CONTRACT MARRIAGE

CHAPTER FIFTEEN— THE UNHOLY ALLIANCE

The drive to the Moretti estate was a descent into the dark heart of the city's rivalry. Julian drove himself, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard the leather groaned. Beside him, I felt the weight of the ledger in my lap—a paper trail of blood and broken legacies.

Marco Moretti didn't meet us in a boardroom. He met us in a dimly lit cigar lounge in the basement of his brownstone, surrounded by the smell of expensive tobacco and old grudges. When he saw Julian walk in with me at his side, he didn't gloat. He simply poured three glasses of amber liquid and leaned back.

"I expected you to call, Julian," Marco said, his voice smooth and dangerous. "I didn't expect you to bring the wife. Isn't she supposed to be tucked away in your glass tower?"

"The tower is burning, Marco," Julian said, dropping the ledger onto the low mahogany table between them. "And my grandfather is the one holding the match."

Marco picked up the book, his eyes scanning the entries. As he reached the pages detailing the Vance collapse and the mention of Julian’s mother, his smirk vanished. A heavy, genuine silence filled the room.

"Arthur always was a butcher," Marco whispered, closing the book with a soft thud. "He didn't just win; he erased people. My father spent his last years trying to prove Arthur sabotaged the 2004 merger. He died thinking he was crazy. This... this is the proof."

"I don't want your sympathy, Marco," Julian snapped. "I want your infrastructure. You have the offshore accounts and the media contacts that Arthur hasn't bought yet. I have the internal access codes to the Blackwood mainframes. Together, we can liquidate his personal holdings before he even realizes the board has turned against him."

Marco looked at me, then back at Julian. "And what do I get? Aside from the pleasure of watching the King of Wall Street fall?"

"You get the Connecticut properties back," I said, my voice steady despite the trembling in my soul. "The Vance estate stays with me, but the commercial land Arthur stole from your father? It goes back to the Morettis. We don't want an empire built on skeletons."

Marco studied us for a long moment. Then, he stood up and extended a hand. Julian took it. The pact was sealed—a Blackwood and a Moretti, united by a Vance, to take down the man who had played them all.

But as we walked out into the cold night air, my phone vibrated. A message from an unknown number.

It was a video file. I pressed play, and my heart stopped.

It was a grainy recording from the penthouse kitchen—the night we signed the contract. Julian’s voice was clear, cold, and detached: "She’s just a line item, Arthur. Ten million for a year of her life. I’ll dump her the moment the promotion is official."

I looked at Julian, who was opening the car door for me. He looked like the man I was starting to love. But the voice in the video... that was the man I had married.

"Elena? What is it?"

I looked at the screen, then at him. The alliance was formed, the war was starting, but the foundation of our "marriage" had just been hit by a wrecking ball.

"Genevieve," I whispered, showing him the screen. "She didn't just watch us, Julian. She recorded the beginning."

Julian’s face went bone-white. The trap wasn't just for Arthur. It was for us.