THE BILLONAIRE'S REPLACEMENT BRIDE

Rules

The car stopped in front of The Blackwood Mansion and Adrian got out. He didn't offer his hand this time. She followed him up the steps into a foyer that echoed.

"Mrs. Blackwood." Elena flinched.

A woman stood in the doorway to what might have been a kitchen. She was sixty, maybe seventy, dressed in gray that matched the walls, her hair pulled back so tightly it seemed to stretch her face. She held a clipboard. Her eyes were the color of faded denim, and they took Elena in with a single, efficient sweep.

"Mrs. Hawthorne," Adrian said. "The head of household."

"Your room is prepared, Mrs. Blackwood." Mrs. Hawthorne's smile did not reach her eyes. "Dinner is at seven. Please let me know if you require anything... specific."

The way she said specific made Elena's skin prickle.

"Thank you," Elena managed. The name felt wrong in her mouth. Mrs. Blackwood.

Mrs. Hawthorne nodded and vanished down a corridor, her footsteps silent on stone that should have rung.

"She knows me," Elena said to Adrian's back.

"She knows who you need to be here." He didn't turn. "Come."

The stairs were wide enough for three. The hallway above was long enough to get lost in. Adrian stopped at a door near the end, pushed it open, and stepped aside.

Elena walked in.The room was... right. That was the worst part. The bed was dressed in cream and charcoal, colors she had always preferred but never declared. The closet was already filled...clothes in her size, her style, things she might have chosen herself. A sketchbook sat on the desk by the window. Her favorite brand of pencils beside it.

"How did you know?" She touched the sleeve of a sweater, soft as a whisper. "My size. The colors. The..." She picked up the pencils, her hands unsteady. "How did you know I draw?"

Adrian stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame. The light from the hallway cut him in half, illuminating nothing in his eyes.

"I make it my business," he said, "to know what belongs under my roof."

She turned to face him. "I'm not a possession, Adrian."

"No." He didn't step into the room. He didn't need to. He filled the doorway completely. "You're a partner with boundaries."

He held up a hand. Three fingers.

"First. You may go anywhere in this house except my private study. The east wing, third floor. The door is locked. Don't try to open it."

"Second. You don't need my permission to leave but security will know where you are not because you're a prisoner. Because you're a Blackwood now, and that makes you a target."

"Third." He paused. His gaze flicked to the bed, then away, smooth and deliberate. "Our arrangement stands. Separate bedrooms. Separate lives, where possible. In public, we are devoted. In private, we are..."

"Strangers?" Elena finished.

"Contracted."

She almost laughed. It came out as a breath, sharp and bitter. "And if I break one of these rules?"

Adrian looked at her. "You won't," he said.

Then he was gone, and the door clicked shut.

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Elena did not sleep. At midnight, she gave up trying to force herself to sleep

She pulled on the sweater from the closet and walked into the hallway. The carpet swallowed her footsteps. She walked without destination, letting the house guide her.

She found the east wing by accident.

The corridor was narrower here. The lights were dimmer, At the end, a single door. The study.

She stopped.

Clause 14. Never investigate or discuss Marcus Blackwood.

She should turn around but She didn't.

She stepped closer. Adrian's voice..Low and Furious came through Stripped of the calm he wore like armor.

"—can't keep protecting the memory, David. Marcus deserves more than a locked door and a silence that chokes us both."

Elena's breath stopped.

Then another voice, older, rougher. "And what? You think marrying her changes anything? You think she gives you what you need?"

"She gives me access."

"She gives you a complication. Richard Vale's daughter, Adrian. Have you thought about what happens when she finds out..."

"She won't."

"And if she does?"

Silence. Elena pressed her ear harder to the wood, her heart hammering against her ribs, her palm flat against the door as if she could push through it by will alone.

Then Adrian spoke, and his voice was so cold it burned.

"I buried my brother once," he said. "I won't bury his killer twice."

Elena's blood turned to ice.

Killer.

She stepped back.

Her heel caught the edge of the carpet. She stumbled, caught herself, but the movement was loud..too loud in the silence she had broken.

The door opened.

Adrian stood in the frame, backlit by the amber glow of the study, his face carved from shadow. He looked at her hand, still raised from catching her balance. He looked at her feet, positioned in the exact spot where she had been listening. He looked at her eyes, wide and guilty and terrified.

"Elena," he said. Her name had never sounded so final.

She opened her mouth to lie....To apologize but Nothing came out.