His Trophy Fiancée, Her redemption

ELENA

The moment the glass doors of the venue slid shut behind us, the noise of the crowd fell away, swallowed by the night air. I exhaled shakily, adrenaline still buzzing under my skin like electricity.

My cheek throbbed where Lenora’s hand had connected, but honestly, the sting was nothing compared to the satisfaction of watching her face crumple when Adrian stepped between us like a damn storm in a suit.

We walked toward the waiting car—well, Adrian walked; I floated somewhere between shock and denial.

The chauffeur opened the door, and the second I slid inside, Adrian followed immediately and shut it behind him.

Before I could even buckle my seatbelt, his hands were on me.

Not on me, on my face.

Warm palms, careful fingers. Touching like I was something fragile he was terrified of breaking.

“Elena,” he murmured, voice lower than usual, edges rough. “Are you alright?”

His brows were pinched together, eyes sharp and searching as he tilted my face toward the soft glow of the overhead light. His thumb brushed just under my cheekbone, analyzing the spot where Lenora had struck me. His jaw ticked the longer he stared.

I swallowed. Hard.

“I’m fine,” I said lightly, or tried to. “It’s just a slap. I’ve had worse.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

His eyes snapped to mine, and something dangerous flickered inside them. “You shouldn’t have worse.” His voice was a low growl. “People don’t get to hurt you. Not anymore.”

My heart did a weird flip, and I immediately smothered it. Don’t read into it, I told myself. He’s just being decent. Human. Protective because it serves his purpose.

Fake fiancée. Fake marriage. Mutual benefit.

Nothing more.

He touched my cheek again, lighter this time. “Does it burn?” he asked.

“It… stings.” More than I wanted to admit.

His fingers drifted down, feather-light, tracing the outline as if memorizing it. “I swear,” he muttered, voice thick with suppressed rage, “she’s lucky I didn’t put her head through a wall.”

Despite myself, I laughed—a small, startled sound. “You didn’t have to defend me like that.”

“Yes,” he said immediately, without hesitation. “I did.”

The certainty in his voice slammed into my chest like a weight. I looked away quickly, staring out the window as the driver pulled onto the main road.

“It’s part of the arrangement,” I whispered, reminding both him and myself. “You’re just… playing the role.”

Silence filled the car, heavy and warm.

Then he said, quietly but firmly, “What I did wasn’t acting.”

I froze.

His hand stayed on my cheek a second longer, like he wanted to say something else—or do something else—but he didn’t. He pulled back slowly, jaw clenched, staring out the opposite window.

The rest of the drive was quiet, and I used the silence to force myself back into reality. Emotions weren’t allowed here. This was business. Strategy. A partnership wrapped in lies.

It didn’t matter how he looked at me.

Or how he touched me.

Or how he said “my woman” like I was something he’d actually claim.

It didn’t matter.

And I wouldn’t let it matter.

We arrived at his mansion twenty minutes later. The house glowed from within, warm golden lights spilling through tall windows. The moment we stepped inside, the familiar polished-wood scent wrapped around me.

But the silence inside wasn’t normal.

There were voices—low, tense.

We rounded the corner, and my steps faltered.

Adrian’s father and uncle sat at the tea table like judges in an old courtroom. Both had steaming cups in front of them, untouched. Both watched us walk in with unreadable expressions.

My stomach tightened.

Adrian’s hand found the small of my back again—a grounding touch. “Dad,” he said evenly. “Uncle. You’re still awake.”

His father’s gaze dropped to my cheek, lingering a little too long. Not in concern. In calculation. My skin crawled under the weight of it.

Adrian must have noticed, because he subtly shifted, placing part of his body between me and his father’s stare.

Mr. Wolfe set his cup down with a quiet clink. “I heard something happened at the event,” he said. “A confrontation.”

Great. Of course the news traveled faster than we did.

Adrian’s voice sharpened. “Handled. And it won’t happen again.”

His uncle scoffed. “Drama already? This is exactly—”

“Enough,” Adrian’s father cut in. His gaze swept over the two of us, assessing, piercing. “Regardless of… tonight’s complications, the engagement must proceed as planned.”

My heart stuttered.

Adrian stiffened beside me. “Planned?” he repeated cautiously.

“Yes.” Mr. Wolfe folded his hands. “You want us to believe this relationship is real? Then it must be presented as real. Publicly. Immediately.”

Oh no. No, no, no.

“I’ve arranged an engagement party,” he continued smoothly, like he was announcing a brunch menu. “Press, investors, family, board members. It will be held next Saturday.”

My throat closed.

Adrian went still beside me, so still I wasn’t sure he was breathing.

His voice, when it came, was icy calm. “You arranged a party without speaking to us?”

“To you,” his father corrected. “There was no need to consult her.”

I bristled, but Adrian spoke first, tone cool but lethal. “She is my fiancée. You will consult her.”

The uncle snorted. “Fiancée, sure.”

Adrian ignored him. “Dad, this is too sudden. There’s no reason to—”

“There is every reason,” his father snapped. “Your position at Wolfe Enterprises is precarious. Your behavior for the last few years has been unacceptable. If this engagement is real, if this woman is truly part of your life, then it is time to prove it.”

The words hit me like cold water.

Fake was one thing. Public was another.

A party meant cameras. Social media. Headlines. People digging into my past, the scandal, the humiliation, the lies Clifford had spread.

My lungs tightened painfully.

I felt Adrian’s hand press gently against my back, a silent Are you okay?

I wasn’t.

But I nodded anyway, because my voice didn’t work.

His father looked at me then, eyes sharp. “Do you have any objections, Ms. Hart?”

Did I?

Yes.

A thousand.

But I also remembered our pact. The contract. My name, my vengeance, my future were all tied to this arrangement.

So I lifted my chin, met his stare, and said, “No.”

Adrian’s head snapped toward me, surprise flickering across his features, but he said nothing. Not here. Not in front of them.

“Good,” his father said, rising from his seat. “Then it is settled.”

His uncle stood as well, smirking smugly before the two men left the room.

Silence fell the second they were gone.

A heavy, suffocating silence.

Adrian turned to me immediately. “Elena—”

But I took a step back, lifting a hand. “It’s fine,” I lied softly. “It’s part of the deal.”

His jaw clenched. “You’re shaking.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are.”

He stepped closer, voice low, eyes soft in a way they had never been before. “You don’t have to pretend you’re alright. Not with me.”

And damn it.