Married to the Man I came to Destroy

Emma’s POV

How do you look a man in the eye and say “I do” when the only thing you want from him is the key to the room that destroyed your family?

I stood in the narrow hallway outside the private ceremony room on the thirty-eighth floor of Hammer Holdings and asked myself the question one more time, but the answer refused to come. I only knew the practical version: you do it the same way you do everything else that hurts. Quietly. Precisely. Without letting anyone see the ledger you keep in your head.

I smoothed the front of the ivory dress I had bought second-hand two weeks ago. No jewelry. My hair was pulled into a knot tight enough to survive scrutiny.

I moved through the corridor, my heels clicking softly against the floor. When the door opened, Will Hammer stood on the other side in a dark suit that had never seen a crease. He looked exactly like the man the board trusted—controlled, expensive, already thinking about the next meeting.

His eyes flicked over me once, taking in my dress, posture, and if there’s absence of anything that might photograph poorly.

“You’re early,” he said, glancing at his watch.

“You’re late,” I replied, holding his gaze.

The corner of his mouth almost lifted, but he quickly suppressed it. Without another word, he stepped aside to let me in.

The room was spacious, with floor-to-ceiling glass walls, polished concrete floors, and a breathtaking view of the city stretching beyond the windows. There were no guests, no flowers, nothing to suggest a celebration. Just a notary seated at a side table, a lawyer from the general counsel’s office, and the prenuptial agreement already open on the low table between two chairs. Pathetic.

The lawyer, a woman in her forties with the brisk manner of someone who had done this for more interesting couples, looked up.

“Ms. Winston. Mr. Hammer. We can begin whenever you’re ready.”

I walked to the window, turning my back as the lawyer began the checklist. My eyes followed the water, but my thoughts were in Larkspur—fourteen years of work gone, my mother’s signature on a personal guarantee, and Hammer Capital behind every notice.

Let’s see how this damn marriage goes!

“Emma.”

Will’s voice was closer than I expected. I turned and he held out a pen.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said, low enough that the lawyer wouldn’t hear. “If you’ve changed your mind—”

“I haven’t.”

I picked up the pen and signed my name in the same careful handwriting I used on every document that mattered. Will signed after me without hesitation.

The notary stamped each page, the soft clicks breaking the silence as the lawyer gathered the documents and slid them into a folder.

“That’s the prenup,” the lawyer said, adjusting the folder on his lap. “Separate property remains separate. A modest settlement applies if the marriage ends within two years. After that, the standard schedule takes effect. Any questions?”

“No,” I replied, keeping my eyes on him.

Will shook his head once.

The lawyer glanced between us. “And the ceremony itself is purely administrative. No vows required beyond the statutory language. Ready?”

I met Will’s eyes, finding them fixed on me with unmistakable curiosity, as though he wanted to ask something but thought better of it.

“Ready?” he said.

We stood side by side while the notary read the short statutory formula. I spoke my part in a clear, steady voice. Will’s was lower, quieter, as if he were signing another contract rather than entering a marriage. When it was done, the notary closed the register.

Eleven minutes from start to finish.

We rode the private elevator down in silence. Will stood with his hands in his pockets, watching the floor numbers descend. I studied his reflection in the brushed steel, noting the way he held his shoulders, the faint scar along his jaw, and how he hadn’t looked at me once since signing the papers.

When the doors opened at the garage level, his car and driver were already waiting. Will opened the rear door for me himself.

“The house is ready, and the staff are expecting you,” he said as I approached. “We’ll have separate rooms. Housekeeping has the schedule. If you need anything, speak to Dana. She handles security, and she doesn’t gossip.”

I settled into the seat and looked up at him. “And if I need something from you?”

He paused, one hand on the door. For a brief moment, his composure slipped.

“You won’t,” he said, and closed the door.

I’ve tightened the narration, made Will more observant, and used the phone interruption to create tension before ending on a stronger hook.

The car pulled into traffic. I watched the city pass through the window, a familiar cold settling in my bones.

I had the marriage, access to the household archive, and fourteen months before the prenup’s early-exit clause expired and my settlement became due. Everything else—the restricted files, the Winston Transfer, and the truth about what Richard Hammer had done to my mother—would have to be uncovered one piece at a time.

My phone began vibrating inside my clutch.

I knew it was definitely Julian, checking that the ceremony had gone through and the first piece of the plan was in place. I ignored it, keeping my gaze fixed on the passing city.

“You’re not going to check that?” Will asked, shifting slightly in his seat.

“It’s nothing,” I replied, adjusting my clutch on the seat, slightly pushing it closer to my side.

His eyes dropped briefly to it before returning to my face. “You seem certain.”

I turned towards the window without answering.

“Check it,” he added, settling back against his seat. “Whoever it is, I don’t particularly care. You don’t have to pretend you have no life outside this marriage.”

I turned to look at him, briefly caught off guard by the remark, before pulling my clutch onto my lap and holding it firmly.

“I’d rather not. Thank you.”

Why the heck was he being so concerned for me to check my text?