Revenge Bride

POV: Adrian Blackstone

The elevator climbed smoothly toward the sixtieth floor, but the woman standing beside me had my carefully controlled world tilting off its axis. Emma's acceptance of my proposal should have felt like a victory—another piece falling into place in my twenty-year chess game. Instead, watching her walk into my lobby wearing that black dress, her chin lifted with newfound determination, I'd felt something disturbingly close to pride.

She'd surprised me. Again.

"Impressive building," Emma said, her voice steady despite the way her fingers worried the strap of her purse. "How long have you been CEO?"

"Five years." I watched her reflection in the polished elevator doors, noting the way she carried herself differently than she had three days ago. More confident. More... dangerous. "I took over when I was twenty-seven."

Her eyebrows rose. "That's young for this level of responsibility."

"Age is irrelevant when you have the right motivation."

The words came out harder than I'd intended, edged with the cold fury that had driven me since I was twelve years old. Emma's eyes sharpened, and I realized I'd revealed more than I meant to.

"And what motivates you, Mr. Blackstone?"

The elevator doors opened before I had to answer, revealing the executive floor of Blackstone Industries. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a commanding view of Manhattan, and the conference room's glass walls allowed natural light to flood the space. Everything was designed to intimidate—the imposing mahogany table, the leather chairs that cost more than most people's cars, the subtle displays of wealth and power.

Emma stepped out of the elevator and paused, taking in the view. But instead of looking overwhelmed, she looked... appreciative. Like she was studying the architecture and design choices rather than being cowed by them.

"Beautiful," she murmured, moving toward the windows. "The light up here must be incredible for detail work."

An artist's perspective. Of course she would notice the light quality before anything else.

"Miss Winters." Sofia appeared at my elbow, impeccably professional in her charcoal suit. "Welcome to Blackstone Industries."

"Emma, please." Emma turned from the windows with a genuine smile. "And thank you. This is an amazing space."

Sofia's expression softened slightly—Emma had that effect on people, I was learning. Even my notoriously reserved assistant wasn't immune to her warmth.

"The legal team is waiting in Conference Room A," Sofia said to me. "All the contracts are prepared according to your specifications."

Emma's attention sharpened. "Legal team? How many lawyers does it take to draft a marriage contract?"

"When the marriage involves protecting assets worth fifty billion dollars? More than you might expect." I gestured toward the conference room. "Shall we?"

The legal team consisted of four of the city's most expensive attorneys, each specializing in a different aspect of what we were about to undertake. But as we entered the conference room, I found myself dismissing them with a wave.

"I'll handle this personally. Wait outside."

The lawyers exchanged glances but filed out without argument. When the door closed behind them, Emma and I were alone in the vast conference room, facing each other across a table that could seat twenty.

"Intimidation tactic?" Emma asked, settling into her chair with more grace than I'd expected.

"Efficiency." I took the seat directly across from her, close enough to see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. "This is a private matter. No need for an audience."

She leaned back in her chair, studying me with an expression I couldn't quite read. "So what exactly are your terms, Mr. Blackstone?"

I slid a thick contract across the table. "Everything's outlined here, but the basics are straightforward. One year minimum commitment, renewable by mutual agreement. You'll move into my penthouse immediately after we're married. Separate bedrooms, shared common areas. Full access to household staff and security."

Emma flipped through the pages, her expression growing more incredulous with each clause. "Monthly allowance of five hundred thousand dollars? That's... that's more than most people make in a year."

"You'll be expected to maintain a certain standard of appearance. Designer clothing, jewelry, regular salon appointments. The allowance covers those expenses plus personal spending money."

"And in exchange?"

"You accompany me to all business functions, charity galas, and social events. You present as my devoted wife in public. You support my business endeavors and participate in the social aspects of corporate life." I paused, then added the most important part. "And you provide me with intimate access to your family's social circle."

Something flickered in Emma's eyes. "My family's social circle."

"Your father moves in influential business circles. As his son-in-law, I'll have access to relationships and opportunities that would otherwise take years to cultivate."

It was true, as far as it went. I just wasn't mentioning that those relationships would be used to destroy Richard Winters from the inside out.

Emma set the contract down and leaned forward, her elbows on the table. "And what about my business? My jewelry design?"

"Fully supported. I'll provide funding for a proper studio, equipment, materials, even staff if you want to expand. Consider it an investment in your talent."

"An investment with what expected return?"

The question caught me off guard. I'd expected gratitude, maybe some negotiation about the financial terms. I hadn't expected her to approach this like a business partnership between equals.

"Your success reflects well on both of us. A wife with her own accomplished career enhances my image as a modern, progressive businessman."

Emma nodded slowly, making notes in the margins of the contract. "I have some conditions of my own."

"Such as?"

"Complete creative control over my work. No interference in my artistic process or business decisions. If I succeed, it's because of my talent, not your money."

"Agreed."

"I maintain my own bank account and financial independence outside of the allowance."

"Also agreed."

"And I want the option to end this arrangement with thirty days' notice after the first year, regardless of your preference."

I hesitated. That clause gave her significant power, more than I'd planned to concede. But Emma was watching me with those intelligent brown eyes, and I realized she was testing me. Seeing if I really viewed this as a partnership or if I intended to control every aspect of our arrangement.

"Acceptable," I said finally.

Emma smiled—a real smile this time, not the polite mask she'd worn since arriving. "Good. Now let's talk about the more... personal aspects of this arrangement."

Heat shot through me at the way she said 'personal,' even though I knew she meant it practically. "What specifically?"

"Physical contact. Public displays of affection. How do we make this believable without crossing lines we shouldn't cross?"

