The morning light over Marina Bay was cruelly beautiful. It spilled through the penthouse windows like molten gold, coating everything it touched, the marble floors, the glass table, and the man she could never look at without remembering.
Adrian Vega.
The name alone still tasted like heat and heartbreak.
He was at the breakfast counter, sleeves rolled, coffee in hand, reading the Financial Times like the world bent to his schedule. And maybe it did.
Elena stood across from him, wearing a silk robe too fine for comfort, a stranger in a house that wasn't a home.
She hated how composed he looked. How her pulse betrayed her every time he turned a page.
"You're quiet," he said without looking up.
"I have nothing to say."
His gaze flicked up, sharp, deliberate. "That's a first."
She clenched her jaw. "You think you know me?"
"I used to."
"Then you should've remembered I don't stay where I'm not wanted."
He set down the paper, leaning back in his chair. "You're here because you wanted to save your family, not because I wanted you."
The words hit harder than he meant. Or maybe exactly as he meant.
She forced a laugh. "Then congratulations, Adrian. You've bought yourself a very reluctant wife."
He smiled, slow and dangerous. "Reluctant wives tend to be the most honest ones. They don't fake affection."
"Don't worry," she shot back. "I won't be kissing your ego anytime soon."
A muscle ticked in his jaw, brief, almost imperceptible.
He stood, the movement smooth, commanding. "We should talk about boundaries."
She folded her arms. "Rules, you mean. You do love those."
His tone was steady, low. "You want distance? Fine. Then stop looking at me like you still care."
The air left her lungs.
"I don't," she lied.
His smile was razor-thin. "Then this arrangement should be easy."
But the silence that followed was anything but.
He watched her turn away, the curve of her shoulders taut with pride and restraint.
Elena Cruz. The woman who could break his composure with a single glance.
He told himself this marriage was strategy, a transaction of vengeance and convenience. But the truth whispered differently in the quiet moments.
He remembered the girl in the rain-soaked courtyard years ago, laughing as she dared him to skip class. The warmth that had lived in her eyes before betrayal and loss carved it out.
Now, she was marble. Cold. Distant. But beneath the calm, he could feel the flicker.
He wasn't sure if he wanted to extinguish it, or fan the flames until they consumed them both.
A notification buzzed on his phone, slicing through the silence.
A text from his PR head:
VEGA MARRIAGE LEAKED. SOCIALS TRENDING. DAMAGE CONTROL ASAP.
His grip tightened around the phone. "Damn it."
Elena turned. "What?"
He tossed the device onto the counter. "The media got wind of our marriage."
Her eyes widened. "What do you mean got wind?"
"It's trending."
"You said this would stay private..."
"I said controlled, not private." His voice cut like glass. "There's a difference."
She stared at him, disbelief flooding her expression. "So I'm part of your corporate game now? A convenient headline?"
"Don't be dramatic."
"Don't be cruel!"
Her voice cracked through the space like thunder. The storm brewing outside felt tame compared to the one in her chest.
He exhaled slowly. "I'll handle it."
"No, Adrian. You've handled everything since you were twenty, companies, people, lives. But this? This was mine too."
Her defiance hit him in places he'd buried deep, the boy who once loved her honesty, the man who now weaponized it.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "The world will see what I want them to see. That's how you survive in this city."
"I'm not like you."
"No," he said softly, "you're still pretending not to be."
She wanted to slap him again. To scream until something inside him cracked.
But instead, she turned and walked toward the glass wall, the skyline shimmering beyond. "So this is it," she murmured. "Your revenge wrapped in press releases."
Behind her, she heard him move, slow, deliberate.
"Elena."
"Don't." Her voice trembled. "Don't call me like it still means something."
He stopped. The distance between them was more dangerous than proximity.
She pressed her palm to the glass. "My mother will see the news. Everyone who pitied us will know I sold myself to the man who ruined my father."
"You didn't sell yourself," Adrian said quietly. "You bargained for survival."
She turned to face him, eyes glinting with tears she refused to shed. "That's just a polished way of saying I'm yours."
The silence burned.
And then, the faintest flicker of something human in his gaze. Regret, maybe. But it vanished before she could name it.
