Chapter 17: The Black Card

The drive back from the city was quiet, broken only by the low hum of the Bentley’s engine. Adrian stared out the window, phone in hand, eyes distant. Elena sat opposite him, arms folded, her mind replaying every detail of the brunch. The polite smiles. The hidden smirks. The way Adrian had silenced a room with nothing more than a look.

He hadn’t said a word to her since they left the tower. Typical Adrian Blackwell—tight-lipped, controlled, unreadable.

When the car pulled into the sweeping driveway of the Blackwell estate, Elena slipped out first, her heels clicking against the stone. The mansion loomed in front of her, imposing and cold. Just like its owner.

Inside, the butler greeted them with his usual polished smile, but Adrian’s curt nod ended the exchange. He headed straight to his study, gesturing for her to follow.

Elena raised a brow. “Summoning me already?”

He didn’t answer. She trailed him anyway, curiosity outweighing her irritation.

The study smelled faintly of cedar and leather, lined with towering bookshelves and heavy curtains drawn against the late afternoon sun. Adrian crossed to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled something out.

When he turned back to her, he was holding a sleek black envelope.

He extended it toward her. “This is for you.”

Elena blinked, then took the envelope, sliding a manicured finger under the flap. Inside was a card—black, matte, and heavy in her hand, embossed with her name in sharp silver letters.

She froze. A Black Card. The kind of card that came with no limits, no boundaries, the ultimate status symbol of obscene wealth.

Her lips parted, then closed again. Slowly, she looked up at him. “You’re giving me… this?”

Adrian leaned casually against the desk, hands in his pockets, as if he’d just handed her a set of keys instead of unlimited access to his fortune. “You’ll need it.”

Elena’s brow furrowed. “For what, exactly? Buying out small countries? A diamond bathtub? What do you think I’m going to do with this?”

“Whatever you want,” he said flatly.

Her laugh was sharp. “Oh, is that what this is? A bribe? Or is it hush money? Let me guess—you think I’ll be easier to manage if I’m dripping in designer shoes I didn’t pay for myself?”

Adrian’s gaze didn’t waver. “It’s not a bribe. It’s convenience.”

“Convenience,” she repeated, snapping the card shut in its envelope. “For you, maybe. For me, it’s insulting.”

His jaw tightened, the faintest crack in his calm. “It’s not insulting. It’s practical. You’re my wife now. That comes with responsibility—and access.”

“I don’t need your money,” Elena shot back, voice rising. “I don’t want to be paraded around like one of those women who only exist to swipe a card with their husband’s name on it.”

His eyes narrowed. “You think that’s how I see you?”

Elena crossed her arms, chin lifting. “Isn’t it?”

For a long moment, silence stretched between them, heavy as a storm cloud. Adrian’s gray eyes locked onto hers, cool and unyielding, but there was something beneath—something sharp and dangerous, like a current of electricity running under ice.

Finally, he pushed off the desk, closing the space between them in two measured steps. He stopped just in front of her, towering, close enough that she could see the flecks of silver in his irises.

“I gave you the card,” he said softly, dangerously calm now, “because you are my wife. And I don’t want you depending on anyone else. Not for clothes, not for food, not for a damn thing.”

Elena’s breath hitched, but she held her ground. “So this is about control.”

“This is about making sure you’re untouchable.” His words were like a blade, each one deliberate, precise. “Anyone who questions you, anyone who dares to mock you—they see that card, and they’ll know. You’re mine. You don’t answer to anyone but me.”

Her pulse hammered at his possessive tone, at the raw edge in his voice that cracked through his usually icy calm. She hated the way it sent a thrill down her spine.

“And if I don’t want to be owned?” she whispered, defiant but unsteady.

Adrian’s lips curved faintly—not a smile, but something darker. He reached out, catching her wrist in his hand, not harsh, just firm enough that she couldn’t step away.

“You’re not owned,” he said, his voice low, velvet over steel. “You’re claimed.”

Her heart stumbled. For one dangerous second, the room felt smaller, the air heavier, the space between them charged. She should’ve pulled away. She should’ve thrown the card back in his face.

Instead, Elena held his gaze, her pulse betraying her, her body traitorously aware of how close he was.

Finally, she tore her wrist free, shoving the envelope against his chest. “Keep it,” she said, voice sharp but shaking. “I don’t need your card to prove anything.”

She turned on her heel, striding toward the door before he could see the confusion clouding her eyes, the heat rising in her chest.

Behind her, Adrian’s voice followed—low, unreadable, but carrying something that lingered in the air long after she’d gone.

“You’ll take it eventually, Elena. Because sooner or later, you’ll realize it’s not just a card. It’s me.”

Her hand tightened on the doorknob. She didn’t look back.

But her pulse told another story.