The CEO's Reluctant Bride

Sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow across the penthouse bedroom. Ava stirred beneath the soft sheets, blinking away remnants of sleep. For a fleeting moment, the world felt still—peaceful, even. Then she turned, her gaze landing on Adrian, shirtless and leaning against the headboard with his laptop balanced on his lap. His usual stern expression was softened by the morning light, though his eyes remained sharp, tracking every line of the document he read.

"You work even on weekends?" Her voice, still laced with sleep, broke the silence.

Adrian glanced at her, raising a brow. "Trouble doesn't take weekends off."

Ava rolled onto her side, propping her head on her palm. "Neither does that scowl. Seriously, do you ever relax?"

His lips twitched—a near smile, or maybe she was imagining it. "I relax just fine. You, on the other hand, talk too much in the morning."

"Rude," she shot back, playfully tossing a pillow at him. He caught it with ease, setting it aside as if it weighed nothing.

They lingered in the comfort of that playful back-and-forth, but the real world had no patience for tender mornings. Adrian's phone buzzed incessantly on the nightstand. One glance at the screen, and the faint ease on his face dissolved.

"What is it?" Ava asked, sitting up.

He handed her the phone. Breaking News: Sinclair CEO's Secret Marriage Exposed! Below the headline was a blurry photo of them entering the courthouse, flanked by security.

Ava's heart dropped. "How did they even—?"

"Paparazzi dig like vultures," Adrian muttered, running a hand through his hair. "It was only a matter of time."

Ava scrambled out of bed, pacing. "This… this changes things. What about your company? Your reputation?"

"I can handle that." His voice was cool, decisive. "It's you I'm worried about."

Before she could respond, her phone lit up—messages flooded in: friends, distant relatives, coworkers. Everyone wanted a piece of the story. Her pulse quickened. This wasn't just corporate drama anymore. It was her life under a microscope.

Determined to breathe fresh air, Ava stepped outside later that day, donning sunglasses and a cap. Her attempt at blending in was laughable—the paparazzi swarmed like sharks scenting blood.

"Miss Carter! Is this a marriage of convenience?"

"Are you after Sinclair's fortune?"

"Is it true there's another woman in the picture?"

The last question struck a nerve. Ava's jaw tightened. Stay calm, she reminded herself. But when one reporter blocked her path, shoving a microphone in her face, patience snapped.

"Back off!" Her voice rang louder than she intended. Cameras flashed like a relentless storm.

Before things spiraled further, a black SUV screeched to a halt. Adrian emerged in a tailored suit that screamed power, his gaze cutting through the crowd like a blade. Without a word, he reached for her hand, pulling her toward the car.

Inside, doors slammed shut, muffling the chaos. Ava's chest heaved with adrenaline. "I had it under control," she muttered.

He shot her a look. "Sure you did. Screaming at reporters is always a great PR move."

"You didn't have to play hero," she shot back, though her pulse betrayed her—fast, erratic. Being close to him did that.

Silence stretched, thick with unsaid things. Then, softer, she added, "Thanks… for coming."

His gaze softened just a fraction. "No one messes with what's mine."

The possessiveness in his words sent a confusing swirl of emotions through her. Anger, gratitude… something more dangerous.

Back at the penthouse, Ava sat at the kitchen island, scrolling through articles that painted her as everything from a gold-digger to a homewrecker.

"People love a scandal," she sighed. "Doesn't matter what's true."

Adrian poured whiskey into a glass, swirling it. "Public opinion is fleeting. We'll outlast this."

She eyed him. "Why do you act like you don't care?"

"Because caring makes you vulnerable," he said simply. "And vulnerability gets you burned."

The weight of those words lingered. She wanted to ask what—or who—had burned him, but the walls he built around himself were thick. Still, cracks were beginning to show.

Later, as dusk painted the sky in hues of amber and violet, Ava found a box of old newspapers in the study. Curiosity won. Headlines from years ago revealed bitter lawsuits, fractured partnerships… and the name Bennett Industries appeared more than once.

"Vanessa's family," she murmured. Pieces of a complicated puzzle clicked into place.

"You shouldn't be digging through that," Adrian's voice broke the quiet.

She turned, guilt flashing across her face. "I wasn't— I just wanted to understand."

"Understanding doesn't change the past," he said, jaw tightening.

"But it helps me know you." Her words hung heavy between them.

His defenses wavered. "Some things are better left buried."

"And some things haunt you until you face them," she countered.

For a beat, he said nothing. Then, barely above a whisper, "They took everything from me."

The vulnerability in his voice was raw, unguarded. On impulse, Ava closed the distance, her hand brushing his arm. "You don't have to face it alone."

Their eyes locked—too long, too intense. His gaze dropped to her lips, hers flickered to his, but just as quickly, he pulled back. "This isn't a fairytale, Ava. I'm not the guy who gives you a happy ending."

"I never asked for perfect," she replied. "Just real."

Before he could respond, the doorbell rang. Adrian frowned, checking the monitor. No one. Just a plain envelope resting on the floor.

He opened it, reading the contents. His face drained of color.

"What is it?" Ava asked, heart racing.

He handed her the letter. "You can't outrun the past, Sinclair. Tick-tock."

Ava looked up, determination burning. "We'll face this together."

His jaw clenched. "Careful what you wish for, Ava. Not all battles end clean."