Married To My Enemy's Spy

The gold tip of the Montblanc pen hovered above the signature line, a quiet guillotine.

Sign it, Aria. Save the board. Save the name.

The boardroom of Hale Enterprises was filled with the scent of high-quality cedar and the bitter, metallic tang of desperation. Across the walnut table sat the devil himself. Luca Veridian did not look like a man about to enter a loveless marriage; he looked like a predator watching a cornered bird ponder how it wanted to be devoured.

"The clock is ticking, Aria," Luca said. His voice was a low, musical rasp that scraped against her raw nerves like sandpaper on silk. "Each passing moment, your stock value sinks to another point. By lunchtime, you'll be presiding over a graveyard."

Aria raised her eyes, meeting the sharp, slate-gray gaze of her adversary. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? To pick the bones clean?"

"I'm the one extending you an olive branch," he retorted, leaning back in his chair. He straightened his cufflink, a black obsidian stone set in white gold. "A merger. A stable future. The Veridian-Hale conglomerate. It's what our fathers had planned."

It was what her father used to use to destroy my mother, she thought, feeling the beat of her pulse in her throat.

She thought of that night, of the fires in the Hale labs, of the whispers of sabotage. She thought of how her own mother looked, defeated and gray, as the Veridian lawyers took away everything she owned. And now, twenty years later, the Hales were the ones teetering on the edge, and the Veridians were the ones who came to their rescue. "One year," Aria whispered, her voice like ice. "Then we walk away. No strings. No shared assets."

"Read the fine print, darling. We share living space. We share a public face. We're in this together. Might as well get comfortable."

She held the pen, feeling the white of her knuckles. She hated the way he used the word darling, like he used it as an insult, like he used it to cut. She hated the way he filled the room, the way it felt like it shrunk around him. She hated everything about it. She dipped the pen in the ink, feeling it bleed onto the paper. Aria Hale-Veridian. She felt like she was being branded.

There," she spat, moving across the table and dropping the document in front of him. "I've sold my soul. I hope the commission was worth it."

Luca stood up, his towering height casting a long shadow on her. He picked up the document, his eyes perusing her signature with a look that gave her chills. For a brief moment, his expression wavered. Not triumph. Not victory. Not hunger. Not even lust. Determination?

"Pack your bags, Aria," he said, stuffing the document into his leather folder. "A car will be waiting for you at your penthouse by six. We have a gala to attend this evening. Our first performance."

He turned to leave but halted at the doorway. He didn't turn back. "And Aria? Don't bother bringing your knives, those little cutting remarks you use on me. In my house, we use real steel."

And with that, he closed the door behind him. Aria took a breath she knew she had been holding. Her hands shook. She reached into her handbag and pulled out a small device.

You think you've won, Luca, she thought, her eyes narrowing. But I'm not just moving into your house. I'm moving into your vault. I'm going to find out what your family did to mine, and I'm going to burn the Veridian name to the ground from the inside out.

She had no idea the camera lens was hidden inside the smoke detector.

In the back of his Maybach, Luca opened his laptop. A live feed of the Hale boardroom was displayed on the screen. He watched as Aria stared at the door with an expression of pure, unadulterated loathing.

He did not smile. Instead, he opened another file, another folder labeled Hale Crimes Financial.

"She's in," he muttered to the empty car. "Begin the deep dive. Every transaction, every account. If she's the one writing the checks for the laundering, I want her in handcuffs before the year is up."

His phone vibrated. A message from an unknown number: Is the lamb in the slaughterhouse?

Luca gazed at Aria's face on the screen. She was fragile and fierce, a queen in the ruins of her palace.

He typed out a response: The door is locked.