I'd been dreading this part of the conversation, mainly because I'd been trying not to think about it. The marriage had to look real, which meant we'd need to appear comfortable with each other physically. But every time I imagined touching Emma—her hand in mine, my arm around her waist, the kind of casual intimacy married couples displayed—my pulse quickened in ways that had nothing to do with business strategy.

"We'll start slowly," I said, proud of how level my voice sounded. "Hand-holding, brief touches, standing close together. Nothing that would make either of us uncomfortable."

"And if we need to appear more... intimate? For the sake of appearances?"

The way she said it, with just a hint of breathlessness, made my mouth go dry. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Emma nodded, making another note. "One more thing. I don't want to lie to people unnecessarily. Obviously we can't tell everyone this is a business arrangement, but I won't pretend to be madly in love if someone asks directly about our relationship."

"What would you tell them?"

She considered this. "That we found each other at the right time. That we complement each other well. That we're building something together." She looked up at me. "All of which would be true, in a way."

Building something together. The phrase resonated in a way I hadn't expected. For twenty years, I'd been building toward one goal: Richard Winters' destruction. But sitting across from Emma, watching her approach our arrangement with intelligence and dignity, I found myself wondering what else we might build.

"There's one more clause I need to add," I said, pulling out a pen.

Emma's eyebrows rose. "Oh?"

I wrote quickly, then slid the contract back to her. "Clause forty-seven: Both parties agree to approach this arrangement with honesty and mutual respect."

She read the addition, then looked up at me with surprise. "That's... unexpectedly thoughtful."

"I may be asking you to play a role, Emma, but I don't want you to lose yourself in the process."

The words were out before I could stop them, too revealing, too honest. But Emma's expression softened, and for a moment, the conference room full of contracts and negotiations felt almost intimate.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "That means more than you know."

We spent the next hour going through the contract line by line, Emma asking shrewd questions and negotiating points I hadn't expected her to challenge. She was sharp, focused, and absolutely not the naive artist I'd originally planned to manipulate.

When we finally reached the signature page, Emma paused with her pen hovering over the paper.

"Last chance to change your mind," I said.

She looked up at me, studying my face with those perceptive brown eyes. "Are you having second thoughts?"

I should have been. Every instinct I'd honed over five years as CEO told me that Emma Winters was going to be far more complicated than I'd planned for. She wasn't going to be a passive participant in my revenge plot. She was going to be a partner, with her own opinions and demands and unexpected moments of vulnerability that made my chest tight.

But as I watched her consider signing her name to a document that would bind us together for at least a year, I realized I'd never wanted anything more than I wanted Emma Winters to say yes.

"No second thoughts," I said.

Emma smiled—that devastating, genuine smile that transformed her entire face—and signed her name with a flourish.

As our hands brushed while I signed below her signature, I felt an unexpected jolt of electricity. Emma's eyes met mine, and for a moment, the corporate facade cracked completely. This was supposed to be purely business, a calculated move in a long game of revenge.

So why did I find myself wondering what it would feel like to kiss those soft lips? Why was I imagining what it would be like to wake up next to her, to see that smile first thing every morning, to have the right to touch her whenever I wanted?

"Well," Emma said, her voice slightly breathless, "I guess we're engaged."

"I guess we are." I stood and moved around the table, stopping just close enough to her chair that she had to tilt her head back to look at me. "There's one more thing."

"What?"

I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. Emma's eyes widened as I opened it, revealing a stunning five-carat diamond surrounded by smaller stones in a platinum setting.

"You can't be engaged without a ring," I said, taking her left hand in mine.

The ring slid onto her finger perfectly—I'd had it sized based on measurements stolen from one of her pieces. But as I watched the diamonds catch the light, as I felt the warmth of her hand in mine, the calculated gesture suddenly felt like something much more significant.

"It's beautiful," Emma whispered, staring at the ring. "But it's too much. This must have cost—"

"Emma." I waited until she looked up at me. "You're going to be my wife. Nothing is too much."

The words hung in the air between us, loaded with implications I hadn't intended. But Emma's cheeks flushed pink, and she didn't pull her hand away from mine.

"When?" she asked.

"The wedding? Three weeks. I've already spoken with the Plaza about availability."

"Three weeks?" Emma's voice pitched higher. "That's not much time to plan a wedding."

"It doesn't need to be elaborate. Small ceremony, immediate family and close friends. Think of it as an elegant business merger rather than a fairy tale wedding."

Something shuttered in Emma's expression at that, and I realized I'd said the wrong thing. But before I could correct it, she was standing, smoothing down her dress with hands that trembled slightly.

"Right," she said, her voice carefully neutral. "Business merger. I should go. I have a lot to arrange—moving out of my studio, breaking my lease, telling my father..." She trailed off, looking suddenly overwhelmed.

"Emma." I caught her hand as she turned to leave. "Are you okay?"

She looked down at our joined hands, then back up at my face. "I think I'm terrified," she admitted. "But also... excited? Is that strange?"

"Not strange at all." I lifted her hand to my lips and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles, just above the engagement ring. "I'll take care of everything. You just focus on your art and let me handle the rest."

Emma's breath caught, and her eyes went soft. "You keep surprising me, Mr. Blackstone."

"Adrian," I corrected. "We're engaged now. You should probably call me Adrian."

"Adrian." The way she said my name made something warm and dangerous unfurl in my chest. "Thank you. For all of this. For giving me a chance to build something real."

As I watched her leave, her new engagement ring catching the light with every gesture, I realized that Emma Winters was absolutely right. We were building something real.

I just wasn't sure it was what either of us had planned for.