The CEO's Reluctant Bride

Ava sat in her car, fingers tight around the steering wheel. Her reflection in the rearview mirror revealed the turmoil she fought to contain—wide eyes, lips pressed into a thin line.

Careful what doors you open.

The words echoed, wrapping around her like a noose. Her phone screen remained dark—no caller ID, no trace. Was it just a prank? Or something far worse?

Part of her wanted to tell Adrian. The other part screamed no. Trust wasn't something she gave easily—especially not to him.

Her phone buzzed again—Adrian's name flashing across the screen. Speak of the devil.

She answered, voice clipped. "What?"

"There's a fitting scheduled for you at Bellamy Couture. Don't be late."

No greeting, no explanation—just orders. Typical.

"I'm not a dress-up doll," she muttered.

"Public image matters," came the calm reply. "Unless you'd prefer to embarrass yourself at the gala."

A muscle in her jaw ticked. "Fine." She hung up before he could add another condescending remark.

Bellamy Couture – Two hours later

Ava stepped into the boutique, surrounded by fabrics more expensive than her apartment rent. Champagne-colored silk gleamed under soft lights, and mannequins wore gowns that screamed elegance and intimidation.

Adrian stood near the back, immaculate as always—charcoal suit, black tie, posture that spoke of power. He glanced at his watch. "You're late."

"Traffic," she lied.

"Poor excuse."

She rolled her eyes but didn't argue. What was the point?

A designer bustled over. "Ms. Carter! Such a pleasure. We've prepared several options—Mr. Sinclair was quite specific."

Of course he was.

Within minutes, Ava found herself stepping into a fitting room, slipping into a deep emerald gown. It hugged her curves, the slit daringly high. Stepping out, she found Adrian's gaze already on her.

He said nothing, but something flickered in his eyes. Approval? She wasn't sure—and that irritated her more.

"Well?" she prodded.

"It'll do," he said, voice unreadable.

It'll do? Heat rushed to her cheeks—anger or something else, she didn't care to examine.

As the tailor adjusted the hem, Adrian moved closer. Too close. The subtle scent of his cologne—clean, with a hint of cedar—wrapped around her.

"Comfortable?" he murmured.

"Not with you breathing down my neck," she shot back.

He chuckled—soft, unexpected. "Get used to it."

Her pulse betrayed her, quickening. Get a grip, Ava.

Later – A café across the street

Adrian sipped his espresso while Ava stirred her coffee with unnecessary force.

"Why me?" she asked, breaking the silence. "You could've picked anyone for this farce."

His gaze held hers. "Because you needed me as much as I needed you."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you'll get."

Frustration simmered, but she let it go—barely.

Just outside the café

Ava's phone buzzed again. She glanced down—and froze.

A photo. Of her. Entering Sinclair Corp that morning. Captioned: You've made a dangerous choice.

Her stomach dropped.

"Ava?" Adrian's voice cut through the haze.

She turned the screen toward him. "Is this some sick game of yours?"

His expression darkened, jaw tightening. "No."

"Then what the hell is this?" Panic edged her words.

He took the phone, eyes scanning the message. His demeanor shifted—controlled anger beneath ice. "Someone's making threats. Against you."

"No kidding" Her voice wavered.

Without another word, Adrian pulled out his phone, voice low and lethal. "Find out who sent this. I want a name—five minutes ago."

His intensity sent a shiver down her spine. This wasn't just business anymore. Whatever she'd gotten herself into it was bigger.

Much bigger.