UnMarried

The city skyline stretched out before Adrian Knight like a kingdom he had conquered but could never truly rule. At two in the morning, the forty-fifth floor of Knight Tower was silent, save for the low hum of the climate control and the occasional flicker of a computer screen in the corner. Adrian sat behind his massive oak desk, his tie loosened, the top two buttons of his white shirt undone. His dark eyes were fixed on the blueprints spread out in front of him—a multi-million-dollar luxury development on the east side of the city. To the world, it was a masterpiece of modern architecture. To Adrian, it was the latest vessel for washing the syndicate’s money. The scent of fresh ink from the forged permits still lingered on his fingers. On the corner of his desk, the heavy counting machine sat silent now, but he could still hear the mechanical whir of it from earlier, spitting out banded stacks of cash that would never touch a legitimate bank account. He rubbed his tired eyes, the fatigue weighing heavily on his shoulders. He had been here since five in the morning yesterday. He practically lived in this office, a glass-and-steel cage at the top of a skyscraper he had built with his own blood and sweat. And yet, he was still no closer to the CEO chair. The heavy oak door to his office swung open. Adrian didn't look up. Only one person had the clearance to enter without knocking. "You're still here," Marco said, his voice a gravelly rumble. He walked in, holding a thick manila folder. Marco was built like a tank, his tailored suit doing little to hide the bulk of his shoulders and the shoulder holster beneath his jacket. As Adrian's right hand, he handled the dirty work, the blood, and the bodies that kept the Knight syndicate in power. "Someone has to keep this company afloat," Adrian replied, his voice flat. He gestured to the blueprints. "The East Side project needs another twelve million laundered by the end of the quarter. The construction permits are still stalled in the city council. And Julian is throwing a charity gala next week that will probably cost us half a million dollars in expenses and a few thousand in damages when he gets drunk and insults the mayor." Marco grunted, dropping the folder on the desk. "Your brother is an idiot." "My brother is a liability," Adrian corrected coldly. He finally looked up, his gaze sharp. He remembered Julian’s visit to the office yesterday—not to work, but to show off the diamond-encrusted watch his wife had bought him. Julian had smirked at Adrian’s worn-out tie and said, “You should take a break, brother. Get a life. Maybe then Mother and Father will trust you with the big chair.” The memory still burned in Adrian's throat. "And my parents are blind to it. Did you take care of the thing with the dockworkers?" "Handled," Marco said. "They won't be stealing from the shipments again. But we need to talk about Marcus. His men have been sniffing around the east side. They know the real estate front is the backbone of our operation. If Marcus gets even a whiff of the money laundering, he won't just try to take the contracts. He'll burn the whole tower down with us inside." Adrian’s jaw tightened. Marcus Thorne was a vicious, calculating rival boss who controlled the southern syndicates. If he ever got solid proof of the Knight family's laundering operations, it wouldn't just be a corporate hostile takeover—it would be a bloodbath. "Let Marcus sniff," Adrian said, his voice low and dangerous. "He has no proof. And he won't touch us as long as I'm the one running the operation." Marco nodded, but a flicker of doubt crossed his eyes. "About that... your parents sent a message. They want to see you at the estate tomorrow morning. Nine o'clock sharp. They said it's about the succession." Adrian's hand stilled on the folder. The succession. For five years, he had played the dutiful son. He had taken the Knight syndicate’s fractured, failing businesses and turned them into a billion-dollar conglomerate. He had cleaned up Julian’s messes and risked his life in the streets. Two winters ago, he had taken a bullet to the shoulder during a negotiation with the dockworkers, just to keep the shipping lanes open. But Victor and Eleanor Knight were old-fashioned. They believed that a man wasn't ready to run the family company unless he was a family man himself. They had made it abundantly clear: Adrian's unwavering dedication and his scars meant nothing without a wife on his arm and an heir in the nursery. Julian, who had never worked a day in his life, had married a socialite heiress three years ago and had been their parents' favorite ever since. Adrian stared at the blueprints, his father's voice echoing in his head from a dinner last month. "A man who can't manage a household has no business managing an empire, Adrian. Julian understands that. Why can't you?" If Adrian didn't secure the CEO position, Julian would take the reins. And Julian would drive the entire empire straight into the ground within six months. "I have a bad feeling about this," Marco said, reading Adrian's expression. "They're going to push you again." Adrian stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the glittering city lights. He was a king trapped in a gilded cage, waiting for a crown that was being held just out of reach. He thought of his father's words, the smugness on Julian's face, the years of blood and sacrifice that meant nothing because he slept alone. "Let them push," Adrian said quietly. He turned back to face Marco, his dark eyes utterly devoid of warmth. "If they want a CEO with a wife, then I'll give them a wife." Marco blinked. "You're going to get married?" "I'm going to make a transaction," Adrian corrected. He picked up the manila folder Marco had dropped and flipped it open. Inside were profiles and photos—potential business associates, corporate spies, and socialites. "Find me someone desperate enough to sign a contract," Adrian ordered, sliding the folder back across the desk. "Someone with no reliable family support. No one who will ask questions. And make sure she's the kind of woman my parents will absolutely despise." Marco picked up the folder, his expression unreadable. "And if she refuses?" Adrian turned back to the window. "Then find the one thing she can't afford to lose and put a price on it. I don't care abo ut her reasons, Marco. I care about her signature."