A CONTRACT MARRIAGE WITH MR. ADRIAN

chapter 3

Nadia’s POV

I stared at him, my drink halfway to my lips.

“What condition?”

He smiled, but it wasn’t the kind of smile that made me feel comfortable. It was the smile of someone who knew something I didn’t.

“I need a wife,” he said simply.

I nearly choked on my whiskey.

“Excuse me?”

“Not a real wife,” he continued, like he was discussing the weather. “A contract wife. One year. In exchange, I’ll help you destroy your husband and sister completely.”

I set my glass down hard on the bar.

“Are you insane?”

“Think about it,” he said, leaning back slightly. “You want revenge, but you don’t have the resources or connections to really hurt them. I do. I can make sure your divorce leaves you with everything and them with nothing. I can ruin his business, destroy her reputation. I can make them wish they’d never crossed you.”

My head was spinning, and it wasn’t just from the alcohol.

“Why would you help me? You don’t even know me.”

“Because I need something too,” he said. “My grandfather left me a company, but there’s a clause in his will. I can only take control if I’m married. My board of directors is trying to push me out and give it to my stepbrother. I need to act fast.”

“So find a real wife,” I said, standing up quickly. Maybe too quickly, because the room swayed a little.

He reached out to steady me, his hand firm on my arm.

“I don’t want a real wife. I want a business arrangement.”

I pulled my arm away.

“This is crazy. I don’t even know your name.”

“Adrian,” he said. “Adrian Cross. And you’re right, this is crazy. But sometimes crazy is exactly what you need.”

I shook my head, backing away from him.

“No. No, I can’t. I just got out of one marriage. I’m not jumping into another one, even a fake one.”

“I’m not asking you to decide right now,” Adrian said calmly. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a business card. “Think about it. Four days. That’s all I’m asking.”

I looked at the card but didn’t take it.

“Why four days?”

“Because in four days, your husband is going to serve you divorce papers that will leave you with almost nothing. And your sister is going to announce her pregnancy to your entire family.”

My blood ran cold.

“How do you know that?”

He smiled again, that dangerous smile.

“I make it my business to know things. Take the card, Nadia.”

Against my better judgment, I took it. The paper felt expensive between my fingers. Adrian Cross, CEO, Cross Industries.

“I’ve never heard of your company,” I said.

“Most people haven’t. We prefer to work behind the scenes. But we’re very good at what we do.”

“Which is?”

“Making problems disappear. Giving people exactly what they deserve.”

A chill ran down my spine.

“You sound like some kind of criminal.”

“I’m a businessman,” he said. “But I’m not above playing dirty when necessary. Your husband and sister certainly didn’t play fair with you.”

I stared at the card, my mind racing. Part of me wanted to throw it back at him and walk away. But another part of me—the part that was tired of being walked on—was curious.

“What exactly would this fake marriage involve?” I heard myself asking.

“Public appearances. Family dinners. Convincing people we’re happily married. In private, we’d live separate lives. You’d have your own space. Think of it as roommates with benefits.”

“What kind of benefits?”

“Revenge benefits,” he said. “And financial ones. I’d pay you well for your time.”

I shook my head again.

“I need to go home.”

“Of course,” he said, standing up. “But Nadia?”

I turned back to look at him.

“When your husband serves you those papers, when your sister makes her announcement, remember that you have options. You don’t have to be the victim anymore.”

I walked out of that club with his words echoing in my head.

The drive home was a blur. I kept thinking about what he’d said. How did he know about the divorce papers? About Elena’s announcement?

When I got home, the house felt even emptier than before. I sat on my couch, staring at Adrian’s business card.

Cross Industries. I’d never heard of them, but that didn’t mean anything. There were lots of companies I didn’t know about.

I turned the card over. On the back, he’d written a phone number in neat handwriting, and below it: “Four days. Then decide if you want to keep being their victim.”

I put the card on my coffee table and tried to forget about it. But every time I looked at it, I heard Elena’s voice: “He never loved you the way he loves me.”

And Damien’s: “Elena can give me what you never could.”

Maybe Adrian Cross was crazy. Maybe his offer was too good to be true.

But just maybe, he was exactly what I needed.

What was the worst that could happen?

The next morning, I woke up with a headache. I made coffee and tried to take my mind off last night and the business card.

But every few minutes, my eyes would drift back to it.

By afternoon, I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed my laptop and searched for Cross Industries.

What I found made my stomach drop.

Cross Industries was real, and it was huge. They owned companies I’d actually heard of—hotels, restaurants, tech firms. Adrian Cross wasn’t just some random guy from a bar. He was worth millions.

I stared at his photo on the company website. Even in the professional headshot, he had that same dangerous smile from last night. The bio said he was thirty-two, Harvard educated, and had taken over several failing companies and turned them into gold mines.

If he was this successful, why did he need a fake wife?

I was still reading about him when my phone rang. Damien’s name flashed on the screen.

“What do you want?” I answered.

“I’m coming by the house in an hour,” he said. “We need to discuss the divorce.”

“I told you to file the papers. There’s nothing to discuss.”

“There’s plenty to discuss. See you in an hour.”

He hung up before I could argue.

An hour later, Damien walked into the house. He was carrying a folder and wearing his lawyer face—the expression he used when he was about to deliver bad news.

“Sit down,” he said, gesturing to the couch like I was a client in his office.

“This is my house,” I said. “I’ll stand if I want to.”

He sighed and opened the folder.

“I’m trying to make this easy for you, Nadia. But you’re not helping.”

“Easy for me?” I laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Cheating on me with my sister was easy for me?”

“That’s not what I meant.” He pulled out a stack of papers. “These are the divorce terms I’m proposing.”

I took the papers and started reading. With each line, my anger grew.

He wanted the house. He wanted most of our savings. He wanted to keep his business while I got almost nothing.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said.

“Be reasonable, Nadia. You don’t have a job. This house is too big for one person anyway.”

“I don’t contribute?” My voice was getting louder. “I’ve supported your career for five years. I’ve organized your business dinners, managed this household while you built your practice.”

“None of that is legally considered contribution,” he said coldly.

I threw the papers at him.

“You want me to sign away everything so you can play house with my sister?”

“Elena has nothing to do with this.”

“Elena has everything to do with this!” I screamed. “You’ve been planning this for months, haven’t you? Making sure I’d be left with nothing.”

Damien stood up, straightening his tie.

“You have forty-eight hours to consider my offer. If you don’t sign, I’ll take you to court. And trust me, Nadia, you don’t want that. I have resources you don’t.”

After he left, I sat on the floor surrounded by scattered divorce papers. He was right about one thing—he had resources I didn’t. His law firm had connections everywhere. If this went to court, I’d be fighting with a public defender while he had a team of expensive lawyers.

I picked up Adrian’s business card.

Before I could change my mind, I dialed the number he’d written on the back.

He answered on the second ring.

“I was wondering when you’d call.”

“How did you know?” I asked.

“Know what?”

“About the divorce papers. You said four days, but he just served them to me today.”

“So, have you thought about my offer?” He diverted the question.

“I’m thinking about it right now,” I said. “But I need to know more. If I agree to this, what exactly would you do to help me?”

“Meet me tomorrow night. Same place. Eight o’clock. I’ll show you exactly what I can do.”