Today was the day my fiancé, Caleb Ross, and I were supposed to register our marriage. After waiting for him at the Seattle Municipal Court for three agonizing hours, I finally got through to him on the phone, only to hear the voice of his old flame, Ivy Sinclair.

“Where’s Caleb?” I asked, my voice trembling against the cold wind.

“He’s cooking for me,” she said casually, the smirk audible in her tone. “Is there something you need, Miss Vance?”

“Cooking?” I let out a mocking little laugh. I’d been with Caleb for two years and never knew he could even boil water. Just then, I heard Caleb’s voice on the other end, frantic and soft. “Harper? Ivy almost fainted today. Her family’s not around, so I’m just helping take care of her.”

I, Harper Vance, had never once fainted in my life. But today, of all days, she just happened to pass out on the exact day we were supposed to make our vows? What perfect timing. I gripped my phone tighter, my knuckles turning white.

“Caleb, let me ask you just one thing. Are you still coming today to register our marriage?”

“I really can’t get away right now,” he replied, sounding impatient, as if I were the one being unreasonable. “It won’t matter if we do it a couple of days later.”

I was about to speak when I suddenly heard Ivy’s startled, suggestive voice in the background. “Ah, that’s hot…” followed immediately by the call disconnecting.

I didn’t need to see it to know exactly what was happening. Caleb, full of concern, fussing over her, comforting her like she was the most fragile, precious thing in the world. Ever since Ivy returned to the city, all she had to do was tear up a little, and Caleb would act like his heart was breaking. But me? In Caleb’s eyes, I was supposed to be sensible, understanding, and mature. He never once realized that I was also a woman, someone who sometimes needed his care, too.

My chest tightened instinctively, but not with the pain I expected. Listening to the cold, empty tone on the line, I took a deep breath, curved my lips into a bitter smile, and sent him a single message.

Caleb Ross, let’s break up. I’ve had enough.

Since he insisted on comforting his precious Ivy, then fine, I’d let them be together. But just as I turned to leave the courthouse, I saw someone standing by the entrance, looking as solitary as I felt.

It was Adrian Knight, my boss, the CEO of Knight Enterprises.

I paused in surprise. As his secretary, I had no idea this visit was part of his schedule today. “Mr. Knight? Are you getting married today, too?” I asked, confused.

Adrian cast a brief glance at me with his dark, unreadable eyes and responded with a calm, “Yes.”

“Well, congratulations,” I offered, swallowing the lump in my throat. I wanted to ask why he’d come alone, but I reminded myself that I had no business prying.

Then Adrian gave me a slight, enigmatic smile. “Miss Vance, would you like to marry me?”

“What?” I blinked, caught off guard.

His voice was deep and steady. “Since both of us are alone now, why not just marry each other?”

Just then, Caleb’s message came through on my phone: Harper, stop it. Ivy really is sick. Be good. We’ll register in a couple of days.

I looked at the message, then back at Adrian. I smiled. “Sure, let’s do it.”

**Part 2**

The pen felt heavy in my hand, like a lead weight. The fluorescent lights of the Seattle Municipal Court hummed overhead, a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside my chest. I stared at the line labeled *Signature of Applicant*. My name. Harper Vance. It looked foreign, as if it belonged to a woman I used to be just ten minutes ago—a woman who was engaged to Caleb Ross, who had a plan, a future, a life mapped out in neat, predictable lines.

Now, I was signing my life away to a man I technically reported to.

“Miss Vance?” The clerk prompted gently, glancing at the clock. “Whenever you’re ready.”

I looked up. Adrian Knight stood beside me. He was tall, impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than my entire student loan debt. He wasn’t looking at me; he was looking at the paperwork with the same intense, scrutinizing gaze he used when reviewing quarterly financial reports for Knight Enterprises. His profile was sharp, aristocratic, and completely unreadable.

“Are you having second thoughts?” Adrian’s voice was low, vibrating through the quiet space between us. He didn’t turn his head, but I knew he was acutely aware of my hesitation.

“I…” I swallowed, the bitterness of Caleb’s phone call rising in my throat again. *‘He’s cooking for me.’* The mockery in Ivy’s voice. The dismissal in Caleb’s. “No,” I said, my voice hardening. “No second thoughts.”

I signed the paper with a flourish that felt more like a stab.

In less than ten minutes, we were walking out of the courthouse, a brand-new marriage certificate tucked into Adrian’s inner jacket pocket. The Seattle drizzle had turned into a steady, gray rain, slicking the sidewalks. I stood on the steps, shivering slightly, the adrenaline beginning to fade into a cold, hollow shock.

“Mr. Knight,” I started, realizing I didn’t even know what to call him. “Adrian” felt too intimate; “Boss” felt ridiculous given what we’d just done.

“Adrian,” he corrected effortlessly, signaling for his driver. A sleek black Bentley pulled up to the curb like a silent predator. “We’re married now, Harper. You can’t call me Mr. Knight anymore, especially not in public.”

“Right. Adrian.” I tested the name. It tasted like power and danger. “I… I should go. I have to…” I trailed off. What did I have to do? Go back to my empty apartment? Cry over a man who was currently playing house with his ex?

“Get in,” he said, holding the door open. It wasn’t a request.

“I need to go back to the office,” I argued weakly.

“You need to eat,” he countered. “And then we’ll discuss the logistics. You’re my wife now. Things are going to change.”

As I slid into the leather interior, escaping the rain, I looked at him. “Are you doing this because you’re angry at Miss Sinclair? Or… whoever stood you up?”

I knew a bit about his private life as his secretary. I’d helped him pick out gifts for a mysterious woman recently. Expensive jewelry, rare books. I’d never seen her, but I assumed she was the reason he was at the courthouse today.

Adrian settled into the seat beside me, the space suddenly shrinking. He looked at me, his dark eyes catching the passing streetlights. “She’s not worth it,” he said quietly, a shadow passing over his face. “You’ll understand later.”

For the first time, the domineering CEO mask slipped, revealing a trace of private sorrow that mirrored my own. We sat in silence as the city blurred past us, two strangers bound by a piece of paper and a mutual sense of abandonment.

