The Widow's Price: Owned By Adrien

6

The guest room was quiet. The maid had scrubbed the mud from Aurora's skin and bandaged her arm. Now, she was alone.

Aurora sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her reflection in the vanity mirror. She looked ghostly. Pale skin, dark circles under her eyes, and a small, reddish mark on her neck where the collar of the shirt had rubbed-or where Adrien's fingers had been. She dabbed concealer over it.

The door opened. Eleanor Holden swept in.

"You are lucky," Eleanor said, her voice cold. "Adrien Larsen saved your reputation tonight. And by extension, this family's."

"I know," Aurora said, looking down.

"You will go to his office tomorrow," Eleanor commanded. "You will return his shirt-cleaned-and you will thank him properly. We do not owe debts to men like Larsen."

"I will."

Eleanor left. Aurora let out a breath she felt she'd been holding for hours.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

A text from an unknown number.

Larsen Tower. Penthouse Office. 10:00 AM. Bring the shirt.

Aurora stared at the screen. He hadn't even signed it. He didn't have to.

Meanwhile, in the back of a Maybach speeding toward Manhattan, Adrien stared out the window at the blurred city lights.

"Silas," he said.

His assistant, sitting in the front seat, turned slightly. "Sir?"

"Pull the financials on Aurora Soto. Everything. Bank accounts, debts, the prenup with Clark."

"Already done," Silas said. "It's not good. She's broke. The Sotos cut her off, and Clark's estate is frozen in probate. She has outstanding loans for her father's medical bills."

Adrien smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. It was the smile of a man who had just found the loose thread in a sweater and was about to pull.

"Perfect," he whispered. He flicked his lighter open. The flame danced in the reflection of the window.

Aurora thought she had escaped the trap in the garden. She didn't realize she had just walked into a cage.

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