Page 32 of His By Contract
Georgia caught it, an infinitesimal pause in Adrian’s movements. His knife stopped against the meat for a heartbeat, silver gleaming under the chandelier’s glow. The moment stretched like pulled sugar, fragile and crystalline, before his hand resumed its path.
But something had shifted. The air grew dense, charged with an electricity that made the fine hairs on her arms rise. His fingers gripped the knife tighter, knuckles white against the handle. The muscle in his jaw flexed, a subtle ripple beneath his skin. When he lifted his eyes to hers, they held none of their usual calm, only arctic frost.
Her heart thundered against her ribs. The realization hit her like a splash of ice water: Vaughn wasn’t just another business rival; he represented something that could pierce Adrian’s armor, something that made even the untouchable Adrian Adler pause.
She watched him take another bite, his movements precise, but rigid. The silence between them stretched, heavy with unspoken tension. This wasn’t his usual calculated quiet. This was defense.
Georgia’s fingers tightened around her wineglass, her knuckles whitening with tension. She’d glimpsed something Adrian never intended to show: vulnerability. A hairline fracture in his perfect facade. Vaughn held power enough to make Adrian react, even if only for that fraction of a second.
Georgia set her glass down, her mind whirring behind a carefully blank expression. The name hung in the air between them like smoke: Vaughn. She’d seen Adrian face down business rivals, watched him demolish social climbers with a glance. But this… this was different.
The chandelier light caught Adrian’s profile as he reached for his wine. Georgia studied him through new eyes, piecing together the full picture.
Vaughn didn’t just threaten Adrian’s business empire. He threatened something fundamental, something Adrian kept buried beneath layers of control and power.
She speared a piece of meat, letting the weight of her discovery settle in her bones. Power didn’t just flow one way. Adrian might hold her contract, might control her days and nights, but she held something too.
All these months, she’d seen herself as a pawn in his game, a decoration to be moved and positioned at his will. But now… now she saw the board differently.
Heat bloomed in her chest, unfurling like a flower reaching for sunlight. She wasn’t just an asset anymore. She was a variable. A wild card that both men wanted to control. And if Vaughn’s hints were true, if he really could dismantle Adrian’s carefully constructed world…
She took a slow sip of wine, letting the rich liquid coat her tongue. Adrian’s empire wasn’t built on marble and steel; it had fault lines. Cracks that Vaughn said he knew how to exploit. And she now sat at the intersection of their war.
Georgia’s fingers tightened around her wineglass. She’d spent months learning to read Adrian’s silences, to navigate his moods, to survive his control. But she’d never truly seen him as vulnerable until now. The man who spanked her for defiance, who orchestrated her every move, who claimed ownership of her success—he could fall.
She wouldn’t decide yet. Wouldn’t show her hand. But as she watched Adrian’s calculated movements across the table, she felt something shift inside her. The game had changed, and for the first time, she didn’t have to just play defense.
Georgia’s slippers brushed against the marble as she returned from breakfast, each step barely breaking the silence of the hallway. A folded sheet of heavy cream stock sat neatly on her vanity, the kind of paper reserved for formal correspondence or expensive invitation, her day mapped in tight columns of time and place.
10:00 a.m.—Fitting at Marchesa
12:30 p.m.—Lunch with the Bennetts
3:00 p.m.—Meeting with Laurent PR Team
7:00 p.m.—Dinner at Le Bernardin
Her fingers crumpled the edge of the paper. No consultation. No choice. Just Adrian dictating her hours like she was another asset in his portfolio.
A flash of emerald silk drew her attention. A gown hung outside her closet: floor-length, backless, with a slit that would climb past her thigh. The kind of dress that announced its price tag in whispers. The kind that marked her as Adrian’s.
Heat crawled up her neck. She strode to her closet, reaching for the handle. It didn’t budge.
Georgia yanked harder. Nothing. The electronic lock blinked red, denying her access to her own clothes. She pressed her palm against the cool wood, a laugh catching in her throat. Of course. He hadn’t just chosen her outfit; he’d eliminated all other options.
Her reflection stared back from the closet’s mirrored surface. A wife in a cage of luxury, every movement choreographed, every choice filtered through his control.
Georgia pulled the emerald silk across her body, the rustling fabric echoing his grip on her life. The dress fit perfectly. Of course it did. He’d probably had it tailored while she slept. The mirror reflected back a woman transformed: dangerous curves, bare shoulders, a flash of thigh with each step.
Her fingers traced the neckline, adjusting it a fraction lower. Adrian wanted to dress her like a doll? She’d show him exactly what that looked like. The slit rode high enough to make society matrons gasp, but Georgia knew better. This wasn’t about modesty; it was about ownership.
She swept her hair into an elegant twist, letting a few strands fall loose around her face. Her movements were unhurried, deliberate. Each bobby pin, each stroke of mascara was a calculated response to his silent command.
The dress clung to her hips as she turned, studying her reflection. She looked expensive. Controlled. Everything Adrian wanted in his perfect wife.
“Two can play power games,” Georgia murmured, sliding on the diamond drops he’d left with the dress. They caught the light, throwing sparkles across the wall. She’d wear his choices, become his vision, but on her terms.
She put on the matching emerald, red-soled heels and she stood. The woman in the mirror glared back, all sharp edges and secret thoughts.