***

The next morning, reality hit me like a hangover. I woke up in my small apartment—we hadn’t moved in together yet; Adrian had given me a week to “adjust”—and immediately checked my phone.

Forty-seven missed calls. Thirty-two texts. All from Caleb Ross.

I sat up, wrapping my duvet around me, and opened the first text.
*Caitlyn, stop being dramatic. Pick up the phone.*
*Ivy is really sick. You’re being selfish.*
*Where are you? I went to your place, you changed the locks?*

I felt a surge of grim satisfaction. Yes, I had called a locksmith the second I got home yesterday. Caleb had a key, and the thought of him letting himself in after being with Ivy made my skin crawl.

I scrolled down. The tone of the messages shifted from annoyed to angry.
*You blocked me on WhatsApp? Are you crazy?*
*We need to talk. I’m coming to your office.*

“Good luck with that,” I muttered, getting out of bed. I deleted the thread, then blocked his number entirely. It felt like cutting off a gangrenous limb—painful, but necessary for survival.

I dressed carefully for work. I was the CEO’s secretary, and now, secretly, his wife. I chose a sharp navy pencil skirt and a cream silk blouse. I applied my makeup with precision, hiding the dark circles from a sleepless night. I would not let them see me crumble.

When I arrived at the Knight Enterprises tower, the morning rush was in full swing. I was just about to enter the revolving doors when a hand clamped down on my wrist.

“Harper Vance!”

I spun around. Caleb stood there, looking disheveled and furious. His tie was crooked, and he looked like he hadn’t slept either, though likely for different reasons.

“Let go of me,” I hissed, wrenching my arm away. “We are at my workplace, Caleb. Have some dignity.”

“Dignity?” He laughed, a harsh, barking sound. “You block me, you change your locks, and you ignore me for twenty-four hours because I helped a sick friend? Are you done with this tantrum yet? It’s childish.”

I stared at him, truly seeing him for the first time in two years. “Childish? You missed our wedding registration to cook soup for your ex-girlfriend, Caleb. And you think I’m the one throwing a tantrum?”

“She fainted!” Caleb shouted, drawing stares from passing employees. “She has low blood sugar. Her family isn’t here. What was I supposed to do, leave her to die?”

“She has Postmates, Caleb. She has Uber. She has 911,” I shot back, my voice trembling with suppressed rage. “You made a choice. You chose her. Again. Just like you chose her when you missed my birthday dinner because her cat died. Just like you chose her when you cancelled our anniversary trip because she was ‘feeling lonely.’ I’m done being the consolation prize.”

Caleb rolled his eyes, a gesture I used to find endearing but now found repulsive. “God, you’re jealous. It’s ugly on you, Harper. Ivy hasn’t done anything to you. She’s just a friend. Open your eyes.”

“I have opened my eyes,” I said coldly. “That’s why we’re over. Now, get out of my way.”

I tried to step around him, but he blocked my path. “We are not over until I say we’re over. You’re my fiancée. We’re going to the courthouse tomorrow, and you’re going to apologize to Ivy for being so paranoid.”

I was about to scream when a sleek black car pulled up to the curb right beside us. The passenger door opened, and Adrian’s driver, Thomas, stepped out. He was a large man, ex-military, and he moved with a purposeful stride that made Caleb take a step back.

“Good morning, Ma’am,” Thomas said, ignoring Caleb entirely and bowing slightly to me. “Mr. Knight asked me to verify if you needed assistance carrying your files?”

Caleb frowned, looking between Thomas and me. “Ma’am? Why is he calling you Ma’am?”

Thomas turned his gaze to Caleb. It was polite but dismissive. “This is my employer’s wife. Naturally, I address her with respect.”

The silence that followed was absolute. The traffic noise seemed to fade away. Caleb’s face went slack. He looked like he’d been slapped.

“Wife?” Caleb sputtered, looking at me with wide, bewildered eyes. “What is he talking about? Harper, when did you get married?”

“Yesterday,” I said, my voice steady, though my heart was hammering against my ribs. “While you were playing nurse to Ivy, I got married.”

“To who?” Caleb demanded, his face reddening. “Who would marry you on a whim?”

“That’s none of your business,” I said. “Thomas, let’s go.”

I got into the car without looking back. As the door closed, sealing me in the quiet luxury of the Bentley, I saw Caleb standing on the sidewalk, mouth agape, looking smaller and smaller as we drove away.

***

The victory felt hollow once I stepped onto the top floor. The executive suite was quiet, the air conditioned to a crisp chill. I went to my desk, my hands shaking slightly as I organized the morning’s briefing documents.

“Mrs. Knight,” a voice said playfully.

I jumped. It was Shawn, Adrian’s executive assistant and the only other person who knew the truth. He was leaning against my cubicle wall, grinning.

“Shawn, please,” I whispered, glancing around. “Don’t call me that here.”

“Sorry, sorry. ‘Miss Vance’,” he corrected with a wink. “The CEO wants you. Personally. He said you’re to deliver the files yourself from now on. No more handing them off to me.”

“But the rules…” I started. When I was promoted, Shawn had given me a strict list of protocols. Rule #1: Never enter the CEO’s office without explicit permission or a scheduled appointment.

“He makes the rules, he breaks the rules,” Shawn shrugged. “Go on. He’s waiting.”

I took a deep breath, grabbed the stack of folders, and walked to the double mahogany doors. I knocked.

“Enter.”

Adrian was seated behind his massive glass desk, the city skyline sprawling behind him like a backdrop he owned. He didn’t look up as I entered.

“Mr. Knight,” I said, slipping back into professional mode. “Here are the quarterly projections and the legal briefs for the merger.”

I placed them on the corner of his desk and turned to leave immediately.

“Miss Vance.” His voice stopped me.

I turned. “Yes, sir?”

He finally looked up, leaning back in his chair. He scrutinized my face. “Have you eaten breakfast?”

I blinked. “I… no. I was running late.”

