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."