g at a long mahogany table surrounded by lawyers, parents, and a man who seemed carved out of composure. Adrian Cole. Every inch of him screamed control crisp white shirt, measured to

er. Her mother. Adrian's parents. The weight of expectation filled the room like smoke. Grace felt trapped suffocated by duty, pride, and the knowledge that no one here saw her. Except maybe him. Her hand trembled slightly as she picked up the pen. "Fine," she whispered. "If this is what everyone wants fine." The pen scratched across the page, each stroke feeling like a betrayal of everything she stood for. When she finished, she pushed the document toward Adrian without looking up. "Your turn." He studied her for a long moment before picking up his own pen. "For what it's worth," he said quietly, "I'm not signing to control you." She looked up then and for the first time, she saw something flicker behind his calm. Something human. "Then why are you signing?" she asked. His gaze didn't waver. "Because I don't want anyone else to." Her breath caught. The air between them changed heavy, electric. It shouldn't have felt like that. Not there. Not then. He signed his name in one smooth motion, then slid the document toward the lawyers. "It's done," her father said with relief, rising to shake hands with Adrian's father. "Congratulations, to both families." The room filled with polite laughter and champagne clinks. But Grace didn't move. Her fingers curled into fists under the table. Adrian leaned closer, his voice low so only she could hear. "You're angry." "You think?" "You should be." She turned sharply toward him. "You don't get to tell me what I should feel." "I'm not," he said quietly. "I'm just saying if you're going to hate me, do it for the right reasons." Her chest tightened