The scream shattered the silence of the penthouse.
Mia didn't even realize it came from her until she felt her own throat burning.
"No. No. No! what is this?!" She stumbled back from the kitchen island, phone trembling violently in her hand. Her pulse thundered in her ears.
On the screen…
Her.
Adrian.
His hand gripping her waist in that moment at the party.
Her lips parted, eyes locked on his, heat swirling visibly between them.
And in another photo
Her face inches from his, the second before the kiss that had wrecked them. The exact angle. The exact tension.
Someone had caught it.
Worse?
They had edited the images to look even more compromising.
The headline screamed:
"Gold-Digging Designer Seduces Adrian Drake — Contract Marriage Exposed?"
Her stomach dropped.
A cold sweat broke across her spine.
"No, no, no…" she whispered, stumbling backward until her hip hit the countertop. "This can't be happening."
Adrian walked in at that exact moment, hair damp from the rain outside, coat still in hand, mid-sentence.
"Mia, I forgot to…."
His voice broke when he saw her face.
"Mia?" He stepped forward instantly. "What happened? Are you hurt?"
She couldn't speak.
She simply turned the phone toward him.
His entire expression changed, a slow, lethal transformation.
His jaw locked.
His eyes darkened into something dangerous.
Cold fury sharpened every line of his face.
"Where did you get that?" he asked, his voice deadly calm.
"It's everywhere," Mia whispered. "Online. Blogs. Fashion tabloids. Twitter. Instagram. Every platform."
Adrian took the phone from her grip, eyes scanning quickly.
He went utterly still.
A storm in the shape of a man.
"This was taken that night" he murmured.
"I know."
"This angle…" His brows pulled together. "Someone was watching. Someone close."
"Julian," Mia whispered. "It has to be Julian. Or Victor. Or both."
Adrian didn't deny it.
He didn't comfort her.
He didn't say it'll be fine or don't panic or we'll fix this.
No.
He slammed his phone down so hard the marble countertop vibrated.
"They think they can use you to get to me."
His voice was low, icy, lethal.
But everything inside Mia was spiraling.
"I look like a manipulator," she whispered. "Like I married you for money. Like I'm using you. People will think I kissed you to secure my place…."
"Stop."
The command cut through the air.
But Mia kept shaking her head, tears burning behind her eyes.
"My name was already on life support because of my father. This… this will bury me. I'll be a joke. A scandal. A…"
"Mia," he stepped forward, voice tight, "look at me."
She did.
And that's when the world fell away.
Because for the first time since the kiss, Adrian wasn't guarded. Or cold. Or distant.
He looked… gutted.
"Mia, they're not coming after you," he said softly. "They're coming after me. You're just the easiest target."
"That doesn't make it better."
"No," he said, stepping closer, "but I'll make sure it ends."
He reached out.
Stopped himself.
And curled his hand into a fist at his side instead.
She hated that.
Hated the distance.
Hated that he wanted to touch her but wouldn't.
"Adrian… they're calling me a gold-digger."
"They're wrong."
"They're dragging my brand in the mud."
"I know."
"They're calling me an escort you picked up at a charity gala!"
That one broke something inside him.
In one swift, explosive movement, Adrian grabbed his coat, shrugged it on, and said;
"Get dressed. We're leaving."
Mia froze. "What? Where are we going?"
"To end this."
"Adrian, we can't just…."
"This isn't up for debate."
There was something raw in his voice.
Something protective.
Something dangerous.
Mia swallowed hard, then nodded.
She ran to her room to change, hands shaking so badly her zipper caught twice. She kept seeing those photos in her mind. The headlines. The comments. The thousands of voices tearing her apart.
By the time she returned to the living room, Adrian was on the phone, speaking with his PR team.
"No. No statements. No denials. No negotiation."
A pause.
Then, with a chilling authority:
"I said what I said. Don't repeat yourself."
He hung up the phone and looked at Mia.
"You ready?"
"As ready as someone trending for the wrong reason can be."
His jaw twitched. "You shouldn't be the one hurting."
"And you shouldn't be the one fixing it," she shot back softly.
His expression faltered. Just for a moment.
"Mia…"
He didn't finish.
He didn't have to.
The ride down the elevator was silent. Tense. Electric.
Mia stood on one side of the elevator.
Adrian on the other.
A canyon between them.
But the magnetic pull was still there strong, defiant and unbreakable
At one point, their gazes met in the reflection of the mirrored wall.
Heat.
Pain.
Need.
Regret.
She looked away first.
He clenched his jaw.
The Lobby—Flashbulbs exploded instantly.
News reporters.
Paparazzi.
Fans.
Enemies.
Microphones.
Everyone screaming variations of;
"Adrian, is the marriage fake?"
"Mia, did you seduce him for money?"
"Is she using you?"
"Was the kiss staged?"
"Aren't you ashamed?"
Mia froze.
It was too much.
Too loud.
Too cruel.
She felt her knees weaken.
And then…
A hand wrapped around her waist.
Hard.
Warm.
Possessive.
Adrian.
He pulled her against him, shielding her from the crowd with his body.
"Keep your head up," he murmured into her ear, voice deep and steady.
"Don't let them see you break."
She inhaled sharply.
"Adrian…"
But then he did something that stole every last breath from her lungs.
He turned toward the cameras,
Straightened.
And said clearly, firmly, without hesitation;
"Touch my wife again, in words or in action, and I will shut down every outlet here."
Gasps.
Whispers.
Chaos.
But he wasn't done.
"She didn't seduce me," he said. "She didn't manipulate me. She didn't chase me."
A slow breath.
A devastating truth;
"I'm the one who wanted her."
Her heart stopped.
Adrian continued, voice firm;
"The photos you've seen are real. They're not staged. They're not stolen. They're moments between a husband and wife that were invaded without consent."
Mia's eyes widened. "Adrian…"
But he tightened his hold on her waist.
"And let me make something else clear," he added, voice lowering dangerously, "If anyone thinks they can humiliate her to get to me, you've made the mistake of your life."
Flashbulbs erupted.
The crowd lost its mind.
Mia stared at him, her breath trembling.
He had just done the unthinkable.
He hadn't denied the kiss.
He hadn't downplayed it.
He hadn't pretended it meant nothing.
He publicly claimed her.
Protected her.
Defended her.
Owned the truth.
And he did it without blinking.
"Adrian," she whispered, emotions crashing inside her, "why would you do that?"
He looked at her, really looked.
Conflict.
Need.
Something dangerously close to devotion.
"Because," he said, voice low enough only she could hear, "you're mine to protect."
Her breath caught.
"And what if I don't want to be yours?" she whispered back.
His eyes darkened.
"Then I'll spend every day pretending I don't care," he murmured.
"But I'll hate every second of it."
Thunder cracked in her chest.
They stood there, surrounded by cameras, lights, chaos but for a moment it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of them.
Just Mia and Adrian.
Two broken hearts colliding in a war neither asked for.
And everything inside Mia whispered the same thing;
This is getting dangerous.
Too real. Too fast. Too deep.
The kiss had changed them.
The scandal just welded the cracks.
And Adrian?
He wasn't letting her go.
Not now.
Not after this.
Not ever.