The Marriage Clause

Chapter 10

Adrian's POV:

A month had slipped through our fingers like sand, leaving us with a terrifying reality: thirty days.

Thirty agonizing days until Victoria Matthews’ ultimatum matured, and the predatory shadow of Richard Matthews swallowed Aurora Life Sciences whole.

My desk was no longer covered in financial summaries or clinical trial reports; it was submerged beneath a mountain of confidential folders, background checks, and net-worth analyses of potential grooms. My official assignment? Build a dossier of eligible, high-profile suitors for Vivian to marry within the month.

I sat back in my leather chair, staring at the glossy headshot of a thirty-four-year-old shipping heir from Monaco. Perfect pedigree, clean public record, zero scandals. On paper, he was ideal.

In reality, I wanted to tear the paper into confetti and burn it.

I hated every single candidate on that list with a visceral, burning intensity. I found myself intentionally hunting for flaws in every man who crossed my screen—rejecting one because his laugh was grating, another because his family had a history of corporate greed, and another simply because I couldn't stand the way he looked in a three-piece suit. I wanted to hand her a list of men so entirely unappealing that she would dismiss the idea altogether.

But every time I looked toward her office—watching her rub her temples in the dim light, fighting off fatigue as the thirty-day clock ticked down—the ugly jealousy in my chest was replaced by absolute, terrifying panic.

She couldn't lose her company. Aurora was her mother’s soul, her own life’s work, and her only shield against her father. As much as it ripped me apart inside to assemble a catalogue of men for the woman I was falling irrevocably in love with, I forced myself to be honest. I vetted them ruthlessly, selecting only the safest, most stable candidates who could offer her a legal contract without ruining her life.

It was a special kind of torture.

***

That week, to finalize a critical international expansion before the deadline, we flew to Geneva for a high-stakes merger summit with Nord-Tech Medical. Vivian was a force of nature throughout the negotiation, commanding the boardroom with sharp intellect and effortless authority, steering the deal to a triumphant signature by late evening.

After the contract was signed, the celebration transitioned to the hotel’s private executive lounge—a dimly lit, plush space overlooking the quiet waters of Lake Geneva.

By midnight, the executives from Nord-Tech had raised their final glasses and retreated to their suites. The lounge emptied, leaving only the soft hum of jazz playing in the background and the two of us sitting at a corner booth.

I looked across the table at Vivian. She had kicked off her heels under the table and was staring into her glass of scotch, the ice clinking softly as she swirled it around.

"Vivian," I said gently, leaning forward. "It's late. You've had three glasses, and we have a morning flight back to London. We should head up."

"No," she murmured softly, her voice carrying an unusual, velvety slur. She looked up at me, her dark eyes slightly unfocused, a faint, rosy flush dusting her cheekbones. "Just one more, Adrian. Please."

I frowned, caught off guard. Vivian Matthews never said please, nor did she ever let her guard down in public.

"You're tired," I said softly, reaching over to gently lay my hand over her wrist, stopping her from waving down the bartender. "Come on. Let's get you to your room."

Instead of pulling away or snapping at me with her usual corporate coldness, she leaned back against the leather bench and did something that made my heart completely skip a beat.

She giggled.

It was a light, musical sound—so completely uncharacteristic of the formidable CEO I knew that I stared at her in stunned silence.

"Do you know what's funny, Adrian?" she asked, tilting her head, a soft, loop-sided smile resting on her lips. "I spent my entire life promising myself I would never, ever get married. I watched my mother... I watched her wither away, bit by bit, because she loved a man who only saw her as a stepping stone."

Her smile faded into a quiet, wistful gaze as she looked down at her glass. "She knew what Richard was long before the end. She knew he was a snake. And yet... she still trapped me in this. She wrote that clause because she thought marriage meant protection. She thought if I had a husband, no one could hurt me." Vivian let out a soft, dry laugh, shaking her head. "She didn't realize that the title of 'husband' is just a mask men wear before they destroy you."

The quiet bitterness in her voice broke my heart. All the armor, all the icy authority she wore every single day was just a desperate attempt to protect herself from the kind of pain her mother suffered.

"She wanted you to be safe, Vivian," I murmured softly, my thumb unconsciously brushing against the inside of her wrist. "Even if her execution was flawed."