“I thought so.” He pointed to the side table near the sofa area. There was a spread of food: dim sum, fresh fruit, warm soy milk, and a croissant. “That’s for you. Eat.”

“Mr. Knight, I can’t,” I protested. “I have work to do. And if people see me eating in your office…”

“You have chronic gastritis,” Adrian interrupted calmly. “If you don’t eat by 9:00 AM, you get cramps by 11:00 AM. And since you’re my wife, I have no intention of explaining to the board why my secretary is fainting during meetings.”

I froze. “How do you know about my stomach issues?”

I had never told him. I had told Caleb, repeatedly, but Caleb never remembered. I remembered one time, curled up in pain on the bathroom floor, calling Caleb for medicine. He had told me to ‘just order it on an app’ because he was busy. I found out later he was helping Ivy move furniture.

“I observe my employees,” Adrian said simply. “Especially the ones I marry. Eat, Harper.”

There was a warmth in his command that confused me. I walked over to the table and sat down. The food was warm. He must have timed it perfectly. As I took a bite of the croissant, I watched him work. He was focused, efficient, terrifyingly competent.

“Why me?” I asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

Adrian didn’t look up from the file he was marking. “Why not you?”

“I’m your secretary. I’m… ordinary. You’re Adrian Knight. You could have married a supermodel, or an heiress. Why pick up the pieces of someone else’s broken engagement?”

He paused, his pen hovering over the paper. He looked at me then, his gaze intense. “Maybe I didn’t want a merger. Maybe I wanted a partner.” He went back to writing. “And you’re far from ordinary, Harper. Now finish your breakfast. We have a meeting in twenty minutes.”

***

The day passed in a blur of meetings and emails. By 7:00 PM, the office was emptying out. I was packing up my bag when my phone buzzed.

*Adrian: Garage. Exit B. I’m driving.*

I sighed. The lines between boss and husband were getting blurrier by the hour. I took the elevator down to the parking garage. As I waited near the exit, a voice called out.

“Harper! Hey!”

It was Leo, the marketing manager. He was a nice guy, handsome in a conventional way, and he had been asking me out for months.

“Oh, hi Leo,” I said, checking my watch.

“Working late again?” Leo moved closer, his smile bright. “You know, you really need a break. There’s this new Italian place that opened downtown. Incredible pasta. Let me take you tonight. Come on, just one dinner.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “Leo, that’s sweet, but I really can’t.”

“You always say that,” he pressed, leaning against a concrete pillar. “Is it the boyfriend? That guy you told me about? Because honestly, Harper, if he’s making you work this late and not picking you up, he’s not doing his job right.”

I opened my mouth to explain, but the low growl of an engine cut me off. The black Bentley pulled up and stopped inches from Leo’s legs. The window rolled down.

Adrian looked out, his expression like chipped ice. “Is there a problem here?”

Leo jumped back, straightening his tie. “Mr. Knight! No, sir. Just… saying goodnight to Harper.”

“Get in,” Adrian said to me, ignoring Leo completely.

I scrambled into the passenger seat. As we drove off, the silence in the car was suffocating.

“You’re popular,” Adrian remarked dryly, his eyes fixed on the road.

“He’s just a colleague,” I said defensively. “He’s been asking me to dinner.”

“And?”

“And I said no.” I glanced at his hands gripping the steering wheel. His knuckles were white. A crazy thought popped into my head. “Adrian… are you jealous?”

He scoffed, a short, sharp sound. “I don’t get jealous, Harper. I get territorial.”

My breath hitched. “That sounds like the same thing.”

“It isn’t.” He glanced at me, his eyes dark. “Jealousy implies I’m worried I might lose. Being territorial means I know what belongs to me.”

He turned back to the road, leaving me flushed and speechless.

***

We arrived at *Lumière*, one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city. It was the kind of place where the water menu had prices. I felt underdressed in my work clothes, but the maitre d’ greeted Adrian like royalty and led us to a private corner table.

“I took the liberty of ordering,” Adrian said as we sat. “Sea bass for you, no dairy, light on the spice.”

Again, he knew my dietary restrictions better than the man I had lived with for two years.

I went to the restroom to freshen up. As I was walking back down the corridor, I saw Adrian standing near the entrance, taking a call. Before I could reach him, a woman in a red dress “accidentally” stumbled right into him.

“Oh my god! I am so sorry!”

The voice was high-pitched, syrupy, and instantly recognizable. Ivy Sinclair.

I froze behind a decorative pillar.

Ivy looked up at Adrian, batting her eyelashes. She placed a hand on his chest to steady herself. “I’m so clumsy. Sir, are you okay? Let me pay for your dry cleaning. I insist.”

Adrian took a deliberate step back, removing her hand from his suit as if it were a piece of trash. “Watch where you’re going,” he said coldly.

Ivy didn’t back down. She did that thing where she tucked her hair behind her ear, tilting her head. “You look so familiar. Are you… Adrian Knight? Wow. I’ve seen you in Forbes. I’m Ivy. Ivy Sinclair. Maybe I could add you on WeChat? Just to make sure the suit is okay?”

“No,” Adrian said. He didn’t even look at her face. He turned and walked away.

Ivy stood there, mouth open, humiliated. She stomped her foot like a petulant child. “Jerk,” she muttered, then smoothed her dress and walked back into the dining room.

I waited a beat, then walked to the table, fighting a smile.

“Everything okay?” Adrian asked as I sat down.

“Better than okay,” I said, unfolding my napkin.

Our appetizers had just arrived when a shadow fell over our table.

“Harper? What are you doing here?”

I looked up. Caleb stood there, wearing a suit that looked cheap compared to the surroundings. Ivy was clinging to his arm, her face a mask of faux-shock.

“Hello, Caleb. Ivy,” I said calmly, picking up my fork.

“This is a five-star restaurant,” Ivy said, her eyes darting around. “It’s reservation only, months in advance. How did… *you* get in?”

