💍 THE HEIR’S RELUCTANT WIFE

Chapter Six — Adrian’s POV

She was everywhere in my mind. Every time I tried to focus on the reports, the meetings, or the endless empire I was supposed to control, her image kept surfacing—Aria Collins, the girl my father had handpicked to be my wife. The thought should have irritated me. Should have made me angry. She was supposed to be a pawn, a tool to satisfy my father’s schemes. Yet, she wasn’t a pawn. Not really. Not to me.

From the moment I saw her in the cafeteria yesterday, hesitant, tense, yet quietly defiant, I had been unable to ignore her. Every reaction, every subtle movement, every glance she gave—or didn’t give—felt like a challenge. And the way her body responded to my proximity—her pulse racing, her lips parting ever so slightly, the faint flush along her neck—was driving me insane.

I hated it. Hated it. Hated her. And hated myself for wanting more.

She was mine by circumstance, my father’s arrangement, a contract I hadn’t agreed to. But instinctively, every part of me wanted her. Every protective, possessive instinct screamed at me to keep her close, to claim her, to dominate her attention. And yet, I couldn’t allow it… not yet.

I sat in my office, legs stretched across the desk, and replayed the morning’s interactions. Her hands had trembled slightly over the keyboard, the faintest quiver that most people wouldn’t notice, but I had. I always noticed. And the way she had glanced up at me, trying to assert composure while her pulse betrayed her, made my chest tighten.

The world wanted her weak. My father wanted her convenient. And I… I wanted her entirely for myself.

I closed my eyes and imagined her here in the office alone with me. Not at her desk, typing carefully, but standing close, daring to look at me without fear. Her scent, subtle and sweet, her warmth, the small movements of her body that I already memorized in my mind…

I growled softly to myself. That had been the mistake. Letting my thoughts drift so far into desire for someone who didn’t even know the real truth about her role in my life.

A knock on my door snapped me back to reality.

“Adrian,” my assistant’s voice said. “Your father wants to see you.”

I cursed under my breath. It was too early for his interference. I stood, smoothing my jacket, and followed her down the corridor. My father’s office was the same as ever: imposing, cold, a monument to power and control. But today, as always, the words he said to me carried more weight than they should.

“Adrian,” my father began without preamble, “I trust you’ve met Aria Collins properly.”

I stiffened. “Yes, Father.”

“Good. She starts her position here, yes?”

“Yes. And she’s… competent,” I said cautiously, unwilling to give him more praise than necessary.

He arched a brow. “Competent? Adrian, I didn’t hire her for competence. I hired her to be your wife. Do you understand?”

I bit back a sharp retort. I didn’t like the implication, didn’t like the order, didn’t like being treated as though my feelings—or lack thereof—mattered. “I understand,” I said evenly.

My father’s eyes narrowed. “This is not optional. She will be your wife. Your inheritance, your power, everything depends on it. And Adrian…” His voice dropped slightly, deadly serious. “I don’t want excuses. I want results.”

I clenched my fists, feeling a familiar surge of irritation mixed with something darker. I hated being forced. Hated it. And yet… I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Every glance, every subtle defiance, every hesitant response she gave had lodged in my mind like a persistent flame.

By the time I returned to my office, my body felt taut with tension, my mind restless. I sank into my chair, thinking about her again—how she had trembled in the cafeteria, how she had tried to assert composure, how she had ignored the heat of my gaze while every instinct of hers screamed otherwise.

I hated her. And I wanted her.

I stood abruptly and walked to the corner of the office where her desk was. She was there, typing steadily, completely unaware of my approach, as if she thought I wouldn’t notice every movement she made.

“You’re working hard,” I said softly, almost a growl. She startled, fingers freezing over the keyboard. “Good. I like that.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked down, pretending not to notice me. I leaned slightly over her desk, careful not to touch her, though every inch of my body wanted to. “Do you know why you’re here, Aria?”

She swallowed, lifting her gaze, eyes wide. “I… my father said—”

“Don’t talk about your father,” I interrupted smoothly. “You’re here because my father wants me to marry you.”

Her breath hitched, just slightly, and I felt my control tighten. She wasn’t supposed to react like that. Not this soon. But the way she looked at me—fear, confusion, and something else, something… electrical—made my chest tighten in ways I couldn’t rationalize.

“You… you want me to marry you?” she whispered, voice trembling.

“No,” I said quietly, low, dangerous. “I don’t want anything yet. But I will claim you… in time. And by then, you’ll understand that no one else’s hand can touch you but mine.”

Her lips parted slightly, and a faint shiver ran through her. She tried to pull herself together, to respond logically, to remind herself that this was a business arrangement, a contract. But her body betrayed her. She was trembling slightly, her pulse racing, her breaths shallow.

And I realized, with a mix of satisfaction and frustration, that I was just as affected.

I straightened, stepping back, letting the tension linger like a live wire between us. “Go back to work,” I said, voice low, yet carrying that edge of ownership that I couldn’t deny. “And remember… I notice everything.”

She nodded quickly, cheeks burning, fingers returning to the keyboard. I turned away, leaving her to her work, but my thoughts followed her like a shadow. She was mine by circumstance. And I intended to make sure that by desire, she would be mine too.