The Marriage Clause

Chapter 13

Vivian's POV:

Usually, the bride moves into the groom’s home. But as the town car glided through the slick, rain-washed streets toward my building, I found myself asking a simple question: Who made that rule anyway?

Some long-forgotten tradition dictated by a patriarchal system that believed women were property to be transported from one household to another. I had no interest in following outdated customs. It was my company on the line, my money paying the bills, and my penthouse waiting at the end of the drive. I had already assigned movers to transfer Adrian’s belongings from his apartment earlier that morning. By now, his life was neatly boxed and waiting inside my walls.

Beside me, Adrian was completely silent.

The soft, blue light of his phone screen illuminated his sharp jawline as his thumb flicked across unread emails. It was an unusual, heavy silence—a stark contrast to the effortless, warm conversations that usually flowed between us.

He doesn't like this marriage, the dark, cynical voice in my head whispered.

My stomach tightened into a hard knot. Does he have someone else? Someone he actually likes?

I had asked him directly, and he’d said no. If a woman was waiting in the wings, he could have easily declined my offer, and I would have abandoned the idea altogether. But what if he did have someone, and the sheer magnitude of my financial proposal had simply proved too tempting to resist?

A cold wave of dread washed over me. Was I eventually going to end up just like my mother?

The image of my father cheating behind my mother's back while she bled herself dry to save Aurora flashed behind my eyelids. The thought made my blood run cold. But I had no intention of following in Victoria Matthews' footsteps—holding onto a marriage and denying a divorce, clinging to the naive, hopeless wish that her husband would realize his mistakes and return to her.

I am Vivian. If Adrian ever betrayed me—if he took my money while secretly pining for or seeing another woman—I wouldn't just divorce him. I would utterly destroy him.

"We have arrived, Ms. Matthews," the driver announced smoothly, pulling me out of my murderous thoughts.

Adrian immediately tucked his phone away, stepped out, and held the door for me.

"Thank you," I murmured, my voice returning to its usual composed cadence.

I ushered him toward the private residential elevators and tapped my VIP access card against the scanner. The doors slid shut, sealing us inside the sleek, mirrored cabin that would carry us directly to my 26th-floor penthouse without a single stop.

The instant the elevator began its smooth ascent, my mind betrayed me, dragging me straight back to Geneva. Straight back to the heavy scent of scotch, the warmth of his chest beneath my hands, and the desperate, humiliating way I had pulled him down for a kiss.

Heat bloomed rapidly across my neck and cheeks. I stared fixedly at the floor, praying the dim lighting would hide my flush, but as I glanced up at the mirrored wall, I caught the subtle, infuriating smirk resting on his lush lips. He remembered. Of course he remembered. At least, it wasn't a wet dream that I had that day.

Ting.

The elevator doors chimed and slid open directly into my foyer.

I stepped out first, gesturing toward the expanse of polished hardwood and floor-to-ceiling glass. "Welcome home."

"My pleasure," Adrian replied softly, stepping past me and taking in the panoramic view of the London skyline sparkling in the night. "You have a beautiful home, Vivian."

"Thanks."

I spent the next few minutes walking him through the layout—pointing out the kitchen, the private study, and the terrace—before leading him down the quiet hallway toward the master wing. We stopped outside the double doors of my bedroom.

"This is my room," I said, pointing to the grand space featuring a custom king-sized bed imported directly from Germany, specifically designed to relieve the chronic ache in my spine after eighteen-hour workdays.

"Grand," he commented, his voice carrying a quiet, unreadable depth.

I held his gaze, testing the waters. "I'm sure you wouldn't want to share it with me."

I knew what he would say if I offered, not that I was dying to share my bed with anyone.

Adrian didn't answer right away. He simply stood there, his deep hazel eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath hitch in my throat. He didn't offer a polite decline, nor did he laugh it off. He just looked at me in a heavy, loaded silence that sent a shiver down my spine.

Clearing my throat to break the sudden tension, I stepped across the hallway and opened the door opposite mine. "So.. yours is this one."

It was an exact twin of my suite—outfitted with the same luxury, a walk-in closet where his movers had already unpacked his clothes, an ensuite bathroom, and a custom-made bed. "I hope you like your room.."

"Thanks. I sure do.."

Standing so close to Adrian in the empty expanse of my penthouse sent a wave of unpredictable thoughts spiraling through my head.

"Let me call it a night then..." I said, faking a light yawn to mask my unease. "Goodnight, Adrian."

"Goodnight, Vivian," he replied gently.

We stepped into our respective rooms, and the heavy doors clicked shut simultaneously.

I immediately leaned my back against the cold wood of my door, closing my eyes as a long, ragged exhale escaped my lips.

Why didn't he stop me?

A pathetic, desperate thought crossed my mind before I could stop it: I wish he had stopped me and said he didn't mind sharing the bed.

Was I really that repulsive to men? Was I so cold, so rigid, so deeply unappealing that even a man I was paying handsomely preferred to sleep in a separate room?

"Stop it, Vivian," I scolded myself sternly, marching toward the bathroom. "You are happy alone. You don't need a man. You have never needed one."

I stripped off my bridal suit, stood under the scalding water of the shower until my skin turned red, and finally crawled into my cold, empty bed.

***

In the weeks that followed, my life didn't change much on the surface.

If anything, I worked harder than ever. I spent my days submerged in financial restructuring, legal battles, and board preparations, coming home only to sleep. The only real difference was that Adrian was always there. He was beside me at the office, sitting across from me in executive meetings, and waiting in the penthouse when the workday ended.

