My Ex Married My Enemy

CHAPTER 4: THE PROPOSITION

The elevator did not move for ten seconds.

The man's voice on the phone was still echoing in the small metal box.

"Your father told Mark to do it! Your father is backing them, sir!"

Adrian Blackwood stood completely still. His hand holding the phone was so tight his knuckles were white like bone. His jaw was locked so hard I could see the muscle jumping under his skin. His breathing had stopped.

I had seen Adrian angry before. At New York Fashion Week, when a young designer copied his work, his voice became quiet and cold and he destroyed the boy's career with three words in an interview. But this was not that anger. This was different. This was pain. Deep, old pain.

"Adrian?" I whispered.

He did not answer. He pressed the red button to end the call with a hard, sharp movement. Then he pressed the button for the ground floor again. The elevator started moving down with a soft hum.

The silence inside was now heavy and dangerous.

"Your father..." I started to say, but I did not know how to finish.

"Don't," he said. His voice was low and rough, like he had not used it for many days. He was not looking at me. He was looking at the elevator door, but he was not seeing it. His eyes were somewhere far away, in the past. "Don't talk about him."

I closed my mouth. I held my bag tighter. My cracked phone was inside it. My divorce paper was inside his pocket.

The elevator dinged. Ground floor. The doors opened to the busy reception. Lawyers and clients walking fast, holding coffee.

Adrian walked out first. Fast. Long steps. He did not wait for me. I had to almost run in my heels to catch up with him. My dirty dress was still dirty. My face was still swollen. People in the reception stared at us again - the tall perfect billionaire walking fast and angry, and the small broken girl running behind him trying to keep up.

Outside, the hot New York summer air hit my face. His black Bentley was waiting by the road, engine running. The driver jumped out and opened the back door.

Adrian stopped beside the car. He finally turned to look at me. His face was a mask again. Cold, controlled, no emotion. But his eyes were red at the corners. Like he wanted to cry but would never allow himself to cry.

"Get in," he said.

I hesitated. My heart was beating fast. Everything was happening too fast. This morning I was a wife signing divorce papers. This afternoon I was a girl on the floor of a law building. Now a billionaire was telling me to get into his car.

"Adrian, I think I need to go to my father's hospital first, or to my studio, my workers are..."

"Your workers will still be there in two hours. Your father is stable, I already called Mount Sinai hospital. Right now you need a lawyer more than you need tears," he cut me off. His voice was sharp, but not cruel. Efficient. Like a surgeon. "Get in, Julia. If you want your company back."

It was not a request. It was an order. And for the first time in my life, I was happy someone was ordering me. Because I had no strength left to decide anything by myself.

I got into the cool, dark car. The leather was cold on my hot skin. It smelled like new money and his cologne. Adrian got in beside me. He did not sit far away like a polite man should. He sat close, his knee almost touching mine. The driver closed the door and the world outside disappeared behind tinted windows.

"Blackwood Tower, fast," Adrian told the driver.

The car moved smoothly into Manhattan traffic. Horns, yellow cabs, tourists taking pictures.

For five minutes, no one talked. I looked out of the window. I saw my city passing by - hot dog stands, people walking dogs, a man playing saxophone on the corner. Normal life. Everyone's life was normal except mine.

Adrian was typing furiously on his phone, his long fingers moving fast. His body was tense, leaning forward, his shoulders high near his ears.

Then he stopped typing and threw his phone onto the seat beside him with force. It bounced. He rubbed his face hard with both hands, a gesture so human and tired that it shocked me. The great Adrian Blackwood looked tired.

"My father," he said suddenly, to no one, to the air in the car. "Of all people. He chooses Mark."

I turned to look at him. My anger for my own story went quiet for a second because his pain was louder.

"Mark is your half-brother?" I asked softly.

He laughed, but there was no happiness in it. A dry, broken laugh.

"Half-brother. Yes. Same useless father, different mothers. My father left my mother when I was ten. He told her she was too local, too poor, too... not enough. He said my mother had no class. Mark's mother was old New York money. Her family owned buildings on Park Avenue. So he left us in a one-bedroom apartment in Queens where the heater never worked in winter, and he moved to a penthouse on the Upper East Side to drink champagne with Mark's family. He never called on my birthday. Not once in twenty-four years. And now... now he is helping Mark steal from you to hurt me. Because he knows if he hurts you, he hurts my business."