“And who is this?” Caleb demanded, looking at Adrian’s back. Adrian hadn’t turned around; he was calmly cutting his steak. “Is this why you broke up with me, Harper? You were cheating on me with some… some sugar daddy?”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “Sugar daddy? Caleb, lower your voice. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Don’t talk to him like that!” Ivy shrilled, squeezing Caleb’s arm. “Caleb, look at her. She’s shameless. Yesterday she was begging you to marry her, and today she’s here with another man.”

“You’re the one who stood me up, Caleb,” I reminded him. “Remember? The soup? The fainting?”

“That was an emergency!” Caleb snapped. “This… this is betrayal. I want to know who this guy is.” He reached out to grab Adrian’s shoulder.

Bad move.

Adrian caught Caleb’s wrist without looking, his grip looking effortless but clearly painful. Caleb gasped, his knees buckling slightly.

Adrian slowly stood up. He towered over Caleb. He released the wrist with a shove, causing Caleb to stumble back into a waiter.

“You’re not qualified to touch me,” Adrian said, his voice quiet but carrying across the silent restaurant.

He turned around.

Caleb’s eyes bulged. “Mr… Mr. Knight?”

Ivy gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. The blood drained from her face. This was the man she had just tried to pick up in the hallway. The man who had rejected her flat out.

“You know him?” Caleb stammered, looking at Ivy.

“I… I…” Ivy stuttered.

“Mr. Knight,” Caleb switched instantly to a fawning tone. “I didn’t realize… Harper is your employee. I’m Caleb Ross. My father’s company handles your logistics in the south district. We met at the gala last year.”

“I remember,” Adrian said icily. “And I remember you leaving my wife standing at the altar yesterday.”

“Wife?” Caleb whispered. It was the second time today he’d heard that word, and it hit him harder this time. “You… you married Harper?”

“Yes,” Adrian said. He put an arm around my waist, pulling me into his side. “And since you know who I am, Mr. Ross, you should know that I protect my investments. And my wife is my most valuable one. If you bother her again, I will bankrupt your father’s company before lunch.”

Caleb paled. “I… it’s a misunderstanding. Harper… she’s my fiancée. We were just having a fight.”

“We are not fighting, Caleb,” I said, leaning into Adrian’s strength. “We are finished. And Ivy?” I looked at the woman who was trying to shrink into the floor. “You might want to tell Caleb about your little encounter in the hallway just now.”

Ivy’s eyes widened in panic. “No! I didn’t—”

I pulled out my phone. “I recorded it. Just in case.” I hadn’t, actually, but Ivy didn’t know that.

“What encounter?” Caleb looked at Ivy, suspicion dawning on his face.

“She tried to pick up my husband while you were in the bathroom,” I said casually. “Asked for his WeChat. Called him hot.”

“That’s a lie!” Ivy screamed. “Caleb, she’s lying! She’s just jealous!”

Caleb looked at Ivy, then at Adrian, then at me. His face twisted. “Harper… stop trying to ruin things. Ivy would never do that. You’re just bitter.”

I stared at him. Even now, faced with the CEO of the most powerful company in the city, faced with the obvious truth, he chose her.

“Let’s go,” Adrian said, sensing my exhaustion. He threw a black card onto the table. “Dinner is on me. Enjoy it. It might be the last expensive meal you can afford, Mr. Ross.”

He guided me out of the restaurant, leaving them standing in the wreckage of their evening.

***

A week passed. The transition was strange. At work, we were professional, though Adrian’s gaze lingered on me longer than before. At home—his villa, where I had moved in—we were like roommates dancing around a hidden fire.

Then, Adrian went on a business trip to Tokyo. The house felt massive and empty without him. I missed the quiet sound of him turning pages in his study. I missed the breakfast waiting for me.

On Friday, I went back to my old apartment to grab the last of my art supplies. It was raining again, a classic Seattle downpour. I hurried out of the building, clutching a box of paints, trying to hail a cab.

A shadow detached itself from the alleyway.

“Harper.”

I froze. The smell of cheap whiskey hit me before I saw him. Caleb.

He looked terrible. Unshaven, clothes wrinkled. He stumbled toward me.

“What do you want, Caleb?” I backed away, gripping the box of paints like a shield.

“I watched the security footage,” he slurred. “From the restaurant. I paid a waiter. She… she did hit on him.”

“I told you,” I said coldly.

“She’s a gold digger,” Caleb laughed bitterly. “She admitted it. Said I wasn’t rich enough compared to Knight. Said she only came back because her American boyfriend dumped her and she needed cash.”

He took a step closer, his eyes pleading and wet. “I kicked her out, Harper. She’s gone. It’s just us now. I messed up. I’m sorry. Please… come back. Knight… he doesn’t love you. He’s just using you. You’re just a rebound. A toy for a rich man.”

“I am his wife,” I said firmly. “And he treats me with more respect in a week than you did in two years. Go home, Caleb. You’re drunk.”

“He doesn’t know you like I do!” Caleb shouted, grabbing my arm. His grip was bruising. “He doesn’t know about your painting! He doesn’t know about your nightmares! He’s cold! He’s a machine! Come back to me, Harper. I love you!”

“You don’t love me!” I screamed, struggling against him. “You love having a backup plan! Let go!”

“No! I won’t let you make a mistake!” He yanked me closer, his breath hot on my face.

Suddenly, tires screeched against the wet pavement. A car door slammed.

Before Caleb could react, a fist connected with his jaw. The sound was a sickening crack.

Caleb went down like a sack of potatoes, sprawling into a puddle.

I gasped, looking up.

Adrian stood there, chest heaving, rain soaking his white dress shirt instantly. He looked feral. His eyes were blazing with a fury I had never seen.

“I warned you,” Adrian growled, stepping over Caleb’s groaning form. “I told you not to touch her.”

“Adrian?” I whispered, dropping my paints. “You… you’re supposed to be in Tokyo.”

He turned to me, the rage in his eyes instantly replaced by frantic concern. He grabbed my shoulders, checking me for injuries. “Did he hurt you? Did he touch you?”

“I’m fine,” I stammered. “He just… grabbed my arm.”