Surprisingly, the dynamics of our relationship remained completely concealed from the public. Most of the employees at Aurora had no idea we were married, save for the few trusted board members who had attended the courthouse ceremony.

I knew for a fact that if Adrian had boasted about marrying the CEO of Aurora Life Sciences—as almost any other ambitious man in his position would have—the news would have spread through the corporate world like wildfire. But he said nothing. He wore his simple silver band with quiet dignity, maintaining our strict boss-and-subordinate dynamic at work, and acting like a polite, civil roommate at home.

Yet, I had to admit to myself... he was the absolute best husband material a woman could ask for.

Without ever being asked, Adrian effortlessly took over the domestic side of my chaotic life. He cooked incredible, healthy meals, kept the penthouse immaculate, stocked the refrigerator with groceries, and even took the time to water the delicate orchids in my study. How many men in high-powered corporate environments could do that? I certainly hadn't met any.

And then there was his physical presence.

Adrian worked out twice a day—once at five in the morning before I woke up, and again late at night. That was how he maintained the razor-sharp, sculpted six-pack hidden beneath his tailored work shirts.

I had the misfortune of discovering this firsthand one night when I woke up parched and walked into the kitchen for a glass of water. Adrian was sitting on the living room sofa in the dark, watching a film, completely bare-chested in a pair of low-slung lounge pants. The faint glow of the television illuminated the cut of his chest, the deep lines of his abdomen, and the broad expanse of his shoulders.

I had frozen in the hallway, my heart hammering violently against my ribs. I had never felt hotter or more flustered in my entire life.

He was the complete package. Inside and out.

The girl who gets him after our contract ends is going to be one lucky b***h, I thought bitterly, pouring myself water with trembling hands. Why do I want to kill her already?

***

Finally, the day arrived. The deadline.

I stood before the full-length mirror in my dressing room, adjusting the lapels of a sharp, tailored crimson suit. A dark, victorious smirk touched my lips as I met my own reflection.

Today, the terms of my mother's will officially matured.

I knew with absolute certainty that Richard Matthews would pay me a visit at the office today, expecting to find me empty-handed, ready to strip the CEO title from my grip and declare himself the rightful heir to Aurora. He truly had no idea what his daughter was capable of—or the lengths I would go to protect what belonged to me by right.

A soft knock interrupted my thoughts.

The door creaked open, and Adrian peeked his head around the frame, a boyish, hesitant smile playing on his lips. "Is it safe to come in?"

"Of course," I said, turning around.

My breath caught in my throat when I saw what he was carrying.

In his hands was a tiny, elegant porcelain plate holding a small, single-serve chocolate torte, topped with a single, flickering golden candle.

"Happy 28th birthday, Viv," he said softly, his voice dripping with an undeniable, velvet warmth.

My birthday.

The looming threat of the deadline had been so completely consuming over the past few months that I had entirely forgotten today was also my birthday.

Last year, my mother had been alive to throw me a quiet dinner at home—just the two of us and a few of her closest friends. I hadn't known back then that it would be the last birthday we would ever celebrate together.

Without warning, a wave of profound, aching grief washed over me, and my eyes welled with hot tears before I could stop them.

"Hey..." Adrian's smile vanished instantly, replaced by deep, unadulterated concern. He stepped into the room, setting the plate on my vanity before reaching out. "What's wrong, babe?"

I blinked rapidly, wiping a stray tear from my cheek with a wet, self-deprecating chuckle. I didn't understand how this man could so effortlessly dismantle my hardest armor and bring out my most vulnerable side without even trying.

"Did you... did you forget your own birthday?" he asked softly.

"Yes," I nodded, laughing quietly at the absurdity of it. "How silly of me."

"I kind of expected you would," he chuckled gently, his thumb brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear with infinite care. "Come on. Blow out the candle and make a wish."

I raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. "A wish? Really, Adrian?"

"Indulge me," he insisted, his hazel eyes crinkling at the corners.

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and blew out the flickering flame. I wish for Aurora to thrive under my command, and for my mother's legacy to remain untouched.

Adrian handed me a small wooden cake cutter he had brought along. I cut a tiny piece, and before I could pick it up, he reached out, took a small piece, and offered it to me. I took it, the rich dark chocolate melting on my tongue, before returning the gesture and feeding him a piece.

Shivers of desire rippled through me the moment his tongue looped warmly around my fingers to clean the last bit of cake from my skin. He didn't break eye contact for a single second, his gaze holding mine so intensely that the unspoken emotion burning in his eyes wreaked havoc inside me.

"Thanks for remembering my birthday," I murmured, looking up at him. "Though... it's really not a big deal."

"Of course it's a big deal," Adrian replied, his tone shifting from playful to entirely sincere, his gaze holding mine captive. "A princess was born on this day."

I couldn't help the genuine, uninhibited laugh that bubbled up from my chest. "You are ridiculous, Adrian."

"What's funny?" he grinned, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. "I'm just being honest."

Standing there in my dressing room, listening to his warm laughter fill the quiet space, the heavy gloom that lingered over my birthday completely evaporated.

I looked at him—really looked at him.

Adrian Rossi was an absolute mystery. A rare, impossible specimen among men who belonged in a laboratory to be studied. He was protective without being possessive, kind without being weak, and completely devoted to a woman who had offered him nothing more than a cold, corporate transaction.

He was a good man.

And as I looked into his eyes, feeling the dangerous, magnetic pull drawing me closer to him, I realized my biggest problem wasn't saving my company from my father anymore.

It was stopping myself from falling completely, helplessly in love with my fake husband.