Revenge Bride

POV: Emma Winters

"Breathe, Miss Winters. You look like you're about to faint."

The personal stylist—Margot something, flown in from Paris specifically for this moment—adjusted the neckline of my gown with the efficiency of someone accustomed to dressing nervous billionaires' wives. The dress was stunning: midnight blue silk that skimmed my curves without clinging, with delicate beadwork that caught the light like stars. It probably cost more than my monthly rent.

"I'm fine," I lied, staring at my reflection in Adrian's bedroom mirror. The woman looking back at me was a stranger—hair swept into an elegant updo, makeup flawless, jewelry that could probably fund a small country's education budget. "Just adjusting to all this."

"All this" was Adrian's penthouse, which I'd moved into two days ago. Forty-five floors above Manhattan, with floor-to-ceiling windows that made me feel like I was living in the clouds. The space was beautiful but intimidating—all clean lines and expensive surfaces, like a museum exhibit of how the extremely wealthy lived.

Adrian had been perfectly polite during the move, showing me to my bedroom suite (larger than my entire studio had been), introducing me to the household staff, explaining the security protocols. But there had been a distance between us since the contract signing, a careful professionalism that made me wonder if I'd imagined the heat I'd felt when he'd slipped the engagement ring onto my finger.

"The final touch." Margot fastened a diamond necklace around my throat—something Adrian had selected to complement the engagement ring. The stones were cold against my skin, beautiful but unfamiliar. "Perfect. You look like a woman who belongs in this world."

The question was whether I felt like I belonged here.

A knock at the door interrupted my spiraling thoughts. "Emma? Are you ready?"

Adrian's voice sent that familiar flutter through my stomach. "Come in."

He stepped into the room and froze, his steel-gray eyes widening slightly as he took in my transformation. For a moment, his carefully controlled mask slipped, and I saw something raw and appreciative in his expression.

"You look..." He cleared his throat, his composure returning. "Incredible. Absolutely incredible."

"Thank you." I smoothed my hands over the silk, suddenly self-conscious under his intense gaze. "Margot is a miracle worker."

"Margot enhanced what was already there." Adrian moved closer, and I caught the scent of his cologne—something subtle and expensive that made me want to lean into him. "The gala tonight will be your introduction to my world. Are you nervous?"

"Terrified," I admitted. "I've never been to anything like this. What if I say the wrong thing? What if people can tell this isn't real?"

Adrian's expression softened, and he reached up to touch my cheek gently. The gesture was so unexpected, so tender, that my breath caught.

"Emma, look at me." His thumb traced along my cheekbone. "You are brilliant, talented, and strong enough to hold your own in any room. These people put their pants on one leg at a time just like everyone else. The only difference is they have more money to buy fancier pants."

I laughed despite my nerves. "Did Adrian Blackstone just make a joke?"

"Stranger things have happened." His almost-smile appeared, the one that transformed his entire face. "Besides, you won't be alone. I'll be right there with you."

The way he said it, low and reassuring, made warmth spread through my chest. For a moment, it was easy to forget this was all pretend.

"There's one more thing." Adrian pulled a small velvet box from his jacket pocket. "Earrings to match the necklace."

He opened the box to reveal diamond earrings that probably cost more than my car. But as he moved to help me put them on, his fingers brushing against my neck, I found myself more focused on his closeness than the jewelry.

"There." His hands lingered on my shoulders. "Perfect."

Our eyes met in the mirror, and the air between us suddenly felt charged. For a heartbeat, I thought he might kiss me. For a heartbeat, I wanted him to.

Then his phone buzzed, breaking the spell.

"The car's here," he said, stepping back and returning to his professional demeanor. "Ready to make our debut, Mrs. Blackstone-to-be?"

The Children's Hospital Charity Gala was held at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the main hall transformed into something out of a fairy tale. Crystal chandeliers cast dancing light over tables draped in white silk, while arrangements of white orchids and roses created an elegant garden atmosphere. Women in designer gowns glided between tables like exotic birds, their jewelry catching the light, while men in perfectly tailored tuxedos conducted business with champagne flutes in hand.

"Overwhelming?" Adrian murmured as we paused at the entrance.

"A little." I accepted a champagne flute from a passing waiter, using the moment to scan the room. "But beautiful."

"Stay close to me. I'll introduce you to people gradually, and remember—you don't need to prove anything to anyone here."