Adrian looked at my wrist, where a red mark was already forming. His jaw tightened. He looked back at Caleb, who was trying to crawl away.

“If you ever come near her again,” Adrian said to Caleb, his voice low and deadly, “I will ensure you spend the rest of your life in a cell. Do you understand?”

Caleb nodded frantically, coughing up blood.

Adrian wrapped his coat around me, shielding me from the rain. “Get in the car.”

We sat in the car, the heater blasting. I was shaking, partly from cold, partly from shock. Adrian didn’t start the engine. He just gripped the steering wheel, breathing hard.

“You came back,” I said softly.

“I had a bad feeling,” he muttered. “I took the company jet back early.”

He turned to look at me, water dripping from his hair. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”

“You were here exactly when I needed you,” I said.

I looked at him—this powerful, terrifying man who had flown across an ocean just because he had a “bad feeling.” The realization washed over me warmer than the heater. He wasn’t just playing a role.

“Adrian,” I whispered. “Can I hug you?”

He stiffened for a second, then exhaled, a long, shuddering breath. “Please.”

I leaned across the console and wrapped my arms around him. He buried his face in my neck, holding me so tight it almost hurt. But it was a good hurt. It felt like safety. It felt like home.

“You have me,” he whispered into my hair, his voice rough with emotion. “From now on, Harper, you have me. You never have to be alone again.”

As the rain hammered against the roof of the Bentley, drowning out the world outside, I finally let myself believe him. The nightmare of the last two years was over. And something new, something terrifying and wonderful, was just beginning.

 

**Part 3**

The rain had stopped by the time Saturday morning arrived, leaving the Seattle sky a washed-out, bruising purple. I woke up in the master guest suite of Adrian’s villa, a room larger than my entire previous apartment, buried under a duvet that felt like sleeping inside a cloud. For a few disoriented seconds, I panicked, not recognizing the high vaulted ceilings or the modern art on the walls. Then, the memory of the previous night washed over me—the rain, Caleb’s desperate grip, the sickening crack of Adrian’s fist against Caleb’s jaw, and the way Adrian had held me in the car, shaking with a terrifying mixture of rage and relief.

*“You have me. From now on, Harper, you have me.”*

The words echoed in my head, making my chest ache in a way I wasn’t used to. It wasn’t the sharp pang of heartbreak; it was a dull, heavy throb of something that felt dangerously like hope.

I dragged myself out of bed, wrapping a silk robe around me, and wandered downstairs. The villa was quiet. Adrian was likely already in his study; the man seemed to operate on four hours of sleep and pure caffeine. I needed a distraction. My mind was racing too fast, replaying the look in Caleb’s eyes—the realization that he had lost me—and the look in Adrian’s—the ferocity of his protection.

I found Adrian in the kitchen, of all places. He was dressed casually for the first time since I’d met him, wearing a dark gray cashmere sweater and jeans. He was brewing coffee, the rich aroma filling the sleek, minimalist space.

“Good morning,” he said, not turning around. He poured a cup and slid it across the marble island toward me. “Black, one sugar. Correct?”

I took the mug, wrapping my cold hands around it. “You’re getting scary with this mind-reading thing, Adrian.”

He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. The bruises on his knuckles were a stark purple against his skin. I winced looking at them.

“Does it hurt?” I asked, nodding toward his hand.

He glanced down at his hand, flexing it indifferently. “No. It was worth it.” He looked at me, his gaze softening. “How are you feeling? Did you sleep?”

“I’m okay,” I said, taking a sip. The coffee was perfect. “Better than Caleb, I imagine.”

“Mr. Ross is currently dealing with a restraining order and a lawsuit for harassment,” Adrian said calmly, as if discussing the weather. “He won’t come near you again. If he does, he forfeits his family’s trust fund. I made a few calls this morning.”

I stared at him. “You did that before breakfast?”

“I like to be efficient.” He took a sip of his own coffee. “So, it’s Saturday. What do you want to do? I have some calls to make, but I’m free this afternoon.”

I hesitated. I didn’t want to go out. I didn’t want to be seen. I just wanted to disappear into something safe for a while. “Actually… I was wondering. I saw a room on the second floor with great north-facing light. I used to paint, back in college. It’s been years, but… would you mind if I bought some supplies and used that room? I just need to get out of my head for a bit.”

Adrian paused, his cup halfway to his mouth. A strange expression flickered across his face—something unreadable, almost guarded. “You want to paint?”

“Only if it’s okay,” I added quickly. “I don’t want to make a mess. I can put down drop cloths—”

“Use the room next to my study,” he interrupted. “It’s quieter there. The light is better.”

“Okay,” I said, surprised. “I’ll run to the art supply store later—”

“No need,” he said, setting his cup down. “Just go look at the room first. Let me know if it works for you.” He checked his watch. “I have a conference call with London. I’ll see you at lunch.”

He walked away before I could ask any more questions, leaving me standing in the kitchen with my coffee and a growing sense of curiosity.

I finished my coffee and headed upstairs. The room he mentioned was at the far end of the hallway, a heavy oak door that I had assumed was a storage closet or a guest bedroom. I turned the handle and pushed it open.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

It wasn’t a guest room. It was a professional-grade art studio.

The morning light poured in through floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating a space that smelled of turpentine, linseed oil, and potential. In the center of the room stood a massive, heavy-duty easel made of beech wood. Against the walls were shelves stacked neatly with supplies—and not just any supplies. These were top-tier brands: Winsor & Newton oil paints in every conceivable shade, arranged by color spectrum; brushes made of the finest sable hair; massive canvases stretched and primed, waiting for paint. There were palette knives, mixing mediums, varnishes, and even a drafting table in the corner with a set of architectural pens.

I walked into the room, my footsteps echoing on the polished concrete floor. I reached out and touched a tube of Cerulean Blue. It was brand new. Sealed. Everything was.

“What on earth?” I whispered to the empty room.

As his secretary, I managed Adrian’s schedule, his travel, and his expenses. I knew he played squash. I knew he collected vintage watches. I knew he read biographies of historical figures. I had never, not once, seen “painting” listed as a hobby. And yet, this room existed. It was set up with the precision of someone who knew exactly what an artist needed, yet it looked untouched.

