ADRIAN POV
I couldn't stop staring at the threatening text on Iris's phone.
**Would be a shame if something happened to her before the big day.**
Marcus Westbrook had just declared war. And he'd chosen my future wife as his battlefield.
My hands curled into fists. The phone screen cracked under the pressure.
"Adrian?" Iris's voice was small. Scared. "What do we do?"
"We make sure you survive until tomorrow." I handed back her phone—carefully, so she wouldn't see how badly I wanted to put my fist through a wall. "Then we make them regret ever touching what's mine."
"I'm not yours yet."
"You signed the contract. Close enough." I pulled out my own phone and started making calls. "Stay here. Don't go near the windows."
The next three hours were a blur of security arrangements. Armed guards posted on every floor. Surveillance on Marcus's known locations. Background checks on everyone who'd entered the building this week. A complete sweep for bugs and cameras.
By 5 AM, my building was locked down tighter than a fortress.
But it still didn't feel safe enough.
Because somewhere out there, Marcus and Vivienne were planning something. And I'd dragged Iris into the crossfire.
I should feel guilty. Should regret involving an innocent person in my twenty-year revenge scheme.
Instead, I just felt angry. Possessive. Determined.
No one was going to hurt her. Not while she wore my name. Not while she was under my protection.
Not ever.
The thought surprised me with its intensity.
I barely knew this girl. She was supposed to be a tool. A means to destroy Damien and secure my inheritance. Nothing more.
So why did the idea of someone hurting her make me want to burn the entire city down?
"Sir?" James appeared in my office doorway. "The building is secure. Should I wake Miss Chen for the security briefing?"
"No. Let her sleep." I glanced at the monitor showing my bedroom. Iris was finally resting, curled up small under the covers. "She's had enough trauma for one night."
"The courthouse opens at nine. Catherine has the expedited paperwork ready."
Nine o'clock. Four hours from now, Iris would become my wife.
Mrs. Adrian Thorne.
The words sent something sharp through my chest. Not quite satisfaction. Something more complicated.
"Good. Have the car ready at eight-thirty." I turned off the monitor. "And James? Double the security detail. I want eyes on everyone who gets within a mile of that courthouse."
"Expecting trouble?"
"Always."
After James left, I stood at the window watching dawn break over Manhattan. The city was waking up—delivery trucks, early commuters, the world moving forward like yesterday hadn't destroyed everything.
But everything had changed. For Iris. For me. For all of us.
My phone buzzed. A message from my investigator: *Found something. Marcus Westbrook withdrew $500,000 cash two days ago. Source says it was payment for "a job." Still tracking details.*
Half a million dollars. That wasn't expense money. That was hiring-a-professional money.
Marcus wasn't just threatening Iris. He was actively planning something.
I forwarded the message to James with instructions to increase security again. Then I opened my encrypted files and pulled up everything I had on Marcus Westbrook.
Twenty years of investigation. Twenty years of gathering evidence. Photos of him meeting with my father's business partners. Financial records showing embezzlement. Witness statements about his violent temper.
But nothing solid on my mother's death. Nothing that would put him in prison where he belonged.
Until six months ago, when I finally found her.
The cleaning lady who'd been working the same shift as my mother that night. The one who'd seen Marcus push her down those stairs. The one who'd been too scared to come forward because Marcus threatened her family.
She was ready to testify now. Ready to tell the truth.
I just needed to keep her alive long enough to get her statement on record.
And keep Iris alive long enough to—
To what?
To use her for revenge? To parade her in front of Damien? To prove that Adrian Thorne always won?
Or was it something else now?
I thought about how she'd looked reading that contract. The way her hands shook when she signed her name. The fierce determination in her eyes when she asked, "Where do I sign?"
She was braver than she knew. Stronger than anyone had given her credit for.
Damien was an idiot for letting her go.
But his loss was my gain.
Wasn't it?
My phone rang. Catherine.
"Please tell me you're not actually doing this," she said instead of hello. "Getting married in four hours to a woman you met yesterday?"
"I am. Have the papers ready."
"Adrian, this is insane even for you."
"They threatened her, Catherine. Sent photos of her through my window. If we wait, if we give them time—"
"They might hurt her. I know." Catherine sighed. "Which is why I have everything ready. But Adrian? When this inevitably gets complicated, don't say I didn't warn you."
"It won't get complicated. It's a business arrangement."
"Keep telling yourself that."
She hung up. I stared at the phone, irritated.
This wouldn't get complicated. I'd designed the contract specifically to prevent complications. No feelings. No attachment. Just mutual benefit.
Simple.
Except...
I pulled up the security feed one more time. Just to check. Just to make sure Iris was safe.
She was awake now, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at something in her hands. I zoomed in.
Her mother's journal. She was crying again, silently, reading words written by a woman who'd died thirteen years ago.
Something twisted in my chest.
I remembered my own mother's journal. The one she'd kept hidden under her mattress. The one I'd found after she died, filled with dreams she'd never get to achieve. Plans for a future that would never come.
She'd written about me on the last page. About how proud she was. About how she knew I'd do great things someday.
She'd died believing I'd be okay.
I hadn't been okay. Not for a long time.
But I'd survived. Built an empire. Become everything she'd dreamed.
And now I was about to use another woman—another person who'd lost everything—to finish what my mother had started.
The revenge she'd never lived to see.
Was I doing the right thing? Or was I just repeating the same cycle of pain that had destroyed my family?
"Stop it," I muttered to myself. "You're not going soft. Not now."
Iris had signed the contract. She knew what this was. A business deal. Mutually beneficial. No one was being forced.
She got five million dollars and revenge. I got my inheritance and Damien's destruction.
Everyone won.