As we moved into the crowd, I was struck by how Adrian commanded the space. People turned to watch him, conversations paused as he passed, and there was a deferential quality to how others approached him. This was his world, and he was clearly its king.

"Adrian!" A silver-haired woman in an elaborate emerald gown swept toward us, her smile predatory. "How wonderful to see you. And this must be the mysterious fiancée we've all been hearing about."

"Mrs. Pemberton." Adrian's smile was polite but cool. "I'd like you to meet Emma Winters. Emma, this is Victoria Pemberton, she's on the board of several cultural institutions."

"How lovely to meet you, dear." Mrs. Pemberton's eyes swept over me assessingly. "Winters... as in Winters Corporation? How interesting that Adrian found himself a bride with such useful family connections."

The comment stung, especially since it wasn't entirely wrong. But before I could respond, Adrian's arm tightened around my waist.

"Actually, I fell for Emma's artistic talent long before I learned about her family." His voice carried just a hint of steel. "She's an exceptionally gifted jewelry designer. In fact, she designed the pieces she's wearing tonight."

It was a lie—Adrian had chosen everything I wore—but Mrs. Pemberton's expression shifted to one of genuine interest.

"Really? How fascinating. I'm always looking for new artists for my foundation's upcoming exhibition."

As Mrs. Pemberton moved away, I looked up at Adrian in surprise. "Why did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Lie about me designing the jewelry. Stand up for me."

His jaw tightened slightly. "Because she was being condescending, and you deserve better."

Before I could respond, another couple approached—a distinguished man with kind eyes and a woman whose smile seemed genuine rather than calculating.

"Adrian, congratulations on your engagement." The man extended his hand. "Marcus told us the wonderful news."

Adrian's entire body went rigid beside me. "Richard. Diana. I wasn't expecting to see you here."

My heart stopped. Richard. As in...

"Dad!" I turned toward the man who'd just spoken, joy flooding through me at seeing his familiar face. "What are you doing here?"

"Emma?" My father's eyes widened in shock as he took in my transformed appearance. "Sweetheart, what are you... how do you...?" His gaze moved between Adrian and me, confusion clear on his face. "Do you two know each other?"

"Richard Winters, I'd like you to meet my fiancé, Adrian Blackstone." Adrian's voice was perfectly controlled, but I could feel the tension radiating from him. "Adrian, this is my father."

Dad's face went through several expressions—surprise, confusion, and something that might have been wariness. "Blackstone. We've spoken on the phone about potential business opportunities."

"Indeed we have." Adrian's smile was sharp as a blade. "Though I had no idea at the time that you were Emma's father. What a delightful coincidence."

Something in Adrian's tone made my skin prickle. There was an undercurrent I didn't understand, a tension that went beyond normal meeting-the-father awkwardness.

"How did you two meet?" Dad asked, his business instincts clearly engaged.

"Adrian came to my studio looking for local artisans," I said, slipping my hand into Adrian's. His fingers tightened around mine almost painfully. "We just... connected."

"Your studio?" Dad's eyebrows rose. "Emma, sweetheart, I thought you were struggling with the rent. How did you—"

"Adrian's been incredibly supportive of my work," I interrupted, not wanting to get into the details of my financial crisis in front of all these people. "He believes in investing in talent."

"How generous." Diana Pemberton had reappeared, clearly sensing drama. "Though I have to say, Adrian, this is quite a departure from your usual... solitary lifestyle."

"People change," Adrian said simply. "Emma has shown me that there are things worth changing for."

The way he said it, looking down at me with an expression that seemed almost tender, made my heart skip. Even though I knew it was an act, it felt real enough to make my cheeks flush.

"Well, this calls for a toast," Dad said, raising his champagne flute. "To unexpected connections and new beginnings."

As we clinked glasses, I caught sight of Adrian's reflection in a nearby mirror. While his face showed polite pleasure, his eyes were cold as winter. Whatever was happening between him and my father went deeper than business rivalry.

"Emma, you look absolutely radiant," the woman beside Dad said warmly. "I'm Helen Winters, Richard's wife. I've heard so much about you."

My stepmother. Dad had remarried three years ago, and Helen seemed lovely, but we'd never been particularly close.

"Thank you. You look beautiful too." And she did—Helen was elegant in the way that came from good breeding and better stylists.