I spent the next three hours in a trance. I didn’t question it further; I just painted. I grabbed a canvas, squeezed out the expensive oils with a guilty pleasure, and let my hands do what they hadn’t done in years. I painted the view from the window—the gray, moody skyline of Seattle, the way the clouds hung low over the Space Needle. It felt like exhaling after holding my breath for two years. With Caleb, I had stopped painting because he complained the smell gave him headaches. I had made myself smaller to fit into his life. Here, in this massive, sun-drenched room, I felt myself expanding again.

I didn’t hear the door open.

“Are you finished?”

I jumped, nearly dropping my palette knife. I spun around to find Adrian leaning against the doorframe. He was holding a large white bakery box in one hand and a bouquet of yellow roses in the other.

“Adrian!” I wiped my hands on a rag, suddenly self-conscious. “I didn’t hear you. I… yes, I think I’m done for now. I’m a little rusty.”

He walked into the room, his eyes bypassing me to look directly at the canvas. He studied it for a long moment, his face serious. “The composition is strong,” he murmured. “You capture the melancholy of the city well. But the light… you found the light in the gray.”

He looked at me then, a small smile playing on his lips. “Not bad, Harper. Not bad at all.”

My cheeks flushed. “Thank you.” My eyes dropped to the items in his hands. “Are those…?”

“For you,” he said, handing me the flowers. “Yellow roses. They symbolize friendship and joy. I thought we could use a bit of both.”

I took them, burying my nose in the petals. They smelled fresh and sweet. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

“And this,” he said, placing the box on a small side table near the easel, “is bribery. I know you skipped lunch.”

He opened the box to reveal a strawberry shortcake—not just a slice, but a whole miniature cake, perfectly decorated with fresh strawberries and gold leaf. It was from *Pâtisserie Michel*, a bakery across town that sold out by 8 AM. It was also my absolute favorite dessert.

“Adrian,” I said slowly, the suspicion creeping back in. “How did you know?”

“Know what?” He cut a slice and handed it to me on a paper napkin.

“Everything,” I said, gesturing around the room. “The stomach issues. The specific type of flowers I like. The cake. And this… this studio. You don’t paint, do you?”

Adrian sat down on a stool, watching me eat. He looked relaxed, almost amused. “I don’t paint, no. I lack the patience for it.”

“Then who is all this for?” I pressed. “You have a fully stocked professional studio in your house, filled with the exact brand of oils I used in college. You knew I could paint. How?”

He didn’t blink. “You applied for a position in the Design Department initially, Harper. Before HR redirected you to the secretarial pool because of your organizational scores. Anyone who studies design usually has a background in fine arts. It was a logical deduction.”

“That explains knowing I *can* paint,” I countered, pointing my fork at him. “It doesn’t explain why you have a studio ready for me. Or why you knew I prefer oils over acrylics. Or why you knew strawberry shortcake is my weakness.”

Adrian’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Maybe I’m just a very thorough boss. Or maybe,” he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping an octave, “I just pay attention to the things that matter.”

He stood up before I could analyze that cryptic statement. “Finish your cake. And check your calendar for next Friday. The University of Washington is hosting its centennial alumni gala. I’ve been invited as a guest of honor. I need you to accompany me.”

“The university?” I blinked. “I graduated from there. I didn’t know you were an alum.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Mrs. Knight,” he said, walking to the door. “Add it to the schedule. 7:00 PM. Black tie.”

He left the room, leaving me with a mouth full of cake and a head full of questions.

***

The week flew by in a blur of corporate strategy and domestic adjustment. Living with Adrian was surprisingly easy. He was tidy, quiet, and considerate. We fell into a rhythm—coffee in the morning, silent car rides to work where he reviewed files and I answered emails, and dinners that he insisted we eat together, usually talking about everything *except* work.

But the mystery of him gnawed at me. Every time I looked at him, I felt like I was seeing a puzzle with half the pieces missing.

Friday arrived, bringing with it a nervous energy. I hadn’t been back to the university since graduation. It was the place where I had met Caleb. It was the place where I had dreamed of being a famous artist before reality and student loans forced me into a corporate cubicle.

I dressed in a gown Adrian had sent over—a deep emerald green velvet that hugged my curves and trailed elegantly on the floor. When I walked down the stairs, Adrian was waiting in the foyer adjusting his cufflinks. He looked up, and his hands stilled.

For a moment, neither of us said anything. His gaze swept over me, intense and appreciative, making my skin prickle.

“You look…” He cleared his throat, seemingly searching for a word. “Radiant.”

“You clean up nice yourself,” I said, trying to keep my voice light, though my heart was hammering. He looked devastating in a tuxedo.

The drive to the university was quiet, but the air between us felt charged. When we arrived, the campus was transformed. The main quad was tented, filled with lights and music. Expensive cars lined the driveway.

“Stay close to me,” Adrian murmured as we stepped onto the red carpet. He offered his arm, and I took it, feeling the solid muscle beneath his suit jacket.

Inside, it was a sea of familiar faces—professors, old classmates, and the city’s elite. Adrian was immediately swarmed. He was the CEO of Knight Enterprises, the university’s biggest donor; everyone wanted a piece of him. I played the role of the dutiful wife/secretary perfectly, smiling, nodding, and remembering names he might have forgotten.

After an hour of intense networking, Adrian was pulled into a private conversation with the Dean and the Mayor.

“Go explore,” he whispered to me, sensing my fatigue. “I’ll find you in twenty minutes. Don’t go too far.”

I nodded and slipped away from the crowd, grabbing a glass of champagne. I wandered out of the noisy tent and onto the quiet pathways of the campus. The cool night air was refreshing. I found myself walking automatically toward the Arts Building. It was an old brick structure, covered in ivy, standing slightly apart from the modern science labs.

I was lost in nostalgia, remembering late nights spent smelling of turpentine and coffee, when a harsh voice shattered my peace.

