From Tragedy To Triumph: The Bride Who Defied Fate

Samuel Adams, Connor's assistant, approached him from behind and placed a slim dossier about Nicole into his hand, the faint rustle of paper breaking the silence.

With a detached flick of his fingers, Connor skimmed the contents, his expression barely shifting as he turned each page. The file painted a thin, unremarkable life, devoid of privilege or polish, leaving little to hold his attention.

"So she barely knows how the world works," Connor said aloofly. "Where did she summon the nerve to marry me?" After a brief pause, his tone sharpened. "What had she gone through before this marriage?"

Samuel had anticipated the question and answered without hesitation, "Her mother passed away."

Connor's brows knit slightly. "And that's all?"

Samuel continued, "Her father died years ago, and her mother had been chronically ill ever since. Her former boyfriend, Jerald Nash, was her mother's attending physician." He hesitated, rubbing the bridge of his nose before adding, "A few days ago, her mother died because treatment was delayed. At the time, there were rumors Jerald was in bed with her cousin instead of rushing to the hospital—and that he chose not to answer the emergency call."

One corner of Connor's mouth lifted, a low, amused sound escaping him.

Sensing Connor's interest in Nicole—pitiful as her situation was—Samuel couldn't help asking, "Mr. Reed, do you plan to keep her around?"

A detached composure settled over Connor's tone. "Keeping her is safer than letting the Reed family's eyes track me every hour. Besides, it's not as if she's particularly sharp."

Samuel's gaze slid to the gun resting on the table, his brow tightening. "You call that not particularly sharp? Who brings a gun the first time they meet someone?"

Lifting his eyes, Connor studied Samuel for a beat before changing the subject. "You look worn out. Didn't sleep at all last night?"

With rigid seriousness, Samuel answered, "My job is to keep you safe—every minute of the day."

Connor waved it off with lazy indifference. "Go take a break and have a smoke. I'd hate it if you work yourself into an early grave." As he spoke, he extended a cigarette toward Samuel.

Samuel wavered, temptation flickering across his face. Working at Connor's side was no different from serving time—rules everywhere, and smoking was practically forbidden. With the chance placed directly in his hand, he finally gave in and took it.

Connor lifted the toy gun, thumbed it once, and with a crisp click, sparked Samuel's cigarette to life.

For a heartbeat, Samuel stared, stunned into silence. Damn it! This supposed gun was nothing more than a lighter? It had fooled him completely!

Samuel drew in a slow breath of smoke and then let it drift out with a crooked laugh when Connor queried flatly, "Enjoying it?"

"Quite a lot."

"Congratulations. You just burned your year-end bonus."

Samuel hastily crushed the cigarette against the ashtray, his voice tight with protest. "Mr. Reed, you were the one who handed it to me!"

Connor's expression barely shifted as he replied, "I never said there wouldn't be consequences."

Grumbling in silence, Samuel accepted the familiar sting of regret. Once again, he'd walked straight into Connor's trap, getting played day after day without ever learning his lesson.

By the time Nicole arrived with breakfast, Samuel had already slipped out, taking with him the lingering stench of smoke Connor couldn't tolerate.

Pausing beside the table, Nicole said in a low voice, "I didn't know your preferences, and there wasn't much to work with, so I made this." She set the tray down with quiet deference. "Try it and see if it suits your taste."

While she spoke, she carefully arranged the utensils within his reach.

Connor's gaze drifted downward, catching on her hands—reddened, slightly chapped, far too rough for a young woman her age. For all the Perry family's glossy reputation and publicly traded empire, the way she'd been treated at home was written plainly in those scars.

Without shifting an inch, he remarked, "You didn't need to do this. I don't usually bother with breakfast."

A quiet stubbornness settled into Nicole's expression as she replied, "Skipping meals ruins your stomach. Those processed things you eat aren't food. I'll cook something proper for you."

She took the seat opposite him and sampled her own portion. She added after a beat, "Since we're married now, taking care of you is part of the deal."

In a world obsessed with status and appearances, most people wrapped their weaknesses in layers of caution, terrified of being looked down on. Nicole, however, seemed oddly untouched by that instinct, her straightforward sincerity standing out like something out of place.

Connor, regrettably, felt no warmth from it. Before she could continue, his voice cut in coolly, "Consider the price before you put any effort into this—don't expect gratitude from me."

A flicker of quiet pity crossed Nicole's gaze as she looked at him. The thought struck her unbidden—this man couldn't even accept kindness without bracing for a trap, and whatever he'd endured must have been brutal.

Noting her expression and reading her mind, Connor's lips twitched slightly, but he said nothing.

Nicole finished her meal and noticed Connor hadn't touched his. She asked cautiously, "Is it not to your taste?"

Taking food from her felt like a risk he refused to take lightly. With practiced nonchalance, he replied, "I've never had anything this good before. I'm not used to it."

A dull ache tightened in Nicole's chest, and she said gently, "Then I'll make it for you every day, if that's okay."

Meeting her open, earnest gaze, Connor felt something inside him stir, as if he was a helpless stray who finally received a warm hand.