Chapter 3

Riley stood up, slipped the caliper back into her canvas bag, and followed Ethan down the corridor into a private legal consultation room.

Ethan locked the heavy soundproof door and pulled the blinds shut before sliding a forty-page document titled "Aldridge Family Core Trust Emergency Succession Directive" across the mahogany table.

Jeremiah Bailey stood in front of the closed door with his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes fixed on the small security monitor on the wall to make sure the hallway remained clear.

Riley didn't touch the folder. She leaned back against the leather chair and crossed her arms. "Mr. Sterling, as of five minutes ago, I'm just the ex-fiancée of your boss's nephew. You've got the wrong person."

Ethan adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, his voice level.

"Under the dynasty trust established by old Charles Aldridge, if the controlling patriarch falls into a catastrophic coma without an active primary proxy, the voting shares and medical decision-making authority specified in the trust automatically pass to his eldest brother, who becomes the designated interim trustee and medical representative."

Riley raised an eyebrow, cutting straight to the bottom line. "Which means the second Preston gets the pen, he pulls Callan's breathing tube and chops Aldridge Aerospace into pieces for Wall Street."

A flicker of approval crossed Ethan's eyes. "Precisely. However, there is a supreme defensive clause added by Callan's late mother, Madame Margaret.

Under this special provision of the family trust, a legally married spouse who meets the specified eligibility requirements takes priority over blood relatives in matters of trust guardianship and medical representation."

Riley let out a short laugh, tapping her index finger twice against the tabletop. "So you want me to marry a dying Air Force hero and play human shield for your faction?"

Ethan didn't flinch.

"Not for free. Once you sign this marriage agreement, complete the legal marriage registration, and pass the required identity verification, you receive a monthly allowance of five hundred thousand dollars, structured through the family trust under applicable tax provisions, an independent seat on the Boston trust board, and my legal team's full backing to claw back every cent of your late mother Lillian's inheritance from the Mercer family."

At her mother's name, Riley's amber pupils contracted. The casual tilt of her shoulders vanished, her spine stiffening against the chair back.

Ethan uncapped a Montblanc fountain pen and laid it on the paper. "All you have to do is be his legal wife. If he passes away in three months as the doctors predict, you become the youngest, richest aviation widow in America. No one in Boston will ever step on you again."

Outside in the corridor, Cassandra's shrill voice rang out as she urged the notary public to hurry up from the elevators. The clock on Preston's planned takeover was ticking down by the second.

Riley stared at the gold nib of the pen for three seconds. Then she reached out and pushed the pen back across the table.

"I'm not signing."

Ethan's brows pulled together, his voice dropping an octave. "Miss Mercer, this is your only shot to break free from your stepmother and get your mother's estate back. Why hesitate?"

Riley stood up, planting her hands flat on the table. "I need money, and I'd love to ruin Damian and Kelsey. But I don't pimp myself out to a man who's barely conscious and can't even speak for himself."

By the door, Jeremiah's shoulders twitched. His hand dropped away from the concealed holster under his suit jacket, the cold guard in his eyes shifting into quiet respect.

Riley walked to the door and gripped the brass handle. "If Callan Aldridge is just a breathing corpse, and you're using me as a puppet to keep your jobs, then I'm no better than the two rats I just caught on that sofa."

Ethan and Jeremiah exchanged a quick look. The tension in Ethan's jaw relaxed into a faint smile.

Ethan stepped forward quickly, placing a hand against the door panel above her head, his voice dropping to a whisper. "What if I told you Colonel Aldridge hasn't lost consciousness at all?"

Riley spun around, her eyes narrowing. "What do you mean? Dr. Shaw just told the whole family he has three months before brain death."

Ethan reached into the hidden inner pocket of his briefcase and pulled out an encrypted military tablet, bringing up a live feed from inside the ICU. "Dr. Adrian Shaw was acting under the Colonel's direct orders. Callan does have genuine physical injuries, but the doctor deliberately exaggerated the severity of his neurological condition and his prognosis to deceive Preston and the press."

On the tablet screen, Callan lay on the hospital bed, his gray-blue pupils shifting in sharp, deliberate patterns as they tracked an infrared cursor on a bedside monitor.

Ethan tapped the EEG readout on the corner of the screen. "His cerebral cortex remains fully functional, with no evidence of significant cortical damage. He heard every word in the hallway. In fact, bringing you this marriage contract was his direct order via a preprogrammed eye-tracking interface ten minutes ago."

Riley stared at the tablet. The man on the screen looked straight into the bedside camera, his gaze cold, sharp, and completely awake. Her breath caught in her throat.

Jeremiah stepped forward and inclined his head toward her. "Miss Mercer, the Colonel doesn't need a doll to cry at his bedside. He needs a wife with a spine who can pull the trigger for him outside that room."

Heavy fists pounded on the consultation room door. Preston's voice boomed from the hallway. "Ethan! Open this door right now! The trust committee notaries are here!"

Ethan turned the tablet toward Riley. A single bold command flashed across the terminal screen: BRING HER IN.

Riley looked at the three words. Slowly, the corners of her mouth curved up.

"Interesting. So the dead man picks his own knife."

She snatched the Montblanc pen from Ethan's hand and slashed her signature across the preliminary agreement.

"Take me to him. I want to see him nod with my own eyes."

Jeremiah immediately pulled open a disguised service door behind the bookshelf.

"This way, ma'am. We'll bypass the reporters."

The three of them slipped into the narrow staff corridor, moving fast toward the private elevator leading straight into the core ICU suite.