His hands were in fists on his knees. I could see his chest rising and falling fast under his perfect white shirt.

Without thinking, I reached out and placed my small hand over his big fist.

His whole body froze. He looked down at my hand on his like he had never been touched before.

My hand was shaking a little, but I did not take it away.

"I am sorry," I whispered. "I know how it feels when your father chooses another family over you. My mother died thinking my father loved his sewing machines more than her. Fathers can be cruel without knowing it."

Adrian looked down at my hand on his fist. Slowly, very slowly, his fist opened under my hand. His fingers turned and held my hand. Not tight. Just holding. His palm was hot.

"Thank you," he whispered back. His voice was barely there.

We sat like that, holding hands in the back of a Bentley in New York traffic, two broken people from different worlds, holding each other because no one else would understand this kind of pain.

The car stopped in front of Blackwood Tower. The huge black glass building that touched the clouds. I had only ever seen it from outside. This was where he destroyed companies. People said when you enter this building as a small owner, you leave with nothing.

"Come," he said, letting go of my hand. His voice was business again, but softer now. He looked embarrassed that he had held my hand.

We went up to the 50th floor. His office was exactly like I imagined but bigger. Black, white, glass. No color. No family photos. No softness. Only awards and a huge window showing all of Manhattan, tiny like toys far below.

A woman in a sharp red suit was already waiting. Attorney Sarah. She looked serious and smart and kind.

"Sit," Adrian said to me, pointing to a soft leather chair in front of his massive desk. He did not sit. He stood by the window, his back to us, looking at the city, his hands behind his back, tight.

Attorney Sarah pushed a laptop towards me. On it was the fake transfer document.

"As you can see, Mrs. Carter," she said gently, "this signature is forged. A handwriting expert can prove it in court in one day. But a court case to get your company back will take at least six months, maybe one year. In that time, Mark Harris can sell your Brooklyn building. The building alone is worth four million dollars. Once it is sold to a developer, you can never get it back, even if you win the case. The law will only give you money, not the building."

My heart sank down to my stomach. "So I have lost. The building my mother painted with her own hands..."

"No," Adrian said from the window. He turned around. His face was calm again, his billionaire mask back on, perfect and cold. "You have not lost if you become someone they cannot touch."

He walked to his desk, opened a drawer, and took out a thick file. He slid it across the smooth glass desk towards me. It stopped right in front of me with a soft sound.

"What is this?" I asked.

"Open it," he said.

I opened it. The first page had big, bold letters: CONTRACT OF MARRIAGE - 6 MONTHS - PRIVATE & CONFIDENTIAL.

My mouth fell open. "What?"

Adrian leaned forward, both hands on the desk, his face close to mine. I could see his dark eyes clearly. I could see my own scared reflection in them. I could smell his cologne and it made my head spin.

"Marry me, Julia," he said quietly. Every word clear. "For six months. On paper."

The room became completely silent. Attorney Sarah looked down at her laptop, pretending she was very busy, pretending she was not hearing the most crazy thing I had ever heard.

"What... what are you saying?" I stammered. My face became hot, red. "You don't even like me... you said my last collection was pointless..."

"I don't need to like you to marry you," he said bluntly. No sugar. "This is business. Pure business. Listen to me carefully before you say no."

He started pacing around the room as he talked, his body moving with controlled power, like a caged lion.

"Clause one: You and I will get a court marriage tomorrow morning at 9am at City Hall. Just paper. No church, no party. Six months. In public, you will be Mrs. Adrian Blackwood. My wife. The wife of the most feared man in New York fashion. Every camera will be on you."

"Clause two: As my wife, your company, Carter Designs, automatically falls under the protection of Blackwood Group. My lawyers will file that Mark stole from my family. No judge in New York will allow Mark to sell a company that now belongs to my wife while we are in court. That buys us the six months we need to prove forgery without losing your building."

"Clause three: I will pay all your father's hospital bills. I will pay your workers' salaries for six months. I will give you one hundred thousand dollars to restart your designs. I will make you untouchable. No one will ever put you on a floor again."

He stopped pacing and stood in front of me. He crouched down again, just like in the hallway, so we were eye level. His knees almost touched mine.

