Chapter 5.

Adrian’s POV.

The contract sat between us, unsigned and useless.

“Then we don’t have a marriage,” I said quietly.

Elena—Clara—didn’t react. She just watched me across the glass desk, her expression untouched, as if this outcome had already been calculated and filed away long before I spoke.

Dorian would win. Magnus would lock me in the East Wing. And she would remain outside it all, powerful but removed, holding influence without ever stepping fully into the system that mattered.

Unless she decided otherwise.

We both lost.

My gaze dropped to her hands, still and controlled, without hesitation or tremor, and it was clear she had already decided what she could live with.

“You expect me to live with your family?” she asked.

I had said it less than a minute ago, but hearing it from her made it sound worse.

“I know what I’m asking,” I said, forcing steadiness into my tone. “But it’s the only way this works. Magnus won’t accept anything less. Dorian will tear it apart if there’s even a hint of weakness. He’s already looking for one.”

She didn’t interrupt. Didn’t move. The silence stretched long enough that it forced me forward.

“Give me six months. Help me take back the company. Once I’m reinstated, we don’t stay there. You’ll have your own space, your own life. I won’t interfere. I won’t come near you unless it’s necessary. Just… help me fix this.”

The faint ticking of the clock on her desk filled the space between us, steady and deliberate, until she finally spoke.

“Six months.”

“Six months,” I confirmed.

She reached for a pen, turning it once between her fingers before placing it down in front of me.

“I’m amending Clause Three. We live at the Voss estate, but if you cross a line—if you try to control me or blur the terms of this arrangement—I walk. Immediately.”

My eyes dropped to the pen, to the weight of what sat between us, and in that moment there was nothing left to negotiate. The eviction notice on my door, Magnus refusing my calls, Dorian settling into my seat like it had always been his—it all pressed in at once, narrowing every option down to this single point.

“We’re clear.”

I signed.

The strokes pressed harder than necessary, the ink dragging across the paper as if force could steady something that was already slipping through my hands. When I slid the contract back across the desk, she only glanced at the signature, acknowledging it without reaction, without satisfaction.

“Welcome to the Clara Everett Group, Mr. Voss,” she said softly. “Start packing.”

By the next morning, everything was already in motion, moving faster than it should have, faster than I could slow down, until standing in the lobby of her building felt less like stepping into an engagement and more like arriving at the aftermath of a transaction that had already been completed.

I had signed the contract. I had tied myself to the woman I once dismissed, and even then, some part of me resisted the shape of what that meant, reaching instead for something easier, something familiar.

She still needed me.

The thought settled quietly, almost instinctive, gaining weight the longer I held onto it. She had the shares. I had the experience. Once we were inside the Voss estate, once I reclaimed my position, the imbalance would correct itself.

This would rebalance.

We would operate as equals.

I adjusted my cuffs as the elevator doors opened to her floor, already fitting that version of the future into place.

Henry Lawes stood waiting.

“Mr. Voss. Miss Everett is expecting you.”

“Onboarding documents,” I said lightly as I stepped out, letting ease settle into my tone. “That’s a bit excessive for a partnership, don’t you think? I assumed we’d be discussing structure. My role, her expansion strategy. European shipping alone—”

“She’s waiting.”

There was no shift in his expression, just a quiet finality that cut the rest of my words off before they could settle.

I walked past him.

The office was exactly what I expected—clean, controlled, precise—with Elena seated behind the desk, framed by glass and skyline, her posture composed in a way that made everything else in the room feel secondary.

“You’re three minutes late,” she said without looking up. “In this building, time matters.”

“The traffic—”

“I don’t care.”

She lifted her gaze, and whatever I had been about to say disappeared under it.

“Sit.”

I did.

I pulled out my notebook, moving quickly before she could redirect the conversation entirely, anchoring myself in something familiar.

“I’ve outlined a strategy for the board. If we move quickly, we can secure the minority shareholders before Dorian consolidates—”

“Deputy?”

The word cut across mine, flat and precise, and I stopped.

She leaned back slightly, studying me with a patience that felt less like consideration and more like evaluation.

“Adrian, you’re operating under a misunderstanding,” she said. “You have no leverage, no liquidity, no position. Your grandfather has already cut you off, and you’re one notice away from losing your home. Why would I place someone who failed to hold his own company in a position of authority in mine?”

My jaw tightened, but I held her gaze.

“I know how to run this industry,” I said. “Better than anyone you could hire. If you want to compete with Voss Industries, you need me handling operations.”

“I have Henry,” she said, sliding a thin folder across the desk. “That’s your role.”

I opened it, my attention catching on the heading as the meaning settled a second too late.

Personal Assistant to the CEO.

I looked up slowly. “You’re serious.”

“Completely.”

A sharp breath left me, closer to a laugh than anything else. “Elena, I ran a multi-billion-dollar company.”

“And five years ago, I ran your life.”

The words landed clean, leaving no space to deflect.

“I managed your schedule, your meetings, your priorities. I stayed late so your company functioned the way it did, and when it stopped being convenient, you paid to erase me.”

She stood, and I followed without thinking, the space between us closing before I realized I had moved.

“Now the positions are corrected,” she continued, her voice low and exact. “If you want to stand next to me again, you start where I started.”

“I’m not your assistant.”

“Then leave.”

She gestured toward the door, the movement small but absolute.

“Go back to your apartment. Wait for the bank. Explain to Magnus why you couldn’t secure the deal. Watch Dorian take everything.”

The words settled without resistance because there was nothing in them that wasn’t true.

My hand tightened around the back of the chair as the choice sharpened in front of me, clean and unavoidable. If I walked out, it ended. If I stayed, I gave something up I wouldn’t get back.

“Elena,” I said, forcing my voice steady, “if you make me your assistant publicly, it weakens both of us.”

She only watched me.

“The Voss board doesn’t respect submission,” I continued. “They respect power. If they see me reduced to that level, they won’t admire you. They’ll question you, and Dorian will use it to dismantle everything before it starts.”

Her gaze shifted slightly—not softening, but focusing.

“I’m not asking for control. I’m asking for structure. Publicly, I hold a position. Privately, I do whatever you require.”

Silence stretched again, longer this time, settling under my skin as she watched me, weighing it.

“Behind closed doors, I’ll handle everything,” I added when it held too long. “Your schedule. Your errands. Anything. No argument. No resistance. But in front of them, I need a title that holds.”

She held my gaze a moment longer before speaking.

“A dual role.”

I said nothing, waiting.

Her lips curved slightly—not warmth, not satisfaction, something colder.

“To the world, you’re my Deputy,” she said. “Inside this office, you’re exactly what that file says.”

I exhaled slowly. “Understood.”

“If you forget that,” she added, her voice sharpening just enough to carry weight, “I won’t remind you twice.”

I nodded as she turned away.

“Seven a.m. tomorrow.”

And just like that, it was over.

Standing there, watching her move past me as if the conversation had already been closed and filed away, I finally understood the shape of what I had agreed to.

Not a partnership.

A hierarchy.

And I had stepped into it willingly.