Chapter 3
905 Words
(Adrian’s POV)
The call came just after dusk. My office windows reflected nothing but my own shape and the city below blinking alive for the night.
I’d waited longer than I thought I would. Not that I would admit that to anyone — especially myself.
When my assistant patched her through, her voice sounded thin.. “I’ve decided,” she whispered. “I’ll… agree.”
A small thrill ran through me. Good.
“Tomorrow. Two o’clock,” I said, letting every word fall like a hammer. “My office. We’ll discuss terms.”
I didn’t bother to say more. She didn’t either. The line clicked off.
I spent the night reviewing the contract. The language was deliberately sharp, clear, inescapable.
Some rules were necessary for appearances. But others? They were mine alone. Tiny, ridiculous humiliations designed to remind her — every day — whose name she’d chosen to wear.
Breakfast must be served to me at 7:00 a.m. sharp, even if she has to wake two hours earlier.
Lunch brought to my office at noon; if I’m in a meeting, she’ll wait silently until I’m ready.
Dinner, formal, at the dining table at 8:00 p.m., no exceptions.
She must answer my calls within two rings, day or night.
Clothes for public appearances approved by me.
No guests in the penthouse. Ever.
These rules weren’t about love. They weren’t even about marriage. They were about control — about making sure Richard Carter’s daughter woke up and went to bed knowing whose hand held the leash.
She arrived on time. Small shoulders pulled back like she’d forced them there. She sat only when I nodded.
I watched her face carefully. Pale. Lips pressed together so hard they almost disappeared. But her chin stayed level. That stubbornness would make it hurt more when it finally broke.
She sat only when I nodded.
I watched her face carefully. Pale. Lips pressed together so hard they almost disappeared. But her chin stayed level. That stubbornness would make it hurt more when it finally broke.
I told her the rules. Cold, direct. “You’ll appear as my wife in public. You’ll follow the schedule I set. You’ll answer when I call.”
She didn’t ask why. She only asked what would happen to her family.
“If you do as you’re told, they’ll be safe,” I told her. It wasn’t a lie. Not entirely.
She swallowed hard, eyes shining with unshed tears she didn’t let fall in front of me. I almost respected that. Almost.
When I handed her the contract, she didn’t even read it properly.
She snatched up the pen and signed the 26-page contract without even glancing at the fine print. No hesitation, no scrutiny. Just a swift scribble of her name, as if she couldn’t wait to get it over with.
I watched with a mix of amusement and satisfaction as she pushed the papers back across the table, her eyes avoiding mine. No fear, no nerves. Just a quick signature, like she was signing for a package delivery. I was expecting more of a fight, more of a struggle. But instead, she just seemed… done with it.
The door clicked shut behind her.
I stayed where I was, staring at the empty chair she’d just left.
It was really happening. After all these years—late nights planning, replaying everything Richard Carter did—his daughter was finally mine to control. Every move she made would be under my rules. She won’t fight back, I told myself. She’s too scared. And if she tries… I’ll show her why she shouldn’t.
I turned to the window. Outside, the city kept moving, millions of people with lives that had nothing to do with mine.
But for me, it all came down to just two people now: her and me.
Funny thing—I almost felt calm for the first time in years.
Revenge was never supposed to be clean. It was supposed to hurt, to drag everything messy into the open. And now it had finally started.
(Leila’s POV)
The text came an hour later.
Tomorrow, 11:00 a.m. Court House. Hair and makeup appointment at 8:30 a.m. A car will pick you up at 8:00.
Just like that. No “please,” no name, no kindness.
My fingers hovered over the screen like I might type something back. But what could I say? Thank you? Why? I put the phone down instead.
That night, I lay awake staring at the cracked paint on the ceiling. My mind wouldn’t stop running circles.
What kind of man sends a text like that? No call, no meeting, no words. Just instructions. Like I was a package to be wrapped and delivered.
I wondered what tomorrow would feel like. Signing my name on marriage papers that means nothing, becoming someone’s wife. Will I be treated well?
Sleep never really came. At some point, I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the packed bag by the door. Just a few clothes, nothing special. I didn’t know what a billionaire’s wife was supposed to bring.
Morning quickly arrived. I got up, took a shower and made myself presentable.
At eight sharp, a message: The car is outside.
I kissed Mom’s cheek, breathing in the warm smell of home. “I’ll be okay,” I hoped
Then I picked up my bag and stepped outside, into my new life.
- Writer
