CHAPTER 4: The Counteroffer

ELENA’S POV

I ran.

I fled out of the conference room, past the horrified assistant, and into the elevator before Adrian could follow. 

I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking, and by the time I’d pressed the lobby button I was a sweaty, stuttering mess. 

The doors closed, and I slumped against the mirrored wall, gasping for air. Married. I was married to Adrian Blackwood.

The harsh fluorescent lights flickered overhead—buzzzzzt, buzzzzzt, buzzzzzt—setting my nerves on edge. I burst out of the lobby and into the unforgiving sun of Midtown. 

The city swarmed around me, suits and briefcases and people with real lives, real reasons to be here. Everywhere I looked, there was movement. The city kept on moving, but my entire life had just collapsed.

I tugged my phone out of my purse with trembling fingers and dialed my dad.

“Elena?” He grunted, a weary, tired sound. He was drunk. But it was barely even noon.

“Dad. Is it true? You owe money to a loan shark?”

There was a pause. Dead silence on the line, the kind of silence that confirmed every fear.

“Dad. Dad, answer me.”

“How did you—you know? Oh God. He told you, didn’t he?”

My heart plummeted. “It’s true, isn’t it? Two hundred thousand dollars?”

“I was going to tell you. I swear, I just needed more time—”

“Time?” I snorted with acidic laughter. “They wanted to kill you. When were you going to mention that? At your funeral?”

“I’m sorry.” He sniffled into the phone. “I’m so sorry, baby. I tried to quit, but I just—I couldn’t—”

I squeezed my eyes shut against the welling tears. This was my father. The man who’d raised me. Taught me to ride a bike. The man who’d been drowning in my mother’s wake since the day she died.

“What about the man who bought your debt. Adrian Blackwood. What do you know about him?”

“Nothing. Just that he cleared it this morning. I thought it was a miracle.”

A miracle. No. Not a miracle. A cage.

“I need to go, Dad,” I said.

“Elena, wait—”

I hung up. I stood there on the sidewalk, phone still in my hand, heat rising off the summer pavement. I had no choice. Adrian knew it. I knew it. 

My father’s life was in my hands. I turned around and walked back into Blackwood Tower.

The woman at reception nearly fell out of her chair when I strolled back in. “I need to see Mr. Blackwood. Now.”

She made a call, whispered something I couldn’t hear, and nodded at the elevator. “He’s expecting you.”

Of course, he was.

Adrian’s office was on the seventieth floor. Floor-to-ceiling windows, mirrored doors, sleek black furniture—everything in his office was cold, polished, and utterly expensive. 

Like him. He was standing by the window, hands tucked in his pockets, staring out at the city below. He didn’t turn when I walked in.

“I wondered how long it would take you to come crawling back.”

“You knew I would.”

“Of course.” He turned then, his gray eyes flat. “You’re so predictable, Elena. You put everyone else’s needs before your own. It’s your fatal flaw.”

I crossed my arms. “I’m here to make a deal.”

“There’s nothing to discuss. I’ve already made my offer.”

“Then I’ll make mine.”

He was listening. He tilted his head, leaning against the windowsill, intrigued.

“I will play the role of your devoted wife for six months. I will attend your events. I will live in your penthouse. I will smile for your cameras.”

“And?”

“And you don’t touch me.” I took a step closer, eyes locked on his. “You don’t control me outside of public appearances. I keep my job. My friends. My life.”

His mouth twitched. Not a smile, but close. “Is that all?”

“Yes.” I raised my chin. “You sure as hell don’t fall in love with me.”

He chuckled. Actually chuckled—a low, dark sound that made my skin prickle. “You think very highly of yourself, Mrs. Blackwood.”

“I think you’re the kind of man who takes what he wants. I’m making sure we’re clear on what you can’t have.”

He stepped forward, close enough that I could smell cedar and fine fabric. Close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.

“Let me be equally clear. I don’t fall in love. I don’t believe in it. This is a business transaction. Nothing more.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

The air was charged between us.

“So, we have a deal?” I asked.

He held out his hand. “Six months. Then you’re free. Deal.”

I stared at his hand. Large. Muscular. The hand that had touched me last night in ways I was desperately trying not to remember. I shook it. His grip was firm and warm, and he held on a moment too long.

“Welcome to your new life, Elena.”

He released my hand and strode to his desk. “A car will be sent to take you to collect your things. Pack light. You won’t need much of what you own.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am replacing your wardrobe.” He didn’t look up from his computer. “You’re a Blackwood now. You’ll dress like one.”

Rage flared in my chest. “I thought we agreed you weren’t controlling me.”

“I agreed not to control your personal life.” He glared up at me, his expression cool. “Your wardrobe is public. Therefore, it is fair game.”

I was too exhausted to protest. I’d already lost.

“Fine. Is that all?”

“My assistant will meet you downstairs with everything you require.”

Dismissal. Point made. I turned to walk away.

“Elena.”

I stopped, my hand on the door.

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry about your father.”

I glanced back at him. Impossible to read. Impossible to tell if he meant it.

“No, you’re not,” I said. “You’re just sorry you had to use him against me.”

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t contradict me. I turned and walked out.

His assistant was waiting by the elevator. Tall, flawlessly dressed, with high cheekbones and killer eyes. She held out a black credit card and a set of keys.

“Mr. Blackwood asked me to give these to you. The card has no limit. The keys are to the penthouse. A car is waiting downstairs to take you to your apartment.”

I stared at the objects in her palm. Black AmEx. Penthouse keys. Keys to my gilded cage.

“He also wanted me to tell you that you are expected at the penthouse by eight PM. A stylist will be there at nine to begin your wardrobe consultation.”

“Tonight?” I choked out. “I’m moving in tonight?”

She smiled. Just a hint of teeth. Professional. “Mr. Blackwood doesn’t like to waste time.”

She shoved the items into my hand. The keys were cool, heavy, and real.

“The car is waiting, Mrs. Blackwood.”

I stepped into the elevator, squeezing the keys so hard they dug into my palm. The doors closed.

Buzzzzzt. Buzzzzzt. Buzzzzzt.

My phone buzzed in my purse. A news alert. I looked down.

BREAKING: BILLIONAIRE ADRIAN BLACKWOOD OFF MARKET? WEDDING RUMORS SWIRL AS MYSTERY BRIDE SPOTTED AT TOWER.

There was a photo. Blurry, pixelated, taken from across the street. Five minutes ago. Me. Walking back into the building. My face was partially visible, but recognizable.

He hadn’t just trapped me privately. He had already sold it to the press.

The cage wasn’t just locked. It was on national television.