Chapter 3 – A Devil at the Door

The Blackwell estate didn’t just sit on the hillside — it dominated it. Three levels of glass and steel jutted out over the valley below like a fortress daring the world to come closer. Elena had driven past it before, back when she’d been a girl with more ambition than sense, and wondered what sort of man needed to build something like this.

Now she knew.

The Bentley purred up the driveway. Iron gates taller than most buildings swung inward without a sound, as though reality itself parted at Adrian Blackwell’s command. Elena rolled her eyes. Of course. Subtlety clearly isn’t his thing.

“This is home?” she asked finally, her tone dry enough to scratch glass.

“For now,” Adrian said, still scrolling on his phone. “Until I decide otherwise.”

Elena tilted her head, studying his profile. “Does everything in your life expire that quickly? Homes, cars… wives?”

He didn’t glance up. “Only if they stop being useful.”

Elena smirked. “Then I suppose I’ll have to stay endlessly entertaining.”

The car stopped. A uniformed butler hurried forward to open her door before she could touch the handle. Adrian stepped out first, then turned and held out his hand. Not gallant — commanding.

Elena stared at it a beat too long, then accepted it with a grip that was almost aggressive. “Chivalry or surveillance?” she asked sweetly.

“Both,” Adrian replied without missing a beat.

Inside, the mansion felt less like a home and more like a high-security museum. Chandeliers glittered overhead, and the marble floor gleamed with such precision she could see her reflection glaring back. Every surface was sleek, cold, and absurdly perfect.

“Do you live here alone?” Elena asked as her heels clicked against the echoing floor.

“Until now,” Adrian said smoothly.

Before she could fire off a retort, a voice spoke from the sweeping staircase.

“Ah. The new Mrs. Blackwell.”

A tall man descended, lean and sharp-featured, his dark suit doing little to hide the weight of a concealed weapon. His polite smile didn’t touch his eyes.

“This is Marcus,” Adrian said. “Head of security. If you need anything, you ask him.”

“Welcome to the family,” Marcus said, though it sounded suspiciously like a test.

Elena offered a razor-edged smile. “I’m sure it’s an honor for you.”

Marcus’s brow quirked, just slightly. “Adrian doesn’t usually bring… guests.”

“Good thing I’m not one,” Elena shot back. “I’m the wife. You might want to update your employee handbook.”

A flicker of surprise crossed Marcus’s face — quickly masked. Adrian didn’t even react, except to say coldly, “Prepare the east wing.”

Then, as Marcus started to leave, Adrian added, “No. Elena stays with me.”

Elena turned sharply. “Excuse me? Since when does marriage of convenience mean roommates?”

Adrian finally pocketed his phone and stepped closer. “Since I don’t marry anyone I can’t keep under my own roof.”

Elena didn’t flinch. “You’re adorable. You actually think you can keep up with me.”

Something almost like amusement ghosted across his face before he opened the door to a private study. “Inside. Now.”

The study smelled of leather and expensive whiskey. A massive desk dominated the space, and floor-to-ceiling shelves lined with books gave the room a deceptive air of sophistication. Adrian gestured toward a chair, the way one might for an employee.

Elena sat, crossing her legs slowly. “You’re very bossy for someone who just got proposed to.”

“I spoke to your parents this morning,” Adrian said without preamble.

She arched a brow. “Oh? Let me guess — they kissed your shoes and offered you naming rights to their next child?”

“They were grateful,” Adrian replied calmly. “They know this arrangement benefits them as much as it benefits me.”

“Ah yes,” Elena said, her tone sugar-coated poison. “Nothing says true love like joint financial desperation.”

Adrian ignored the jab. “Their company is drowning. I don’t let assets drown.”

“Call me an asset again,” Elena warned, “and I’ll make sure your next press photo features a black eye.”

For the first time, Adrian’s lips curved — not a smile, but something colder. “Feisty. Good. It’ll make tonight’s press conference more interesting.”

Elena rose abruptly. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re smart,” Adrian said evenly, standing as well. He closed the distance between them, brushing his thumb against the diamond on her finger. His voice dropped, silk over steel. “Smart enough to know control keeps people alive.”

Elena met his gaze, unblinking. “Then you’d better control yourself, Blackwell. I bite.”

The air thickened. Neither moved. Neither blinked.

Finally Adrian stepped back, straightening his cufflinks as though bored. “Dinner. Seven o’clock. Your parents will be there. So will the press. Wear something… convincing.”

He strode to the door — then paused. “And Elena?”

“Yes, dear husband?” she said sweetly.

“Try to smile,” he said, his voice dropping to a warning. “Convincing wives are less dangerous than ambitious ones.”

Elena laughed, low and sharp. “Oh, Adrian. You married the wrong girl if you wanted safe.”

Adrian said nothing — but the faintest trace of something dangerous flickered in his gray eyes before he left.

Elena sank into the leather chair, staring at the door long after it closed. She wasn’t afraid. Not even close. But for the first time, she wondered just how far Adrian Blackwell would go to keep his precious control.

And she was determined to find out.