Chapter Five

The Diamond Tower lived up to its name.

As the private elevator climbed to the penthouse, Maddison watched the city shrink below them through the glass walls. Notch City spread out in all directions, glittering, vast, and suddenly very far away from the life she'd known just days ago.

"Nervous?" William asked, his voice low.

"Should I be?"

"Probably." He almost smiled. "It's a lot to take in."

The elevator doors opened directly into the penthouse, and Maddison's breath caught.

Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the entire space, offering a 360-degree view of the city. The interior was all clean lines and expensive materials—marble, dark wood, leather furniture that looked like it cost more than her college tuition. Everything was immaculate, perfectly designed, utterly impersonal.

It looked like a magazine spread. Not a home.

"Guest rooms are down that hall," William said, gesturing. "Master suite is through there. The kitchen, living room, and my office are on the upper level. There's a gym, a pool on the terrace…"

"You have a pool. In your penthouse."

"I have a pool in my penthouse," he confirmed, and there was the faintest hint of amusement in his voice. "Feel free to use anything. This is your home now too."

Home. The word still felt foreign.

A woman emerged from the kitchen—middle-aged, with kind eyes and an efficient manner. "Mr. Chen, welcome back. And this must be Mrs. Chen."

Mrs. Chen. Maddison would need to get used to that.

"Maddison, this is Claire. She manages the household." William turned to Claire. "Mrs. Chen will need her own space set up. Whatever she needs, whatever she wants, make it happen."

"Of course, sir." Claire smiled warmly at Maddison. "It's lovely to meet you, Mrs. Chen. Congratulations on your marriage."

"Thank you," Maddison managed, still processing the fact that this was real. She was married. She lives here now.

William's phone buzzed. He glanced at it, his expression darkening. "I need to take this. Claire will show you around, help you get settled." He looked at Maddison. "We'll talk more tonight. Figure out the details of how this works."

Then he was gone, striding toward his office with the phone already at his ear, leaving Maddison alone with Claire and the reality of her new life.

The guest room Claire showed her was larger than Maddison's entire bedroom at her father's house. It had its own bathroom with a soaking tub, a walk-in closet that echoed with emptiness, and windows that overlooked the city.

"Mr. Chen wanted you to have your own space," Claire explained. "He's very... private. He thought you might appreciate the same."

Separate rooms. Of course. This was a contract marriage, not a real one.

So why did the distance feel like rejection?

"A delivery arrived for you," Claire added, gesturing to several large boxes stacked in the corner. "From Mrs. Grace Chen. She said you'd need some things to get started."

Maddison opened the first box and found clothes, beautiful, expensive things in her exact size. Dresses, casual wear, even lingerie. The second box held toiletries, makeup, and jewelry. The third contained books, a laptop, and a handwritten note:

Welcome to the family, dear girl. Take care of my grandson. He needs someone like you more than he knows. - Grace

Maddison sank onto the bed, overwhelmed. Twenty-four hours ago, she'd been facing marriage to Gerald Whitmore. Now she was living in a penthouse, married to a man who'd saved her life, surrounded by luxury she'd never imagined.

And she'd never felt more alone.

A knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts. Claire poked her head in. "Mrs. Chen? There's another delivery. Wine, from Mrs. Grace. She sent a note saying you should share it with Mr. Chen tonight. To celebrate."

By the time William emerged from his office, it was after 8 PM. Maddison had changed into one of the dresses Grace had sent—deep blue, simple but elegant—and was standing by the windows, watching the city lights.

"Sorry," William said, loosening his tie. "Crisis at one of the businesses. It took longer than expected."

"It's fine. I'm still... processing."

He moved to stand beside her, and they looked out at Notch City together. From up here, it looked almost peaceful. Clean. Nothing like the dark underbelly where Black Herd operated.

"Your grandmother sent wine," Maddison said, gesturing to the bottle on the counter. "To celebrate our marriage. Should we...?"

William glanced at the bottle, an expensive vintage, the kind Grace loved. "Why not? We should probably toast to this insanity we've agreed to."

Maddison poured two glasses while William shed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. She couldn't help but notice the way the fabric stretched across his shoulders, the glimpse of the bandages she'd applied still visible beneath his shirt.

They'd touched before. Her hands on his wounds. His hands pulling her from the edge.

But somehow, standing here in his home, married, felt more intimate than any of that.

"To choices," William said, raising his glass.

"To choosing ourselves," Maddison added.

Their glasses clinked, and they drank.

The wine was smooth, rich, warming her from the inside out. They moved to the sofa, and for the first time since the warehouse, they actually talked. Not about contracts or terms, but about real things. His mother. Her mother. The weight of family expectations. The ways they'd both been trapped by other people's plans for their lives.

"I never wanted to run my father's company," William admitted, refilling their glasses. The bottle was half empty already. "I wanted to be an architect. Design buildings, create something beautiful."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because my mother died, and someone had to stop my father from destroying everything she built." His jaw tightened. "So I took over. Built Black Herd to handle the things that needed handling. Became the man everyone expected me to be."

"The man you expected yourself to be," Maddison corrected softly. "I don't think anyone forced you to save people. That's just who you are."

He looked at her, something shifting in his dark eyes. "You see that after knowing me for two days?"

"I saw it when you pulled me off that rooftop." She took another sip of wine, feeling warm, loose, and brave. "You could have sent someone else. But you came yourself."

"I'm glad I did."

The words hung between them, heavy with meaning neither of them was ready to examine.

Maddison set down her glass, suddenly dizzy. "Is it hot in here?"

"A little." William tugged at his collar, his breathing slightly faster than normal. "Maybe we should,"

But he didn't finish the sentence because Maddison stood up and immediately swayed. William caught her elbow, steadying her, and the touch sent electricity racing through her skin.

His hand was so warm. So strong.

"Maddison?" His voice was rough, concerned. "Are you alright?"

She looked up at him, and suddenly he was too close. Close enough that she could see the flecks of amber in his dark eyes, could smell his cologne mixed with something uniquely him, could feel the heat radiating from his body.

"I feel..." She couldn't finish. Couldn't explain the way her skin felt too tight, the way her heart raced, the way every nerve ending seemed to light up where his hand touched her arm.

William's pupils dilated. His grip on her arm tightened slightly, and she saw him swallow hard.

"The wine," he said, his voice strained. "Something's wrong with the wine."

Understanding crashed through her fog of sensation. Grace. Their manipulative, well-meaning grandmother had drugged them.

"She didn't," Maddison whispered.

"She absolutely did." William released her arm and stepped back, but the movement seemed to cost him. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I'm going to kill her."

"Get in line," Maddison managed, but her voice came out breathy. Wrong.

The space between them felt charged, dangerous. Every breath she took seemed to pull her toward him. She could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his chest rose and fell with carefully controlled breathing, the muscle ticking in his jaw.

He was fighting it. Fighting the same pull she felt.

"You should go to your room," William said, his voice tight. "Lock the door. Don't come out until morning."

"What about you?"

"Cold shower. Several of them." He turned away from her, his back rigid. "Go, Maddison. Before,"

"Before what?" She took a step toward him, unable to stop herself. The drug, whatever Grace had put in that wine, was setting her blood on fire. Every instinct screamed at her to close the distance, to touch him, to…

"Before I forget that you deserve better than this." William's voice was raw. "You deserve a choice. A real choice. Not something forced by drugs and manipulation."

The words should have stopped her. Should have sent her running to her room as he suggested.

But instead, they broke something open inside her chest.

"What if I choose this?" she heard herself say.