"Get ready," he said, retreating behind command. "We'll need to make a public appearance tonight."
Her laugh was hollow. "So fast? Do I get to practice smiling for the cameras?"
"If you're going to play my wife, you'll play it well."
"You mean pretend well."
His jaw tightened. "Same difference."
He watched her storm into the bedroom, her bedroom, and slam the door.
The sound echoed through the penthouse, sharp and final.
He should've felt satisfaction. This was what he wanted: control. Power. Distance disguised as proximity.
But instead, he felt the faint sting of something else, a memory cutting through like smoke.
Her laughter under university lights. The way she'd once called his name like it was a promise.
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling the thought away.
He couldn't afford sentiment. Not now. Not when every step of this marriage was calculated.
Still, when he opened his phone again and saw the headline flashing across every feed,
"BILLIONAIRE ADRIAN VEGA SECRETLY MARRIES FALLEN TYCOON'S DAUGHTER"
something cold twisted in his chest.
He scrolled through the comments.
"Power move or pity?"
"Rumors say she's paying off debts… through marriage."
"Classic Vega, always collecting."
He closed the screen with a muttered curse.
He had built an empire out of precision and silence. Now, the world was watching, dissecting, judging.
And worst of all, she'd see it too.
Her phone buzzed endlessly on the dresser, but she couldn't bring herself to look.
She sat by the window, hair unbound, staring at the storm that hadn't let up since morning.
So this was her new life, beautiful cage, ruthless captor, and her name plastered across every gossip column like a stain.
When she finally picked up her phone, the messages came like bullets:
"Is it true?"
"You married Adrian Vega?"
"Are you okay?"
"Elena… why him?"
Her throat tightened. Why him, indeed.
The door opened behind her. She didn't turn.
"Read them all?" he asked.
Her voice was brittle. "Do you enjoy seeing me humiliated?"
"No." His tone was too calm. "But I warned you what this life costs."
She turned sharply. "I didn't ask for this."
"No," he said, walking toward her. "You asked for mercy. And this is what it looks like in my world."
She rose to her feet, fury trembling through her. "Your world is rotten."
"Maybe," he murmured, stopping a breath away, "but you're standing in it."
The silence crackled between them, charged, dangerous, alive.
He should've left. She should've looked away.
But neither did.
"You think you can control everything," she whispered.
"I do control everything."
Her lips trembled, half in anger, half in disbelief. "Then tell me, Adrian… why does it still hurt?"
The question hung like a wound.
He didn't answer. Couldn't.
Because for the first time in years, he didn't know whether she meant him, or herself.
Later that night, he watched her through the reflection of the penthouse glass. She sat on the couch, back straight, watching the muted television reports of their "secret wedding."
To the world, they were a headline.
To him, she was the reminder of everything he couldn't bury.
He could feel her resentment like smoke, thick and choking. But beneath it, something else simmered, the same heat that had drawn him once, the one that refused to die even under years of silence.
He almost wanted to touch her.
Almost.
Instead, he said, "The car will be here in an hour. The charity gala starts at eight."
She didn't turn. "And if I refuse?"
"Then I'll go alone. And the press will wonder if my wife is too ashamed to be seen with me."
That finally made her look at him, fury and pain warring in her eyes.
"You're impossible."
He smiled faintly. "You used to call that confidence."
Her voice softened, against her will. "I used to call it arrogance."
"Maybe I never changed."
"Maybe I did."
For a moment, neither spoke. The storm outside had quieted, but the air between them still burned.
Then she stood, chin lifted. "Fine. I'll play your perfect wife for the cameras."
His lips curved. "Good."
"But remember this, Adrian," she added, eyes cold and unyielding. "Fire can't be controlled forever. It burns what it touches, even the one who lit it."
He froze, just for a breath. Then, a slow, dangerous smile.
"Then let's burn together."
The elevator doors closed behind them as flashes erupted outside Vega Tower. The world finally saw them, billionaire and fallen heiress, a marriage built on ruin.
Inside the elevator, their reflections met in the mirrored walls, too close, too sharp, too dangerous.
And when the doors opened to chaos and cameras, Adrian whispered under his breath,
"Smile, Mrs. Vega. The fire's just begun."