THE BILLIONAIRE'S HIDDEN CONTRACT WIFE

The Dinner

*Chapter 3: The Dinner*

Wanted: crystal chandeliers, champagne towers, and a hundred people watching her every move.

Adrian had introduced her as his wife exactly three times in the last hour. Each time, her stomach twisted.

“Smile,” he murmured as a photographer approached. His hand rested at the small of her back again, steady and grounding. “It’s two minutes.”

Elena smiled. The flash went off.

When the photographer moved on, she exhaled. “You’re good at this.”

“I’ve been doing it since I was twenty-two,” Adrian replied. “You’re better than most. You don’t look bored.”

“I’m terrified.”

That earned her a real look. Not the CEO look. Something quieter.

“You don’t have to be.” He glanced toward the bar where Serena was now talking to a financial reporter. “She’s trying to provoke you.”

“Let her try.” Elena picked up a champagne flute she had no intention of drinking. “I signed a contract, not a surrender.”

Adrian studied her for a beat too long. “Most people would’ve folded by now.”

“Most people aren’t drowning in medical debt with a brother depending on them.” Elena’s voice was low. “Don’t mistake survival for compliance, Mr. Blackwell.”

“Adrian,” he corrected automatically. Then: “I know.”

The orchestra shifted into a slower piece. Couples drifted to the dance floor.

Adrian extended his hand. “One dance. For the cameras.”

Elena hesitated. It wasn’t in the contract. But refusing now would look worse.

She placed her hand in his.

He pulled her in close, not too close, but close enough that she could feel the solid line of his chest and smell the faint cedar of his cologne. His movements were precise, practiced. Hers were stiff.

“You’re tense,” he said.

“You’re a stranger holding me in front of fifty cameras.”

“Stranger with a contract,” Adrian replied. A hint of amusement touched his voice.

Elena looked up at him. In the soft lighting, the sharp edges of his face softened. For the first time, he didn’t look like a billionaire or a headline. He just looked tired.

“Why me, Adrian?” she asked quietly. “You could’ve hired an actress.”

“Actresses lie better,” he said. “You don’t.”

The music ended. They stepped apart.

But as they walked back to the table, Elena realized her hand still felt warm from where he’d held it.

And Adrian wasn’t looking at Serena anymore.

He was looking at her.