“Well, if it isn’t the Cinderella of Seattle.”

I stiffened. I turned slowly to see Ivy Sinclair standing under a lamppost. She looked stunning in a silver dress, but her face was twisted into a sneer. She was alone.

“Hello, Ivy,” I said wearily. “I really don’t want to do this tonight.”

“Of course you don’t,” Ivy spat, stepping closer. “You have everything you want, don’t you? You ruined Caleb’s life, you know that? His father cut him off. He’s drinking himself to death in a motel because of *you*.”

“He’s in that motel because he assaulted me,” I said, my voice cold. “And because he lied to me. And because of you, Ivy. Don’t rewrite history.”

“You think you’re so special,” Ivy laughed, a brittle sound. “Walking around here with Adrian Knight on your arm. Do you really think he loves you? A man like that? He’s playing a game, Harper. You’re just a pawn. He probably picked you up because you were convenient. Or maybe he just wanted to stick it to Caleb.”

“You’re projecting,” I said. “Just because you view men as bank accounts doesn’t mean everyone else does.”

“Oh, please. Look at you!” Ivy gestured wildly at my dress. “You’re wearing a ten-thousand-dollar gown paid for by a man you barely know. You’re exactly like me, Harper. You just got luckier. But it won’t last. Men like Adrian Knight get bored. And when he dumps you, you’ll be nothing again.”

Her words stung because they echoed my own deepest insecurities. *Was* I just a convenience? A temporary fix?

“How do you know I’m not serious about my wife?”

The voice came from the shadows, deep and resonating with a terrifying calm. Adrian stepped into the light. He didn’t look at Ivy; he looked at me, his eyes searching my face for any sign of hurt.

Ivy gasped, taking a stumbling step back. “Mr. Knight… I… we were just catching up.”

Adrian moved to my side, slipping his arm around my waist. His grip was firm, grounding. He finally turned his gaze to Ivy. It was like watching a lion look at a rat—boring, annoyed, and lethal.

“I’ve said it before, and I will say it again,” Adrian said, his voice low enough that Ivy had to lean in to hear it. “The only woman I have ever cared about in this life is my wife. Her name is Harper. And every word you speak against her is an insult to me.”

“But…” Ivy stammered, tears of frustration welling in her eyes. “She… she was Caleb’s…”

“She was never Caleb’s,” Adrian corrected sharply. “He never deserved her. He never saw her. And you, Miss Sinclair, are trespassing on my patience. Leave. Before I have security remove you.”

Ivy looked at him, then at me. She saw the way he held me—protective, possessive, undeniable. Her face crumpled. She realized, finally, that she had lost a game she didn’t even know the rules to. She turned and fled into the darkness, her silver heels clicking frantically on the pavement.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “You have a knack for dramatic timing, Adrian.”

He didn’t smile. He turned to me, his expression intense. “Did she upset you?”

“A little,” I admitted. “She said… she said you’d get bored. That I’m just a convenience.”

Adrian made a sound of frustration. “Come with me.”

“Where? The Dean is waiting—”

“Forget the Dean.”

He took my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine, and led me away from the party. We walked toward the Arts Building. He didn’t need directions; he moved with a purpose, navigating the winding paths as if he had walked them a thousand times.

He pulled a key card from his pocket and swiped it at the side entrance. The door clicked open.

“How do you have a key?” I asked, bewildered.

“I’m the biggest donor,” he said simply. “I own half this building.”

He led me up the stairs to the third floor, down a hallway that smelled of dust and old paint, and stopped in front of Studio 3B. My old studio. The one I had practically lived in during my senior year.

He pushed the door open. The room was dark, illuminated only by the moonlight streaming through the large skylight. It was empty now, stripped of the chaotic student art, but the feeling of the space was the same.

“Adrian, why are we here?” I asked, my voice echoing in the silence.

He walked to the window and looked out at the campus below. “You asked me how I knew about the painting. How I knew about the studio.”

“Yes.”

He turned to face me. The moonlight cast shadows across his sharp features, making him look younger, more vulnerable.

“I went here, Harper. For six months. Before my father died and I had to take over the company. I was twenty-one. Angry. Burdened. I hated every minute of it. I wanted to drop out, move to Europe, disappear.”

He took a step toward me. “One afternoon, I was walking past this building. I was on the phone, yelling at my lawyers, ready to burn the whole world down. And then I looked up. And I saw you.”

I frowned. “Me? But… I would have been a freshman. We never met.”

“We never spoke,” he corrected. “But I saw you. You were in this room. You were wearing a white dress, covered in paint smudges. Your hair was in a high ponytail that swung when you moved. You were attacking a canvas like it was a fight you intended to win. You looked… free. Completely, wildly free.”

My heart skipped a beat. I remembered that white dress. I had ruined it with crimson alizarin.

“I stood on the sidewalk for twenty minutes just watching you paint,” Adrian confessed softly. “The sunlight was hitting your hair. You were singing to yourself. I couldn’t hear the song, but I could see the rhythm in your shoulders.”

He took another step. He was close now. I could smell the sandalwood of his cologne.

“The second time I saw you was at the Freshman Welcome Gala. You played the piano. Debussy. *Clair de Lune*.”

“I… I messed up the middle section,” I whispered, the memory surfacing.

“You improvised,” Adrian said. “And it was better than the original. That’s when I learned your name. Harper Vance. I wanted to talk to you. I walked up to you afterward, but you were surrounded by friends. You were laughing. You looked so bright. And I… I was already living in the dark. I felt like if I touched you, I’d dim your light.”

Tears pricked my eyes. “So you left?”

“I had to. My father passed away the next week. I moved to London to stabilize the European division. I was gone for five years.” He reached out, his hand hovering near my face before gently cupping my cheek. His thumb brushed away a tear I hadn’t felt fall.

“When I came back to Seattle, the first thing I did was look for you. I hired a private investigator. I wanted to know if the girl with the paint on her dress was still painting.”

His face tightened. “The report came back two days later. You were engaged. To Caleb Ross.”

“Oh,” I breathed.

