Page 18 of His By Contract
Now she braced herself for the consequences.
The elevator slowed, stopped. The doors opened to reveal the sprawling darkness of the penthouse. Adrian stepped out first, not bothering to check if she followed. Georgia hesitated, then crossed the threshold, her heels clicking against the marble floor.
She steeled herself for what would come—his stinging words, the brutal lesson about their deal, the price she’d pay for daring to act on her own. Her pulse raced, ready to defend herself, to argue her case, to push back against whatever he threw at her.
But nothing came.
Adrian moved through the penthouse with casual indifference, removing his suit jacket and draping it over a chair. His fingers worked at his cufflinks, slipping them free with practiced ease. He rolled up his sleeves methodically, not once glancing in her direction.
The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. This wasn’t what she’d expected. She’d prepared for anger, for control, for punishment, not this eerie calm, this complete dismissal of her actions.
Georgia stood frozen in the entryway, clutch still gripped in white-knuckled fingers. The lack of reaction unnerved her more than any confrontation would have. She wanted him to acknowledge what she’d done, to react to the small rebellion she’d staged.
Instead, he acted as if nothing had happened at all.
She realized with sudden clarity that this wasn’t oversight. It was strategy. He didn’t need to assert his power because he never doubted he had it. This silence wasn’t a reprieve; it was a trap.A calculated game where he held all the cards and knew exactly how she’d play hers.
Georgia’s fingers traced over the silk charmeuse, its liquid sheen catching the moonlight that filtered through her bedroom window. The fabric whispered secrets of possibility, of designs waiting to be born. Her sketchbook lay open beside her, pages filled with dreams she’d refused to surrender.
The scratch of pencil against paper filled the quiet hours when sleep eluded her. Each stroke defied the gilded cage Adrian had built around her. In these moments, she wasn’t his wife or his possession; she was simply a creator, giving life to the visions in her mind.
But Adrian’s influence crept in like poison. A supplier she’d struggled to reach for months suddenly answered her calls. An exclusive showroom offered her prime space. Elite clients who’d shunned her now sought her designs.
“I made some calls,” Adrian said over breakfast, sliding a business card across the table. “Madame Laurent is interested in your work. She’s expecting you this afternoon.”
Georgia’s stomach twisted. Madame Laurent’s atelier was legendary, a gateway to the highest echelons of fashion. An opportunity she’d dreamed of, now tainted by Adrian’s interference.
Her collections grew. Her name appeared in magazines. But each success felt hollow, wrapped in Adrian’s influence. Whenclients praised her work, their eyes flickered to her wedding ring. Every contract came with whispers of her husband’s name.
“Mrs. Adler’s designs are exquisite,” they’d say, as if her talent belonged to him too.
She fought back in small ways. Insisted on handling her own negotiations. Refused to let him attend client meetings. His influence clung to her like a second skin, a chain around her achievements that she could never quite shake loose.
The fabric beneath her fingers was still beautiful, the designs still hers. But every stitch felt weighted with strings she hadn’t chosen, threads that led back to Adrian’s careful orchestration.
Georgia’s fingers moved across the keyboard, reviewing another contract for a high-profile client. Her studio space buzzed with activity: assistants carried fabric swatches, seamstresses worked at their stations, the rhythmic hum of sewing machines filled the air. Success surrounded her, but it felt like a beautiful prison.
“The Montgomery sisters want custom gowns for the winter charity ball,” her assistant said, placing another stack of inquiries on her desk. “And the waitlist for bridal consultations keeps growing.”
The same names that had shunned her now sought her designs. Her phone rang constantly with requests from socialites and celebrities. Her work appeared in fashion magazines, her collections praised for their innovation and elegance.
But every triumph came with Adrian’s signature at the bottom.
She opened her business account, staring at the numbers that grew each week. Profits that should have tasted sweet felt bitteron her tongue. Each transaction passed through his watchful eyes, each major decision required his approval.
“I trust your creative vision,” he’d say, his voice smooth as silk. “The business side is my expertise.”
A designer approached about a collaboration. Georgia’s heart leaped at the opportunity, until she saw Adrian’s number flash on her phone.
“The terms need adjustment,” he said. “I’ll handle the negotiations.”
She didn’t protest anymore. What was the point? He’d already written himself into every aspect of her success.
The latest magazine feature lay on her desk:Georgia Adler: Fashion’s Rising Star. Her maiden name erased, her identity merged with his. Even her triumphs wore his brand.
She picked up her sketchbook, seeking refuge in the only space still purely hers. But the whispers followed: “Adrian Adler’s wife has such talent.” As if her skill was another asset he’d acquired.
The pencil snapped in her grip. She needed more than creative freedom. She needed to break free from his golden chains, to prove she could shine without his name casting shadows on her light.
