Chapter 3

The microphone hovered inches from Ivana's chin. Every lens in the room shifted toward her, waiting for her to stumble, waiting for the crack in her armor that would let them label her a corporate social climber.

Fletcher lowered the hand from his swollen cheek, a vindictive smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He thought Ivana had nowhere left to turn.

Ivana didn't hesitate for a second. She deliberately stepped sideways, closing the distance between herself and Adrian, and reached out to wrap her arm firmly around his tailored sleeve, pressing her shoulder lightly against his arm.

"We have been secretly seeing each other for weeks. I came here last night to find him." She looked straight into the central camera lens, her voice steady, without the slightest ripple. "Fletcher is the one who betrayed our engagement."

A collective gasp rippled through the suite. The flashbulbs exploded into a frenzy of renewed light, dazzling the eyes.

Fletcher let out a harsh, incredulous bark of laughter.

"Dating Adrian?" He pointed an accusing finger at Ivana, his face full of mockery. "Adrian Wooten doesn't date a penniless little reporter! Ivana, stop deceiving yourself! Adrian, tell these people she's delusional before she drags your reputation into the gutter!"

Breanne chimed in, her voice shrill. "Mr. Wooten, don't let this woman use you! She's just trying to save face after getting dumped!"

Ivana's fingers tightened slightly. Her palms were damp with cold sweat. She knew she was walking along the edge of a bottomless abyss. If Adrian pushed her away now, her career in New York would be burned to ash.

Adrian remained silent for three agonizing seconds. He looked down at her pale, resolute profile, his dark gray eyes unreadable.

Then, his large, warm hand settled firmly on the curve of her waist. With a slight pull, he drew her flush against his side.

"She put it inaccurately," Adrian's deep voice resonated across the room, carrying the undeniable weight of absolute power.

Fletcher's eyes lit up with triumph. "See! I told you--"

"She is not my girlfriend," Adrian interrupted, his gaze sweeping over the reporters like an executioner surveying condemned prisoners. "She is my fiancée. We are getting married. We intended to announce it officially next week. Fletcher simply dragged it onto the table early."

The words seemed to suck all the oxygen out of the room.

Fletcher's jaw dropped so hard his cigarette slipped from his fingers and hit the carpet without him even noticing. His knees weakened slightly, his mind completely short-circuiting under a development so far beyond his expectations.

Breanne froze in place, her carefully painted face twisting into an undisguised mask of jealousy. She stared fixedly at Adrian's hand resting on Ivana's waist, her knuckles turning white around her purse strap.

"You have five seconds to clear this floor," Adrian said, his tone dropping to ice. "Security."

As if on cue, a dozen hotel private security guards in tactical uniforms flooded in through the broken doorway. They moved with military precision, registering the identity and media outlet of every reporter one by one, confiscating all memory cards and recording devices on the spot, knocking down the extended boom mics thrust toward her, and herding the reporters back out into the corridor. "My legal team will issue a temporary restraining order to every media outlet within an hour," Adrian's voice was not loud, but it carried clearly into every ear. "Any unauthorized photograph that leaks will trigger full defamation lawsuits."

"Wait! Adrian, you can't do this!" Fletcher screamed, flailing as two burly security guards grabbed him by the arms. "She's playing you! She was mine first!"

"Throw him out onto the curb," Adrian commanded without even glancing at his cousin.

The guards dragged Fletcher backward out the door. His furious curses faded down the hallway until the heavy suite doors slammed shut, locking all the chaos outside.

Silence descended upon the room.

The instant the latch clicked into place, Ivana immediately stepped back, putting distance between them as if she had just touched a live wire. She pulled the bathrobe tighter around herself, all the way up to her neck.

"Thank you for playing along," Ivana exhaled a long breath, her voice still carrying a trace of tension. "I'll release a clarification statement afterward. I won't drag your reputation into this."

Adrian did not step back. Instead, he moved forward, trapping her between his towering frame and the wall.

"Who told you I was playing along?" Adrian asked, his voice low and dangerously oppressive.

Ivana's back hit the cold wallpaper. Her heart leaped into her throat. "What?"

Adrian leaned in slightly, bracing one large hand against the wall beside her ear. The scent of cedar mixed with clean linen enveloped her completely. His gaze dropped to her mouth, lingering there for a fraction of a second before meeting her eyes.

"You just announced to the entire New York press that you are my fiancée," Adrian murmured, his thumb gently grazing the high curve of her cheekbone, deliberately not touching her lips. "In my world, Ivana, spoken words carry corresponding legal consequences. The Wooten family trust has an explicit morality clause. If a scandal breaks before the annual board meeting, a trustee's voting rights are frozen immediately. Fletcher went to all this trouble to stage this scene because he wants to use public opinion to seize my control."

Before she could digest the information in that sentence, Adrian straightened and stepped back, breaking the suffocating tension.

He walked over to the mahogany desk, unzipped a leather briefcase, and pulled out a thick, bound document. He tossed it casually, and it landed on the glass coffee table with a dull thud.