"It's exhausting," she babble softly, her eyelids fluttering as alcohol finally claimed her untouchable walls. "Always fighting. Always looking over my shoulder. Sometimes I just... I just want to rest."

"I know," I whispered, my chest aching for her. "I know. But you're safe tonight. I'm right here."

I carefully slid out of the booth, gently offering her my hand. "Let's go up. I'll help you."

For once, she didn't argue. She placed her hand in mine, letting me pull her to her feet. She swayed slightly, her balance completely compromised by the scotch, and I instinctively wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her as we walked toward the glass elevators.

...

The private elevator doors slid shut, sealing us in the quiet, mirrored cabin as it began its smooth ascent to the penthouse suite.

Vivian leaned heavily against my side, her head resting near my shoulder. The scent of her—jasmine, vanilla, and the rich warmth of the scotch—was completely overwhelming in the small space. My heart was hammering against my ribs, every nerve ending firing at her proximity.

"Adrian?" she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

"Yeah?"

She shifted, turning her body toward me. She stumbled over her heels, her slender hands flying up to clutch at the lapels of my suit jacket for balance. I caught her instantly, my arms wrapping firmly around her waist to keep her upright.

She looked up at me, her dark eyes wide, shining with an unmasked, vulnerable light under the soft elevator lamps.

"You're so handsome," she breathed softly, her fingers tracing the line of my collar. "Young... and charming... and so ridiculously kissable."

My breath hitched in my throat. "Vivian..."

Before I could process the words, she stepped into my space, cupped my face with her cool hands, and pulled me down into a kiss.

Her lips were soft, warm, and tasted faintly of scotch. The shock ran through me like a surge of pure electricity, paralyzing me for a fraction of a second before my brain caught up with my body. Every buried desire, every late-night fantasy I had tried so hard to suppress came rushing to the surface. My hands tightened on her waist, and for one terrifying, intoxicating second, I wanted to pull her flush against me, deepen the kiss, and lose myself in her entirely.

She pressed closer, a small sigh escaping her lips against mine, her fingers tangling into the hair at the nape of my neck.

God help me.

I was on the absolute verge of losing control. The sheer weight of my feelings for her screamed at me to surrender, to give in to the heat pulling us together.

But as her weight pressed against me, completely vulnerable and clouded by alcohol, a cold wave of realization washed over my head.

I couldn't do this.

With every ounce of willpower I possessed, I gently, firmly took hold of her wrists and pushed her back, breaking the kiss.

Vivian blinked, looking up at me in confused silence, her breath coming in soft, uneven gasps.

"Adrian...?"

"You're drunk, Vivian," I said, my voice thick and raspy as I struggled to catch my own breath. My heart was pounding like a war drum in my chest, my hands trembling slightly as I kept a safe distance between us. "You're drunk, and you're exhausted."

"I..." She shook her head slightly, trying to clear the haze.

"If we do this right now," I murmured, staring into her eyes with raw, painful honesty, "you'll wake up tomorrow morning and hate yourself for it. You'll regret it. And you'll build even higher walls between us."

I swallowed hard, the truth burning in my throat.

As much as I want you... as much as I am completely, hopelessly in love with you... this isn't how I want to have you.

I wanted her clear-headed. I wanted her to look at me without the cloud of scotch, without the pressure of a deadline, and choose me because she wanted me—not because she was lonely and exhausted.

Ting.

The elevator doors chimed and slid open to the top floor.

Without another word, I kept a supportive arm around her waist, guiding her down the quiet hallway to her suite. I pulled her room key from her clutch, unlocked the heavy double doors, and walked her inside.

I helped her sit down safely on the edge of the large plush bed. I crouched down in front of her, unbuckling her delicate heels and setting them aside, before pulling the soft duvet over her legs.

Vivian watched me through heavy eyelids, her expression a mix of quiet curiosity and profound tiredness. "You're leaving?" she whispered softly, sounding nothing like my ruthless boss.

"I'm right next door," I replied gently, leaning down to lightly kiss the top of her head—a tender, chaste gesture that carried all the restraint I was desperately holding onto. "Rest, Vivian. I'll see you in the morning."

I stood up, walked to the door, and took one last look at her before slipping out into the hallway. As the door clicked shut, I leaned my head back against the cold wooden panel, closing my eyes as a ragged breath escaped my chest.

Thirty days left. And I was going to lose my mind before the month was out.