care.”

His expression became unreadable.

“I don't.”

The answer was immediate.

Too immediate.

I almost smiled.

“Liar.”

His eyes met mine.

Neither of us spoke.

Then someone knocked.

Damian's attorney entered.

“Mr. Cross, the paperwork is ready.”

“What paperwork?”

The attorney glanced at me.

Then at Damian.

“The marriage agreement.”

My heart stopped.

Damian nodded.

“Leave it.”

The attorney placed a thick document on the desk and walked out.

I stared at the papers.

“You're not actually considering this.”

“I have thirty days.”

“You could find someone else.”

“My grandfather specifically chose you.”

“And you're just going to obey him?”

“No.”

Damian opened the document.

“I'm going to find out why.”

I looked at the contract.

Then at him.

“What exactly are you proposing?”

“A temporary marriage.”

“How temporary?”

“One year.”

I laughed in disbelief.

“You're asking the woman who believes your family destroyed hers to marry you for a year.”

“Yes.”

“You've lost your mind.”

“Possibly.”

“And what do I get?”

His answer came without hesitation.

“Access.”

I stopped.

“To what?”

“Cross International's archived records.”

My pulse quickened.

“The records concerning Vale Industries?”

“All of them that I'm legally permitted to access.”

I stared at him.

He knew exactly what I wanted.

Five years of searching.

Five years of unanswered questions.

Maybe the evidence I needed was sitting inside Cross International's archives.

But there was a problem.

I didn't trust Damian.

And I certainly didn't trust his family.

Damian pushed the contract toward me.

“You don't have to decide tonight.”

I looked at the first page.

Then at my name.

Then at the signature line waiting beneath it.

For five years, I'd wanted one thing.

The truth.

Now the truth was sitting on a desk in front of me.

And the price of getting it might be marrying the man I had sworn never to forgive.

I reached for the contract.

Then I noticed something written in the margin.

Three handwritten words.

Ask about Marcus.

My fingers froze.

I looked at Damian.

He was watching me.

“You saw that?”

His face had gone completely still.

“No.”

I turned the page.

There, beneath my grandfather's signature, was another handwritten note.

And this time, there was no doubt whose handwriting it was.

I knew it.

I had seen it hundreds of times growing up.

It belonged to my father.