Chapter 3: Dangerous Games

The morning after the gala, I expected silence—maybe avoidance. Instead, I woke up to the scent of fresh coffee and the sound of Adrian on a phone call in the lounge.

“Yes. Increase the stake. If Gregory wants a war, he’ll get one.”

His voice was sharp, low, calculated. Not the man who’d looked hollow the night before. Not the man who’d asked me if I hated him.

I hovered by the doorway, watching. His black silk robe hung open slightly at the collar, revealing a chiseled chest I hadn’t noticed before. I hated that my eyes lingered.

He ended the call and turned, catching me.

“Eavesdropping?”

“Not intentionally,” I said. “But it was hard to miss your declaration of war.”

He poured a second cup of coffee and handed it to me without asking. I accepted it, reluctantly.

“Gregory’s been moving money through shell accounts overseas,” Adrian said. “He’s trying to hide something.”

“And you’re just going to dig until you find it?”

Adrian met my eyes. “I’m not just playing for control anymore. I’m playing to win.”

I didn’t ask what winning meant for him. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

Later that afternoon, I wandered into the art gallery at the east wing of the mansion. My mind needed quiet, something real. But instead, I found Ava.

Dammit.

She stood in front of a massive oil painting, a glass of white wine in her hand, dressed like a Vogue cover shoot.

“Well, if it isn’t Mrs. Bellington,” she said, not turning.

“Still lurking around?” I replied, walking past her.

Ava turned then, eyes gleaming. “You’re not very good at pretending, Selina. You look like you’re drowning in a role you didn’t audition for.”

I clenched my jaw. “And you look like you’re still clinging to a man who doesn’t want you.”

Her laugh was like glass shattering.

“Please. Adrian doesn’t *want* anyone. He uses people. Just like his father.”

I stared at her. “You think I don’t know that? You think I married him for love?”

Ava stepped closer, almost nose to nose. “No. But I think you’ll break long before he does. And when you do, I’ll be there to pick up the pieces.”

She walked away, her heels clicking like a ticking bomb.

I exhaled shakily.

That evening, I sat on the edge of the giant bathtub, letting the lavender-scented water lap at my feet. I needed to reset. To breathe.

Adrian entered without knocking.

“Seriously?” I snapped, pulling the silk robe tighter.

“I need to show you something,” he said, holding up a tablet. “It’s urgent.”

He handed it to me.

On the screen: a news headline.

BELLINGTON EMPIRE HIT WITH FRAUD ALLEGATIONS — SOURCES SAY WHISTLEBLOWER IS INSIDE THE FAMILY.

My heart skipped. “Is this real?”

Adrian nodded. “My father’s panicking. This might be our opening.”

“Our?” I raised an eyebrow.

“You wanted justice. I want to bury him. Help me.”

I looked at him. “You’re asking me to choose between survival and revenge.”

“I’m asking you to finally stop pretending you’re just a pawn.”

The water stilled around my legs.

I thought of my mother. Of my father’s body in that wooden casket. Of all the people who had smiled while watching us fall.

And then I nodded. “Let’s burn him to the ground.”

The following week was a blur of secret meetings, encrypted messages, and forged alliances. Adrian and I became co-conspirators, our hatred of Gregory the glue that bound us.

We stayed up late, huddled over blueprints of offshore companies and old balance sheets. Somewhere between strategy and sabotage, our touches lingered longer. Our glances grew heavier.

One night, as rain lashed the windows, I leaned over him, pointing at a file.

“Here. This payment. It’s routed through five countries, but it ends in a known black-market account.”

Adrian looked up at me. Our faces were inches apart.

“You’re brilliant,” he murmured.

I swallowed hard. “We’re not doing this.”

His eyes dropped to my lips. “Aren’t we already?”

My breath caught. And then I pulled back.

“No distractions,” I said.

He leaned back, hands raised in surrender. “No distractions.”

But the tension between us grew. It lived in the air. In every shared glance. Every half-finished sentence.

And it terrified me.

Then, just as things were aligning, it all came crashing down.

Adrian’s phone buzzed. A single message.

He read it, eyes narrowing. Then he stood abruptly, crossing to the liquor cabinet.

“What is it?” I asked.

“They found the whistleblower.”

I froze. “Who?”

He poured whiskey, hand trembling slightly. “My cousin. Evan. He was helping us from the inside. But now… he’s gone.”

“Gone?”

Adrian’s jaw clenched. “Gregory had him arrested. Planted drugs in his apartment. He’s being extradited to a country with no extradition treaty. He’ll disappear.”

My stomach twisted. “We have to do something.”

Adrian turned to me, fury in his eyes. “You still think this is a game, Selina? That we can win clean? There’s no clean. There’s only war.”

He threw the glass against the wall. It shattered, whiskey dripping down like blood.

And then the power cut.

Darkness swallowed us.

I moved to the window.

Outside, three black SUVs pulled into the driveway.

Men stepped out.

All in black.

My blood ran cold.

“Adrian…”

He was already reaching for the safe.

“We’ve been found.”

The doorbell rang.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

And then came the sound of a gun being cocked.