The Marriage Clause

Chapter 12

Adrian’s POV:

Seventy-two hours. Three days of absolute, suffocating mental turmoil.

I stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows of my apartment, watching the rain streak down the glass, her dark leather-bound folder resting heavy on my coffee table.

The utter, tragic irony of it all was enough to drive a man insane. Vivian had offered me the exact thing I wanted more than life itself—to be her husband, to stand by her side, to protect her from the vultures circling her life. And she hadn't needed to lure me with monthly stipends, luxury cars, or real estate in my name. I would have married her in rags on a moment's notice.

Yet, here I was, paralyzed by fear.

She doesn't know who I am.

Every time I looked at that contract, my stomach churned with a sickening wave of guilt. She thought she was hiring an honest, harmless assistant to play a temporary role. She believed I was just Adrian Rossi—a guy from a modest background who was reliable and safe. She had no idea that the blood running through my veins belonged to the family that had systematically tried to destroy her mother.

I was Adrian Knight. The sole heir to Knight Corporation. The nephew of Elijah Knight.

If—no, when—she found out the truth, she would hate me with every fiber of her being. She would look at me not as the man who stayed awake in Geneva to safeguard her dignity, but as another snake who lied his way into her life. I already felt like a traitor, signing my real name in my heart while presenting a false identity on paper.

I wanted her so badly it physically ached. But I was terrified that by agreeing to this contract, I was setting the fuse to the bomb that would eventually tear us apart.

...

When the three days were up, I walked into her office, shutting the heavy oak door behind me.

Vivian was behind her desk, looking as pristine and untouchable as ever, though the slight shadow beneath her eyes betrayed the relentless pressure of the deadline.

She looked up, her dark eyes locking onto mine without hesitation. "So, what have you decided, Adrian?"

I took a slow breath, stepping closer to her desk, looking down at her with complete, unvarnished honesty. "Why me, Ms. Matthews?"

"Oh, stop calling me that already," she snapped softly, an unexpected flash of irritation crossing her features.

"Fine," I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "So why, Vivian? You have access to the most powerful men in Europe. You could have anybody."

"But I choose you," she said firmly, her voice leaving no room for debate.

"I don't understand," I pressed, searching her eyes for answers. "I have nothing to offer you, Vivian."

"I need nothing from you, Adrian," she replied, her expression softening into something quiet, almost vulnerable, for a single second. "Just help me get back my mother's company, and then I'll set you free."

Set me free.

The words hit my chest like a physical blow, a dull, aching pain radiating through my ribs. She was already planning the end before we had even begun. She saw this as a prison sentence she was politely granting me parole from.

I swallowed down the lump in my throat, forcing a small, bittersweet smile to my lips. "Alright. Let's do it then."

A subtle shift relaxed her shoulders, and a tiny, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips. "Good."

"I only have one request," I added quietly. "Keep the ceremony simple, please."

"Alright," she agreed right away, surprisingly amenable. "I don't wish to have a lavish wedding myself. Let's get married in a courthouse. I don't have many guests—just a few trusted colleagues. You can call your family and friends if you wish."

I gave a bitter, internal nod. "Just a few," I said softly.

"Alright then. This Wednesday, we will get married at the courthouse at ten."

...

Wednesday arrived faster than my mind could comprehend.

Standing in the quiet, wood-paneled room of the London registry office, I had to admit I had never witnessed a wedding as minimalistic as this one. Growing up as the Knight heir, I had always assumed my wedding would be a grand, high-society spectacle plastered across international news outlets. I was expected to marry an heiress, surrounded by hundreds of fake smiles and political alliances.

And in a strange twist of fate, I was marrying an heiress. But it felt infinitely better than the spectacle I had always dreaded. It was intimate, quiet, and stripped of all corporate theatricality.

Just a handful of executives from her side stood scattered across the small room. If my grandparents were still alive, I would have asked them to come. In reality, I was just as lonely in that room as she was.

My only guest was Thomas Reed.

