IRIS' POV
I couldn't hear anything.
My ears were ringing like church bells that wouldn't stop. The world was spinning, tilted sideways, and I couldn't figure out which way was up.
Someone was screaming. Maybe me. I couldn't tell.
Strong arms wrapped around me, lifting me off the floor. Adrian's face appeared above mine, his mouth moving, but no sound came out. Just that awful ringing.
Then everything snapped back into focus.
"—okay? Iris! Can you hear me?" Adrian's voice was panicked. Actually panicked. The ice king was melting. "Say something!"
"I'm okay," I managed. My voice sounded weird. Distant. "What happened?"
"Bomb. Small one. Mostly smoke and noise, designed to cause panic." He was checking me for injuries, hands running over my arms and legs. "You hit your head when you fell. Don't move too fast."
Around us, the ballroom was chaos. People screaming, running for exits. Security guards shouting orders. The champagne fountain was destroyed, glass everywhere, liquid spreading across the marble floor.
"He tried to kill everyone," I whispered. "Marcus tried to kill all these people just to get to us."
"No. He tried to scare us. To show what he's capable of." Adrian's jaw was tight with fury. "If he wanted people dead, he would've used a real bomb. This was a message."
"What message?"
"That he can reach us anywhere. Even here, surrounded by Manhattan's elite and top security." Adrian pulled me to my feet carefully. "Come on. We need to leave before the police start asking questions we can't answer."
"But people are hurt—"
"Paramedics are already here. And if we stay, we'll be trapped in questioning for hours." He guided me toward a side exit. "Trust me, Iris. We need to go."
James appeared from nowhere, blood on his shirt but otherwise fine. "Car's ready at the back entrance, sir. I've cleared a path."
We ran through hallways I'd never noticed, past kitchen staff and confused waiters, until we burst out into a dark alley where our car waited.
Adrian shoved me inside and followed, slamming the door. "Drive. Anywhere. Just get us away from here."
The car peeled out. Through the back window, I could see fire trucks arriving, police cars blocking streets, reporters already setting up cameras.
Tomorrow's headlines would be brutal.
"Your head," Adrian said, tilting my face toward him. "There's blood."
"It's just a cut." I touched my forehead and my fingers came away red. "I'll be fine."
"You're not fine. You could have died tonight." His hands were shaking—actually shaking—as he pulled out his phone. "I'm calling my private doctor. We're going back to the penthouse where I can—"
"Adrian." I grabbed his hand. "Stop. I'm okay. Really."
He looked at me. Really looked at me. And something in his expression made my breath catch.
Fear. Raw, honest fear.
"You could have died," he repeated quietly. "Because of me. Because I dragged you into my war."
"I chose this. I signed the contract."
"A contract." He laughed, bitter and broken. "As if a piece of paper makes this okay. As if money justifies putting you in danger."
"Then why did you marry me?" I asked. "If you're so worried about my safety, why go through with it?"
Adrian was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "Because I'm selfish. Because I wanted my revenge more than I wanted to keep you safe. And now you're paying the price."
The honesty in his voice hurt worse than the cut on my head.
"I'm not some helpless victim," I said. "Stop treating me like I don't have a choice in this."
"You don't understand what you've gotten into. Marcus Westbrook isn't just dangerous—he's connected. Powerful. He's been covering up my mother's murder for twenty years. He won't stop until I'm destroyed."
"Then we destroy him first."
Adrian stared at me. "What?"
"You heard me. We're not running anymore. We're not hiding." I sat up straighter, ignoring the pounding in my head. "We have three advantages: I'm your wife now, which means I have legal protection. You're a billionaire with resources. And they think we're scared."
"We should be scared."
"Maybe. But being scared won't save us. Being smart will." I pulled out my phone. "How much evidence do you have on Marcus?"
"Enough to raise questions. Not enough to prove murder."
"What about Vivienne? She's working with him. If we can get her to turn on him—"
"She won't. She's too deep in whatever they're planning."
"Then we make her." An idea was forming in my mind. Dangerous. Risky. But possibly brilliant. "Adrian, what if we gave them exactly what they want?"
"Which is?"
"Us. Vulnerable. Separated. Easy targets." I met his eyes. "What if I left you?"
"Absolutely not."
"Hear me out. If everyone thinks we're fighting, that the marriage is falling apart, Marcus and Vivienne will get confident. They'll make a move. And when they do—"
"We'll be ready." Adrian's eyes lit up with understanding. "A trap. You want to use yourself as bait."