"Clause four: In return, you will help me. I need to win the American Fashion Council Chairman seat next month. The board members are old men. They think I am too ruthless, too cold, too... unmarried and unstable. They respect your family name. Your late mother was loved by everyone in Brooklyn fashion. If I come with a wife, a respectable, talented wife from a real fashion family, they will vote for me. You will attend dinners with me, smile with me, pretend you adore me in public."

He looked into my eyes, deep.

"Clause five: After six months, we file for quiet divorce. No press. You keep one hundred percent of Carter Designs. I keep my chairman seat. We both walk away richer. No feelings. No drama. Just business. Six months."

I stared at the paper. My hands were shaking again, but for a different reason now. Not sadness. Shock.

"Six months fake marriage?" I whispered. "Live with you? In your house?"

"Live in my penthouse, yes," he said. "We will have separate rooms. Separate bathrooms. I will never touch you unless you ask me to. You have my word. I may be ruthless, Julia, but I am not a man who forces women. My mother raised me better than my father."

His word. Everyone in business in New York said Adrian Blackwood never breaks his word. If he says he will destroy you, he destroys you. If he says he will protect you, he will protect you with his life.

"And if I say no?" I asked, my voice small.

"Then you walk out of this office, go back to sitting on floors, and watch Vanessa wear your mother's designs on i********: while your father dies because you cannot pay his hospital bill and your workers go hungry," he said coldly. No softness. Just hard truth hitting my face.

Tears came to my eyes again, but I pushed them back. I bit my lip hard until I tasted blood again.

Attorney Sarah spoke softly, "Julia, I have to tell you, legally, this is the fastest way to save your company. As a single woman fighting a rich man with a good lawyer, the court will delay. As Mrs. Adrian Blackwood fighting, the court will run fast because they are scared of him."

I looked down at the contract. Ten pages of big legal words. At the last page, a line for my signature.

My life had become signatures. This morning I signed divorce. Now I am to sign marriage. In one day. From Mrs. Carter to Mrs. Blackwood in less than 24 hours.

"Can I... can I think about it? One day?" I asked.

Adrian checked his expensive gold watch. "You have five minutes. My driver is waiting to take us to your Brooklyn studio. Your workers are still in the sun. Rosa is still lying on the ground."

Five minutes. To decide my next six months. To decide if I will become a wife again one day after becoming free.

I closed my eyes. I saw Rosa lying in the sun. I saw my father's shaking hands in the hospital bed. I saw Mark kissing Vanessa and calling my mother's company a wedding gift.

I opened my eyes. I picked up the heavy black pen on his desk. It had his name on it. A. BLACKWOOD. Heavy like power.

"Give me another pen," I said.

"Why?" he frowned, confused.

"Because I don't want to sign my future with a pen that belongs to you. I want to sign it with my own hand, my own choice."

Something flashed in his eyes. Respect. A small smile touched his lips.

He handed me Attorney Sarah's simple blue Bic pen.

I signed. Julia Carter. Big and bold. No shaking this time. The blue ink looked bright on the white paper.

"Done," I said, my voice clear for the first time today.

Adrian stared at my signature, then at me. He slowly took the pen from my hand. Our fingers touched. A spark, hot and quick, like electricity, ran up my arm. Both of us felt it. His eyes widened a tiny bit. My breath caught.

"Welcome to the family, Mrs. Blackwood," he whispered, his voice suddenly husky.

"Don't call me that yet," I said, trying to sound brave, but my voice was a whisper too. "We are not married until tomorrow."

"Tomorrow morning, nine AM, City Hall," he said, leaning closer, his face inches from mine. I could feel his warm breath on my lips. "Don't be late, wife. And wear something white. Even fake brides wear white."

Attorney Sarah coughed loudly and awkwardly. "Ah... sir, there is one more thing in clause seven that Mrs... that Julia did not read. Page nine."

Adrian frowned. "What clause seven? I didn't write seven clauses."

Attorney Sarah pushed her glasses up, her face nervous. "Clause seven, sir, you told me last month to add it to all your partnership contracts as a joke. You said... you said love makes people stupid and you don't want stupid partners. So I added it to the template. I forgot to remove it from this personal contract. I am so sorry, sir."

Adrian's eyes narrowed. He flipped to page nine fast.

There, in small letters at the bottom.

It read: "If either party falls in love with the other during the contract period, this contract becomes void immediately and the party who fell in love loses all benefits and must leave with nothing."