CHAP 3 — Sign It
Adrian’s breathing turned ragged beneath me.
The joint lock did not need much pressure. That was the point. Control, not damage.
His cheek pressed against the polished wooden floor. His tuxedo sleeve twisted under my grip. The whip lay coiled near his hand like a dead snake beside the open rulebook.
“Maya,” he wheezed. “You’re hurting me.”
I looked at the red mark near my wrist where the whip had grazed before I closed the distance.
“You were aiming for worse.”
“That was symbolic.”
“So is this.”
I increased the pressure one inch.
He cried out.
Not loudly.
Men like Adrian avoid ugly sounds even when their bodies betray them.
“Listen carefully,” I said. “You are going to stay still.”
His voice sharpened through pain.
“You have no idea what my family can do.”
There he was.
The real Adrian.
Not afraid enough to regret.
Only afraid enough to threaten.
I reached beneath the bedframe with my free hand and pulled loose the envelope I had taped there after the reception, while he was busy accepting congratulations from people who would later pretend they had always suspected something was wrong with him.
I shoved the document across the floor.
It slid over the rulebook.
Annulment petition.
Prepared in advance.
Filed electronically pending final signature.
Adrian stared at it.
His face changed.
“You planned this?”
“No,” I said. “You did.”
The city glowed beyond the penthouse windows. Far below, sirens moved through Manhattan traffic. Not close enough yet for comfort. Close enough for leverage.
“Sign it,” I said. “Before the sirens get closer.”
His jaw tightened.
“You think you can humiliate me?”
I leaned down.
“You handed your bride a rulebook and attacked her on a recording device you planted yourself. Humiliation is the generous option.”
His eyes flicked toward the sofa.
His phone.
Still recording.
His trap had become mine.
“What did you do?” he whispered.
I smiled without warmth.
“I let you be yourself.”
The pendant at my throat pulsed once against my skin. Rebecca had received the livestream. So had the private security firm she insisted we hire after reviewing Claire’s files.
And Claire herself.
That mattered most.
I wanted the last woman he hurt to see him stopped.
Adrian tried to buck upward.
I shifted my weight and pinned him harder.
“Bad choice.”
He cursed.
Then the private elevator chimed.
Both of us looked up.
The doors slid open.
Celeste Cole stepped into the penthouse with two corporate lawyers behind her.
She wore ivory silk and diamonds, dressed not for rescue but for management. Her face carried the smug satisfaction of a woman arriving to fix an inconvenience.
Then she saw her son on the floor under my wedding dress.
The whip.
The rulebook.
The annulment papers.
Her face collapsed.
“Adrian?!” she shouted. “What is she doing to you?!”
I slowly turned my head toward her.
For the first time since I met Celeste Cole, she looked unsure whether the room belonged to her.
Good.
I wanted her to feel that.
“She’s doing what Claire should have had help doing,” I said.
Celeste’s eyes sharpened.
At Claire’s name, one lawyer looked down.
The other took a step back.
Adrian groaned, “Mother, get her off me.”
Celeste lifted her chin.
“Maya, release him this instant.”
I looked at the phone recording on the sofa.
Then at the pendant camera.
May you like
Then at the elevator camera blinking above her head.
“No,” I said. “We’re all finally following rules.”