"I want to use us as bait. Both of us." I was talking faster now, the plan crystallizing. "We stage a very public fight. I move out. You look heartbroken and distracted. They'll think they're winning."
"And while they're focused on us falling apart, we gather evidence. Build our case. Find witnesses." Adrian nodded slowly. "It could work. But Iris, if something goes wrong—"
"Then you save me. Like you've been doing since the moment we met."
He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered on my cheek.
"You're either incredibly brave or incredibly reckless," he said softly.
"Can't I be both?"
"With you? Probably." He pulled out his phone. "Okay. We'll do it your way. But we need to sell this. Make everyone believe the marriage is real first, then make them believe it's falling apart."
"How do we make it look real?"
Adrian's eyes darkened. "By acting like a real married couple. In public. Constantly. Starting tomorrow."
Oh.
Right.
That would mean touching. Kissing. Pretending to be in love.
Pretending.
"I can do that," I said, trying to sound confident.
"Can you? Because it has to be convincing. If Marcus suspects we're faking—"
"I said I can do it." I lifted my chin. "I spent six years pretending to be happy with Damien. I think I can manage pretending to be happy with someone who's actually on my side."
Adrian smiled. "Fair point. Okay. Tomorrow we start playing the happy couple. But tonight?" He gestured to my bloody forehead. "Tonight we get you checked out by a doctor."
We made it back to the penthouse at midnight. Adrian's private physician was already waiting, a tiny woman with sharp eyes who examined my head wound with efficient hands.
"Mild concussion," she announced. "No stitches needed, but she should rest for twenty-four hours. No screens, minimal light, someone should check on her every few hours."
"I'll stay with her," Adrian said immediately.
The doctor raised an eyebrow. "In the same room?"
"Yes."
"Sir, with respect, she needs quiet. Not—"
"I'll be quiet." Adrian's tone left no room for argument. "I'm staying with my wife."
My wife. He kept saying that. Like he meant it.
After the doctor left, Adrian helped me to his bedroom. The same one from this morning. Had it really only been one day since we got married?
It felt like a lifetime ago.
"You should sleep," Adrian said, pulling back the covers. "I'll be on the couch if you need anything."
"Adrian?" I caught his hand before he could leave. "Thank you. For tonight. For keeping me safe."
"I'm the reason you were in danger in the first place."
"No. Marcus and Vivienne are the reason. You're just the person standing between them and me." I squeezed his hand. "And for what it's worth? I don't regret signing that contract. Even with bombs and assassins and all of it. I don't regret this."
Something shifted in his expression. Softened.
"Get some rest," he said quietly. "Tomorrow we start the real performance."
He left. The room felt colder without him.
I lay down, exhausted but unable to sleep. My mind kept replaying the explosion. The panic. Adrian's face when he thought I was hurt.
The way he'd said "my wife" like it actually meant something.
This was just a contract. Just business. Just revenge.
So why did it feel like so much more?
My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number made my blood freeze.
*Enjoyed the fireworks tonight? That was just the opening act. The real show starts tomorrow when your "husband" realizes I have something he wants more than revenge. Something he thought he'd destroyed years ago. Sleep tight, Mrs. Thorne. Tomorrow changes everything. —M.W.*
Something Marcus had that Adrian wanted? Something destroyed years ago?
What was he talking about?
I sat up too fast. The room spun. I grabbed my phone and stumbled toward the living room where Adrian was setting up on the couch.
"Adrian, I got another—"
I stopped.
Adrian wasn't alone.
A woman stood in the living room. Older, maybe sixty, with grey hair and Adrian's exact same storm-colored eyes. She was crying.
"Adrian," she whispered. "My son. My baby boy."
Adrian stood frozen. His face had gone completely white.
"That's impossible," he breathed. "You're dead. I watched you die. I buried you."
The woman smiled through her tears. "Marcus lied to you, sweetheart. I never died. I've been alive this whole time, waiting for the day I could come home."
She stepped forward.
"And now that you're finally married, now that you're vulnerable and distracted by your pretty new wife—Marcus is ready to collect his debt. You see, there's a reason I disappeared twenty years ago. A reason I let you think I was dead."
"What reason?" Adrian's voice was barely a whisper.
The woman's smile turned cold. Sharp. Nothing like a mother's smile at all.
"Because I helped Marcus kill your father. And now it's time for you to pay for the empire you built on his grave."
She pulled a gun from her purse.
And I realized with horrible clarity: we'd walked right into Marcus's trap.
And the person holding the gun wasn't Adrian's dead mother.
She was the assassin who'd been hunting us all along.