"We should have dinner soon," Dad said to Adrian. "I'd love to discuss that partnership we talked about, and I'm eager to get to know the man who's captured my daughter's heart."

"I'd be honored," Adrian replied smoothly. "Though I should warn you, I'm very protective of what's mine."

The possessiveness in his voice should have annoyed me. Instead, it sent heat spiraling through my body.

As we moved away from my father and stepmother, I felt Adrian's hand settle on the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd. His touch was warm, reassuring, and I found myself relaxing into his presence.

"You're doing beautifully," he murmured close to my ear. "Everyone's completely charmed."

"Even Mrs. Pemberton?"

"Especially Mrs. Pemberton. She's already mentally planning which of her wealthy friends need custom jewelry."

We found ourselves on a quieter balcony overlooking the museum's sculpture garden. The October air was crisp, and I shivered slightly in my silk gown.

Without hesitation, Adrian shrugged out of his jacket and draped it around my shoulders. The gesture was so naturally protective that for a moment, I forgot we were playing roles.

"Thank you." I pulled his jacket closer, breathing in the scent of his cologne. "For everything tonight. I know I was nervous, but you made it easy."

"You made it easy by being yourself." He leaned against the balcony railing, studying my face in the moonlight. "Though I have to ask—are you okay? You seemed tense when we were talking to your father."

I hesitated, unsure how to explain the strange undercurrents I'd sensed. "Did you know? That he was my father, I mean, when you came to my studio?"

Adrian's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes. "Would it matter if I did?"

"I don't know. Maybe. It would mean this wasn't the coincidence you said it was."

For a long moment, he was quiet, looking out over the garden. When he finally spoke, his voice was carefully neutral.

"Emma, there are very few true coincidences in business. I researched local artisans, your name came up, and yes, I knew who your father was before I walked into your studio. But that's not why I chose you."

"Then why did you?"

He turned to face me fully, his steel-gray eyes intense in the moonlight. "Because when I saw your work, when I talked to you about art and passion and creating something meaningful, I realized you were exactly what I'd been looking for. Not Richard Winters' daughter. Emma Winters. The woman."

The sincerity in his voice made my chest tight. This felt too real, too honest to be part of our business arrangement.

"Adrian..." I started, not sure what I wanted to say.

"Emma." He stepped closer, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. "I need you to know that whatever happens, whatever complications arise from our families or business or the world trying to intrude on what we're building—this, right now, is real."

Before I could ask what he meant, his lips were on mine.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, like he was asking permission. But when I didn't pull away, when I actually leaned into him, it deepened into something that made my knees weak. His arms came around me, pulling me closer, and I forgot about the party inside, forgot about contracts and business arrangements, forgot about everything except the way Adrian kissed me like I was the only thing that mattered in the world.

When we finally broke apart, both of us were breathing hard.

"That wasn't in the contract," I whispered.

"No," Adrian agreed, his thumb tracing my lower lip. "It wasn't."

From inside the museum, I could hear the sound of applause—someone giving a speech about the charity's mission. But out here on the balcony, wrapped in Adrian's jacket and still feeling the warmth of his kiss, the rest of the world felt very far away.

"We should go back in," I said reluctantly.

"We should." But Adrian made no move to step away from me. "Emma?"

"Yes?"

"Whatever else happens, I want you to remember this moment. Remember that it was real."

The intensity in his voice, the almost desperate edge to it, sent a chill through me that had nothing to do with the October air.

"Adrian, what aren't you telling me?"

But before he could answer, the balcony doors opened and my father appeared.

"Emma, there you are. They're about to start the auction, and I thought you might want to—" He stopped short, taking in our intimate positioning, Adrian's jacket around my shoulders, my probably kiss-swollen lips. "Oh. Sorry to interrupt."

"It's fine, Dad." I stepped back from Adrian, immediately missing his warmth. "We were just getting some air."

Dad's eyes moved between us, and I saw something like approval in his expression. "Good. You both look happy. That's what matters."

As we followed Dad back inside, Adrian's hand found mine, our fingers intertwining naturally. But I couldn't shake the feeling that there were currents moving beneath the surface of this perfect evening, secrets that could change everything.

And despite the warmth of Adrian's kiss still lingering on my lips, I couldn't escape the growing certainty that my husband-to-be was hiding something that would break my heart.