With him stood Grace Sullivan, a senior board member of Aurora. She was a mutual friend of both my mother and Vivian’s mother. I had caught glimpses of her a couple of times during executive meetings, but I was completely taken aback when she approached me alongside Thomas.

"Adrian Rossi..." She paused, her eyes searching my face with intense clarity. "...or should I call you Adrian Knight?"

I sucked in a sharp, nervous breath, my heart hammering against my ribs. How did she find out? Was she going to expose me to Vivian? Grace was one of Vivian’s most trusted allies in the entire company—if she spoke, my cover was completely blown.

My eyes shot naturally toward Thomas, filled with unspoken questions and quiet panic.

"I am sorry, son," Thomas said softly, looking thoroughly defeated. "She recognized you."

"You have your father's face and your mother's eyes," Grace added, her voice dropping into a gentle, reflective tone.

"When she threatened to reveal it to everyone, I had no choice but to admit the truth," Thomas explained, offering an apologetic nod.

Grace stepped closer, her expression softening into something warm and protective. "Don't worry, Adrian. I am not here to hurt you. Just take care of Vivian. She is all alone in this world... she was her mother's final worry before she passed."

A steady resolve washed over me, cutting through the initial wave of panic. I looked her dead in the eye and spoke with complete conviction. "I promise you, I will not let any harm come her way."

Grace smiled, a faint look of relief washing over her face. "Good. You have our blessing, then."

Then, the doors opened, and Vivian walked down the short aisle.

She wore a simple, tailored ivory silk suit—sharp, elegant, and entirely her. She looked breathtaking, a solitary queen walking toward an uncertain alliance.

When she reached my side, the officiant began the civil ceremony. Although this was strictly a contract marriage, Vivian had insisted on writing our own vows.

She turned to face me, holding her small index card with steady, unshakeable hands.

"Adrian," she read, her voice clear and resonant, filling the quiet room. "I do not believe in fairytales, nor do I offer promises of forever in a world that so easily breaks. But I offer you my absolute truth, my loyalty, and my respect. I vow to stand beside you as an equal partner in this venture, to protect your trust, and to honor you. For as long as you wear this ring, my word to you is absolute." Then she pushed a simple platinum band onto my finger.

Her vow was honest, sharp, and intensely pragmatic—so utterly Vivian that a quiet warmth bloomed in my chest despite the circumstances.

Then, it was my turn.

I had spent the entire week agonizing over these words. I didn't know if this marriage meant anything real to Vivian, but to me, it meant everything. It was the only truth I was allowed to give her.

I reached out, gently taking her cool hand in mine, looking straight into her dark eyes.

"Vivian," I spoke softly, my voice carrying a deep, steady resonance. "I may not bring an empire to this table, but I bring you my unwavering devotion. I vow to be your shadow when the night gets dark, your shield when the world comes hunting, and the one person in your corner who will never, ever ask you to compromise who you are. I promise to respect your strength, to carry your burdens when they grow too heavy, and to guard your heart as if it were my own—for as long as you will have me."

A subtle breath caught in her throat. For a fraction of a second, the icy composure she wore like armor melted away, leaving her staring up at me in stunned, silent wonder. Holding her gaze, I gently slipped my grandmother’s diamond ring onto her finger. Its timeless, understated elegance was simple enough to keep my family’s immense fortune a complete secret.

"By the power vested in me," the officiant announced smoothly, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

And just like that, we were married.

I leaned down, bridging the small distance between us. I cupped the side of her soft face with my hand and pressed my lips against hers.

The kiss was soft, tender, and deeply promising. I poured every ounce of my buried feelings into that quiet point of contact—every unspoken confession, every protective instinct, and the desperate, hopeless love I was forced to hide behind a contract.

When I finally pulled back, Vivian looked remarkably like her usual composed self, standing tall and immaculate in her ivory suit. But as my eyes lingered on her face, I noticed the undeniable, delicate shade of rose tinting her high cheekbones.

She was my wife now. And I was going to fight like hell to keep her.