“I almost intervened then,” Adrian admitted, his voice rough. “But the report said you were happy. It said you were in love. So I stayed away. I told myself that if you were happy, that was enough. I buried myself in work. I became the cold, heartless CEO everyone expects me to be.”

“But then… I applied to Knight Enterprises,” I said, the pieces falling into place.

“You applied to Design. I saw your name on the rejection pile because you lacked corporate experience. I pulled your resume. I created the vacancy in the executive suite. I told HR to offer you the secretary position because I knew I could pay you double what Design would offer, and I knew Caleb’s business was struggling. I wanted to make sure you were taken care of.”

I stared at him, my heart breaking for the man who had loved me in silence for half a decade. “You hired me just to be near me?”

“Selfish, I know,” he gave a crooked, self-deprecating smile. “I told myself it was just to keep an eye on you. To make sure he treated you right. But every day you walked into my office… every time you handed me a coffee… it was torture, Harper. Because I could see you fading. I saw the circles under your eyes. I saw the spark going out. I saw how he diminished you.”

He took a deep breath. “That day at the courthouse. I wasn’t there to get married.”

I froze. “What?”

“I wasn’t stood up, Harper. There was no other woman. There never has been.”

“Then why were you there?”

“I was there to stop you,” Adrian said fiercely. “I had my driver track Caleb. I knew he wasn’t coming. I knew he was with Ivy. I was going to walk into that waiting room and tell you the truth about him. I was going to beg you not to marry him.”

“But then… I came out,” I whispered.

“You came out. And you looked so broken. But you also looked strong. You had broken up with him yourself. And when I saw you standing there… I realized I couldn’t let you walk away again. I panicked. I offered you the only thing I could think of that would bind you to me instantly. Marriage.”

He dropped his hand from my face, looking suddenly unsure. “I took advantage of your vulnerability. I trapped you in a marriage because I was terrified of losing you again. I’m sorry.”

The silence in the room was heavy, but it wasn’t empty. It was filled with five years of longing, of missed chances, of a love so patient and enduring it terrified me.

I looked at this man—this powerful, intimidating titan of industry—and saw the twenty-one-year-old boy watching a girl paint through a window, finding a moment of peace in her freedom.

“You stupid man,” I choked out, a sob escaping my throat.

Adrian flinched, looking pained. “Harper, I—”

“You waited five years?” I hit his chest lightly with my fist. “You watched me be miserable for two years and you didn’t say anything? You just… brought me cake and paid my salary and protected me from the shadows?”

“I wanted you to be happy,” he said simply.

“I am happy,” I said, my voice rising. “I am happy now. With you.”

I reached up, grabbing the lapels of his tuxedo, and pulled him down.

Adrian didn’t hesitate this time. He crashed his mouth onto mine, kissing me with a hunger that had been suppressed for half a decade. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was desperate, consuming, and full of fire. I kissed him back with everything I had, pouring all my gratitude, my relief, and my growing love into it.

We stood there in the moonlight of the old studio, clinging to each other as if the world outside didn’t exist.

“I love you, Harper,” he whispered against my lips, his voice trembling. “I have loved you since the day I saw you in that white dress. I will love you until I die.”

“I’m catching up,” I whispered back, running my fingers through his hair. “But I think I’m already there.”

***

Later that night, back at the villa, the emotional exhaustion finally hit me. Adrian had gone to shower, leaving his phone on the bedside table.

It buzzed. A notification from Instagram.

Curiosity got the better of me. I knew Adrian didn’t use social media—or at least, he had told me he didn’t. I picked up the phone. It was unlocked.

The notification was a comment on a photo. I opened the app.

His profile name was just “A.K.” It was private. Zero followers. Zero following. But there were posts.

I scrolled down, and my breath hitched.

The most recent post was from today. A photo of me from behind, walking into the Arts Building in my green dress.
*Caption: “Dreams fulfilled.”*

I scrolled back. A week ago. A photo of my hand resting on the center console of his car.
*Caption: “She’s finally safe.”*

Two years ago. A blurry photo taken from a distance at a charity gala I attended with Caleb. I looked miserable.
*Caption: “I wish I could take the sadness from her eyes. But she chose him. I have to respect it.”*

Five years ago. The first post. A grainy, zoomed-in photo of a girl in a white dress, seen through a window, painting.
*Caption: “Found a light today. Hope I see her again.”*

Tears blurred my vision. It was a digital diary of his silent vigil. He hadn’t just watched me; he had cherished me, documenting these tiny moments of connection that I hadn’t even known existed.

The bathroom door opened. Adrian walked out, towel-drying his hair. He stopped when he saw me holding his phone, tears streaming down my face.

“Harper?” He moved toward me quickly. “What’s wrong?”

I turned the screen toward him.

He froze. A rare blush crept up his neck. “I… I can explain. It’s… it’s sentimental. I should have deleted them.”

“Don’t you dare,” I said, my voice shaking.

I stood up and walked to him, dropping the phone on the bed. I wrapped my arms around his damp waist, burying my face in his chest.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I sobbed. “What if I had married Caleb? What if I had never known?”

“Then I would have kept watching,” he said, resting his chin on my head. his arms coming around me like a shield. “And I would have kept these photos as a reminder that love exists, even if I couldn’t have it.”

I pulled back to look at him. “You have it, Adrian. You have it all. I’m not going anywhere.”

He smiled, a genuine, wide smile that reached his eyes and transformed his face. “I know. You’re my wife.”

“And you,” I said, poking his chest, “are my muse. I expect you to pose for me tomorrow in the studio.”

He groaned. “Harper, I don’t sit still well.”

“Too bad,” I kissed his cheek. “You waited five years for me. You can wait five hours for a portrait.”

“Deal,” he whispered.

We lay down together, the darkness of the room no longer feeling empty or lonely. I fell asleep with his arm draped over me, knowing that for the first time in my life, I was exactly where I was meant to be. I had lost a fiancé who saw me as an accessory, but I had found a husband who saw me as his entire world.

And tomorrow, I would paint him.