My phone buzzed. Another message from the investigator: *Update on the $500K. Wire traced to an offshore account linked to international... sir, this isn't good. Marcus hired someone from overseas. Professional level.*
Professional level.
My blood ran cold.
Marcus hadn't just hired muscle. He'd hired an actual assassin.
And the target was either me or Iris or both.
I was moving before I finished reading the message, running toward the bedroom, my heart pounding in a way it hadn't in twenty years.
I burst through the door.
Iris looked up, startled, her mother's journal falling from her hands.
"Adrian? What's wrong?"
"Get dressed. Now." I was already pulling clothes from the closet. "We're leaving. Immediately."
"But you said the building was secure—"
"That was before I knew Marcus hired a professional assassin." I thrust a sweater and pants at her. "Get dressed. We're going to the courthouse right now. We can't wait until nine."
"It's five-thirty in the morning! The courthouse isn't even open—"
"I don't care. I have a judge on call who owes me favors. We're getting married in the next hour, and then we're going somewhere Marcus can't find us." I pulled my own jacket on. "Move, Iris. Please."
She must have heard the fear in my voice—the thing I never showed anyone—because she didn't argue. Just grabbed the clothes and ran to the bathroom.
I called Catherine. "Meet us at Judge Morrison's house. Now. Yes, I know what time it is. Tell him it's life or death."
Then I called James. "Bring the car to the private garage. Back entrance. And James? If anyone tries to follow us, stop them. I don't care how."
"Understood, sir."
Iris emerged from the bathroom, dressed and pale. "Adrian, what exactly did that message say?"
"That we're out of time." I took her hand—she was ice cold. "But it's going to be okay. Once we're married, once you're legally my wife, you're untouchable. Marcus won't risk killing someone with that much legal protection."
"You hope."
"I know." I pulled her toward the door. "Trust me, Iris. I won't let anything happen to you."
We took the private elevator down to the garage. James was waiting with the car, three armed guards surrounding it.
"Destination?" he asked.
I gave him Judge Morrison's address. "Fast. But careful. Watch for tails."
We pulled out of the garage. The city was still mostly dark, just a few lights coming on in early morning windows.
I kept my hand on Iris's, feeling her pulse race under my fingers.
"I'm scared," she whispered.
"Good. Fear keeps you alert." I squeezed her hand. "But you're safe with me. I promise."
"You keep making promises you might not be able to keep."
"I've never broken a promise in my life. Not starting now."
We drove through empty streets. Every car that appeared behind us made my shoulders tense. Every shadow could be hiding danger.
But we made it to the judge's house without incident.
Judge Morrison answered the door in his bathrobe, looking annoyed until he saw my face.
"Adrian? What's—"
"We need you to marry us. Right now. Emergency circumstances."
"It's six in the morning!"
"I know. And I'll owe you for this. Name your price."
He looked between me and Iris, who was shaking despite trying to hide it. Then he sighed.
"Come in. Let me get my book."
Catherine arrived ten minutes later with the marriage license already processed—she'd called in her own favors to get it done before opening hours.
"You're both sure about this?" she asked, looking at Iris. "You can still walk away."
"I signed the contract," Iris said quietly. "I'm not walking away."
Judge Morrison stood in his living room, ceremony book open. "Then let's begin."
This wasn't how I'd imagined my wedding day. No tuxedo, no flowers, no guests. Just a terrified girl in borrowed clothes and a man trying to protect her from his own past.
But when Judge Morrison said, "Do you, Adrian Thorne, take Iris Chen to be your lawfully wedded wife?" I didn't hesitate.
"I do."
"And do you, Iris Chen, take Adrian Thorne to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
Iris looked at me. Really looked at me. Searching for something in my face.
Then she said, "I do."
"Then by the power vested in me by the State of New York, I pronounce you husband and wife." Judge Morrison smiled slightly. "You may kiss the bride."
I leaned down, intending just a brief touch of lips. Contract requirement. Nothing more.
But when my mouth met hers, something electric shot through me. Something that made my carefully controlled world tilt sideways.
I pulled back fast. Too fast.
Iris's eyes were wide, her lips parted in surprise.
"Congratulations," Catherine said dryly. "You're now legally married. Try not to kill each other."
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number: *Too late. She's already mine now. And so are you. See you both at the gala. —V*
Vivienne.
But how did she know we'd just gotten married? We'd told no one. The ceremony happened in secret.
Unless...
"Check the car," I barked at James. "Now. Check for tracking devices."
He ran outside.
Catherine paled. "Adrian, if they've been tracking your movements—"
"They know everywhere we've been. Everyone we've talked to." My mind raced. "They know about the judge. About you. About everyone who helped us."
James ran back in. "Found three GPS trackers. One on the car, two embedded in your coat lining."
My coat. The one I'd been wearing all night.
They'd been tracking me the whole time. Knew exactly where I was taking Iris.
Which meant—
"They know about the safe house," I said flatly. "They know every place I've ever used as a backup plan."
"Then where do we go?" Iris asked.
I looked at my new wife—because that's what she was now, legally and completely mine—and made a decision that would change everything.
"Somewhere they'd never expect," I said. "Somewhere I swore I'd never return."
"Where?"
"My father's estate. The house where Damien grew up." I smiled grimly. "The one place Marcus Westbrook is absolutely forbidden from entering after the restraining order I had placed against him twenty years ago."
Iris's eyes widened. "You want to hide in your enemy's house?"
"I want to hide my wife in the one place my enemies legally can't follow." I pulled her toward the door. "And then, Mrs. Thorne, we're going to destroy them all."
But as we ran to the car, as James and Catherine and Judge Morrison scrambled to cover our tracks, I couldn't shake one thought:
That kiss. That stupid, meaningless, contract-required kiss.
It hadn't felt fake at all.
And that terrified me more than any assassin ever could.