SINS OF THE FATHERS

: The Deal

Elias’s POV

The back room of the estate is all muted golds and rich mahogany, a stark contrast to the cold, echoing concrete of Danbury. It smells of old money and fresh-cut hydrangeas. I hate it.

Aurora stands by the fireplace, her back ramrod straight, still in that ridiculous cloud of a wedding dress. She looks like a ghost who’s forgotten how to fade away. The sight of her, even in panic, even hating me, does something treacherous to my insides. *Old habits. Old wounds.* I crush the feeling under the heel of four years of bitterness.

She turns as I close the door, cutting off the distant hum of scandalized guests. Her eyes are huge, dark pools in a pale face. Fear, yes. But also a fierce, glittering anger. *There she is.*

"Get out," she says, her voice surprisingly steady.

"We need to talk." I toss a manila folder onto the Chippendale desk between us. It lands with a solid *thwap*.

"We have nothing to talk about. Security will be here any second."

"I paid them off. And the pastor. And the string quartet." I shrug out of my suit jacket, the fabric scratching at scars she doesn’t know exist. "You’d be surprised what a few million in back-wages and hush money can do."

Her gaze flicks to the folder. "What is that?"

"Open it."

Suspicion wars with her innate curiosity—the same curiosity that used to have her prying into my trading algorithms at MIT. She steps forward, her movements elegant even now, and flips the folder open. Her breath hitches.

It’s all there. The legal transfer documents for a twenty percent stake in Song Capital. My signature is already at the bottom. The holding company is a shell, but the assets are real. What’s left of them.

"This… this was my parents’," she whispers, her fingers tracing the embossed letterhead. "How did you get it?"

"Bought it from the vultures at forty cents on the dollar." I lean against the desk, watching her. "Samuel and Dominic were too busy carving up the main carcass to notice the scraps. Or they thought it was worthless."

Her head snaps up. "Why would you do that?"

"It’s not a gift, Aurora. It’s a transaction." I keep my voice flat, clinical. *Show no weakness. No need.* "Look at clause 4.B."

Her eyes, sharp and analytical—the mind that aced advanced econometrics—scan the dense legalese. I see the exact moment she finds it. Her lips part. "This… this stipulates joint control. Both signatures required for any major asset sale or transfer."

"Smart girl. Always were." The old endearment slips out. I clench my jaw. "It means the stake is frozen. Useless to me alone. And currently, useless to you."

"What do you want?" Her voice is low, dangerous.

"I want what’s mine. My mother’s company. Shen Holdings." I push off the desk, closing the distance between us. She doesn’t retreat, just lifts her chin. A spark of admiration I don’t want flickers in my chest. "Dominic and Samuel stole it. They framed me to get me out of the way. You helped."

She flinches as if struck. Good.

"You want me to help you take it back?" Her laugh is brittle. "You’re insane."

"I want you to be my wife."

The words hang in the perfumed air. She stares at me, utterly still.

"In name only," I clarify, though the thought is a physical ache. "A public facade. The tragic ex-lovers, reconciled. The perfect power couple to challenge the fragile, disabled heir and his ailing father. The press will devour it. The board will question Dominic’s stability. It creates… leverage."

"You want me to pretend to be in love with you." It’s not a question.

"I want you to pretend to have chosen me. Again." I let the barb sink in. "For as long as it takes for me to untangle their mess and regain control."

"And my compensation?"

I nod at the folder. "When I have my company, you get the Song Capital stake. Fully. No strings. You can rebuild, sell it, burn it for all I care."

Her mind is working, I can see it. Weighing the humiliation against the reward. The hatred against the opportunity. Her parents’ legacy, sitting right there.

"How long?" she asks finally.

"Until I get my mother’s company back."

"That’s not an answer."

"It’s the only one I have."

We’re close now. I can see the faint pulse at the base of her throat. I can smell her perfume—something light and floral, wrong for the woman of steel and grief I know she is. An old impulse, a demon I thought I’d buried, makes me reach out. My fingers brush the inside of her wrist, where her frantic pulse beats a rabbit-quick rhythm.

A jolt goes through us both. Electric, instantaneous. Her eyes fly to mine, wide with shock and a mirrored, unwelcome awareness. My own traitorous body remembers every curve, every sigh, every midnight confession. *Damn it.*

I snatch my hand back as if burned.

She wraps her fingers around her wrist, as if to erase the contact. Her jaw is set. "You’ll have the paperwork drawn up? A real contract? Notarized?"

"Already done." I gesture to the folder. "Bottom page."

She looks down, then back at me. The war in her eyes is almost painful to witness. Finally, she gives one tight, sharp nod. "Fine."

The word is a surrender and a declaration of war all at once.

"Fine," I echo.

Behind her, the heavy door is slightly ajar. A shadow shifts in the crack. Just for a second. Then it’s gone.

Dominic.

Aurora doesn’t see it. She’s too busy selling her soul to the devil she once created.

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