Page 22 of His By Contract
The image flickered through her mind: her designs on runways, her name spoken with respect instead of whispers about Adrian’s wife. A future built on her talent, not his control.
But the alternative pulled at her darker impulses. The chance to watch Adrian’s carefully constructed world crumble, piece by piece. To see the man who bought her, who spanked her for her disobedience, lose everything he valued.
Her throat tightened. The power felt intoxicating, knowing she held Adrian’s fate in her hands. One word to Vaughn and Adler Capital would fall, its king brought low by the woman he thought he owned.
“You don’t have to decide now.” Vaughn’s words slid like silk across her skin. “But remember how it feels when Adriancontrols your every move. When he claims your achievements as returns on his investment.”
She pictured Adrian’s face if she walked away—the crack in his perfect control, the realization that she’d chosen freedom over his cage. The satisfaction of finally having a choice that was truly hers.
But warning Adrian meant choosing him. Accepting her role in his world, becoming the wife he’d purchased. The thought made her stomach turn.
She stood, her legs unsteady beneath her. The document sat untouched on the table, waiting for her decision. Power or submission. Freedom or loyalty. A choice that would destroy someone either way.
CHAPTER 7
The crystal chandeliers cast fractured light across the ballroom, turning wealth into a glittering spectacle. Georgia watched the dance of power play out around her, each gesture and word weighted with calculation. Money flowed through conversations like wine through crystal stems.
Adrian carved through the crowd with casual authority. People gravitated toward him, their eagerness transparent in half-bows and nervous laughter. He didn’t chase their attention, he commanded it.
“Your wife is quite the addition,” a woman in diamonds murmured, her eyes sliding over Georgia like she was appraising artwork. “Such an… interesting background.”
Georgia stood silent at Adrian’s side, her shoulders straight, her expression neutral. The role suffocated her: decorative, mute, existing only to enhance his image.
“The boutique shows promise,” a man commented to Adrian, as if Georgia wasn’t there. “Smart investment on your part.”
Adrian’s hand rested on her lower back, a quiet claim disguised as affection. “Georgia’s talent required proper direction.”
The dismissal in his tone scraped against her pride. Everything she’d built, every late night hunched over patterns, every client earned through skill, reduced to his business acumen.
“Of course,” the man agreed. “These creative types need a firm hand.”
“My success comes from years of dedication, not direction.” Georgia’s voice cut through the pretense, smooth as silk, but sharp as a blade. The statement hung in the air, challenging Adrian’s carefully constructed narrative.
The shift rippled through the crowd. Champagne glasses paused mid-sip. Whispered conversations died. The weight of dozens of gazes pressed against her skin as the elite waited to see how their king would handle this small rebellion.
Adrian’s fingers found her wrist. His touch was gentle, almost tender, but Georgia felt the steel beneath. His thumb brushed along the bones beneath her skin, a quiet warning of their deal, of his grip on her life, her mother’s care, her future.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The slight pressure of his grip translated every unspoken threat.
The woman in diamonds laughed, a brittle sound that broke the tension. “How passionate! You must be so proud, Adrian, to have such a spirited wife.”
The conversation resumed its practiced dance. Voices rose and fell in careful rhythms. To anyone watching, Adrian appeared unmoved, his authority absolute. His expression remained pleasant, his posture relaxed.
But Georgia felt the change in his touch. The way his fingers lingered longer than necessary. The promise of consequences hidden beneath his polite smile.
She’d crossed a line. They both knew it.
Lights from passing cars painted shadows across Georgia’s face as the city blurred past the window. The leather seat beneath her felt cold, unyielding, much like the silence that filled the space between them.
Adrian occupied the space next to her, radiating a tension that raised goosebumps along her arms. His suit jacket remained crisp, not a wrinkle betraying the tension she knew coiled beneath the surface. The streetlights caught his profile, casting sharp angles across features carved from marble.
Her hands stayed folded in her lap, fingers interlaced to hide their trembling. She kept her spine straight, refusing to bow under the weight of his attention. His gaze burned against her skin, methodical and unwavering, like a predator assessing its prey.
The city’s rhythm faded beneath the thunder of her heartbeat. Each breath felt deliberate, measured against the crushing pressure of anticipation. She could sense him cataloging every micro-expression, every subtle shift of her shoulders, searching for cracks in her resolve.
But Georgia wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear. The words she’d spoken at the gala still rang true. Her success, her talent, these weren’t gifts he’d bestowed. They belongedto her, earned through countless sleepless nights and endless determination.
The car slid through traffic, each mile stretching the silence between them into something tangible, dangerous. Adrian’s composure never wavered, his patience a weapon more effective than rage. He didn’t need to speak. His stillness said everything.
