Julian Sterling's gaze was as impersonal as if he were looking at a piece of furniture.

Bare feet silent on the plush carpet, he crossed to the bed. Without a word, he picked up a small vial and a glass of water from the nightstand and tossed them onto the mattress.

The label was stark white with black letters: Morning—After Pill.

"Take it," he said. His voice was a low rumble, cold and sharp.

A tremor ran through Chloe's body, but her eyes remained unnervingly calm. This composure was new, forged in betrayal. The old Chloe would have been a mess of shame and fear. The new Chloe watched him, her mind racing.

His gaze narrowed slightly, a flicker of something—curiosity, perhaps—passing through his cold eyes at her lack of reaction.

She picked up the small white pill. Without hesitation, she put it in her mouth and swallowed, her eyes locked on his the entire time.

Her swift obedience seemed to surprise him even more. The scrutiny in his gaze intensified.

After placing the empty glass back on the nightstand, Chloe lifted her chin, her direct stare a challenge.

He stood over her, a towering, intimidating presence. "Aren't you going to ask why you're here?"

A humorless smile touched her lips. "Drugged by my dear stepsister, Kaitlyn Hayes, and delivered to your bed. Am I wrong?"

Her blunt admission hung in the air between them. He had expected tears, denials, hysterics. Not this cold acceptance.

His silence was her confirmation.

The names were acid in her throat. Kaitlyn. Arthur. They didn't just want her dead; they wanted to destroy her. She knew, with chilling certainty, that she couldn't fight them alone.

But this man... this man was different. Julian Sterling was a name that even David and Arthur spoke with caution. He was a predator at the top of the food chain.

She needed a weapon.

A wild, audacious idea took root.

The covers were thrown back. Her bare legs hit the cool air as she swung them over the side of the bed and stood. The silk shirt she wore ended high on her thighs, a stark visual of her vulnerability.

She closed the distance between them until only inches remained. She had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. A cold knot tightened in her stomach, but her voice was clear and steady when she spoke.

"Julian Sterling. Marry me."

For the first time, a crack appeared in his icy composure. He looked at her as if she had just started speaking another language.

He narrowed his eyes, a dangerous glint appearing in their depths. "Do you have any idea what you're saying? You're supposed to be marrying Arthur Walton tomorrow."

Chloe's laugh was brittle. "A man who schemes to have me drugged and thrown into another man's bed doesn't deserve to be my husband."

She took another small step closer. "And you... you ruined me. Don't you think you should take some responsibility?"

He actually chuckled at that, a low, humorless sound that didn't reach his eyes. "Responsibility? Chloe Beaumont—Hayes, who do you think you are?"

His arrogance didn't faze her. This was just business.

"You're competing with the Walton family for the East Side development project," she stated, her voice cool. "Marry me, the sole heiress to Beaumont Industries, and you get the ultimate leverage."

She let that sink in.

"And I need a husband to get away from Arthur and make the Hayes family pay. We both get what we want."

Her logic, her absolute calm, the burning intensity in her eyes—it was a combination he had never seen. He looked at her, truly looked at her for the first time, and a flicker of genuine interest ignited in the cold depths of his gaze.

A low, unreadable chuckle escaped Julian's lips. He began to circle her slowly, his eyes raking over her as if assessing a potential acquisition. The silence stretched.

"And what makes you think I'd agree to that?" he finally asked, his voice a silken threat.

Chloe stood her ground. "Because I am Eleanor Beaumont's only daughter. The undisputed heiress to Beaumont Industries. Is that value enough for you?"

She paused. "And besides," she added, a sly edge to her voice, "I have a feeling you hate to lose. Ensuring the Walton family fails to secure the East Side project... that sounds like something you would enjoy."

Her words hit their mark. She saw it in the slight tightening of his jaw.

To seal the deal, she walked to her small clutch purse on a nearby chair. She pulled out a folded document and slapped it down on the polished mahogany desk.

It was a Marriage License Application. Her signature, clear and defiant, was already at the bottom.

"I'm not asking, Mr. Sterling. I'm offering a transaction," she said, her voice firm. She had spent the dark hours of the early morning arranging for her lawyer to prepare this. "This is my proof of commitment. What's yours?"

Julian stared at the document, at the elegant curve of her signature. A complex emotion flickered in his eyes, too fast for her to decipher.

He was silent for a long time.

Finally, he spoke, his voice cold as steel. "Fine. I'll agree."

A wave of relief washed over Chloe, but she kept her expression neutral.

"But remember this, Chloe," he added, his voice dropping to a low, possessive growl. "I set the rules in this game. You are my wife. Nothing more."

He turned and strode towards a set of double doors. "Get dressed. We leave for City Hall in thirty minutes."

Chloe followed him. He opened the doors, revealing a walk—in closet the size of a small boutique. One side was a meticulously organized collection of dark, expensive men's suits.

It was the other side that made her freeze.

An entire section of the closet was dedicated to women's clothing. Gowns, dresses, casual wear. And the size... they all looked like they would fit her perfectly.

Her eyes were drawn to one dress in particular. A pale lavender cocktail dress of layered chiffon. The design was hers. A sketch tucked away in a private notebook from her time at Parsons, a design she had never shown to a single soul.

The air left her lungs. She walked forward as if in a trance. It wasn't just the one dress. There were at least five others hanging in a row, each one a design ripped straight from the pages of her most secret sketchbooks.

How?

How were they here, immaculately constructed, in Julian Sterling's closet?

A terrifying thought surfaced. Had he been watching her? For how long?

She couldn't seem to draw a full breath.

She forced the panic down. Revenge first. Everything else could wait.

Her hand trembled slightly as she reached out and took a simple white sheath dress from the rack. This one was also her design. As she slipped it on, the fabric felt alien against her skin. It was beautiful, but it felt tainted, a symbol of his unnerving obsession.

When she stepped out of the closet, her face was a mask of calm.

Julian was waiting, leaning against the window frame. He was already dressed, the sharp lines of a charcoal suit making him seem even more formidable. His eyes swept over her, lingering for a second on the dress. His expression didn't change, but she saw his gaze darken for a fraction of a second.

He said nothing.

Chloe pushed down the storm of questions raging inside her. She gave him a curt nod.

"I'm ready," she said, her voice steady. "Let's go create a scene."