The Billionaire's Favourite Indulgence.

Emily Parker had done it. She had successfully executed the first step of her master plan: secure a husband without love, emotional labor, or excessive inconvenience. She leaned back on her couch, a smug smile tugging at her lips, ready to congratulate herself with another bowl of ice cream.

Then she remembered.

Adrian Vale.

The name wasn't just on the contract-it was written in bold on the confirmation email she had mindlessly skimmed and clicked "accept." Her stomach twisted slightly as the reality hit. She was married. Legally, and to a man she had never met in person. And not just any man, but a reclusive CEO of a global billion-dollars empire. The kind of man who probably ate stock certificates for breakfast and casually owned entire city blocks.

Emily blinked at her laptop screen. This had to be a joke. Surely the agency had made a clerical error. She refreshed the page, thinking the words would vanish. They didn't.

She swallowed. "No," she whispered. "No, no, no. I didn't plan for this."

Emily Parker's life had officially gone from comfortably lazy to terrifyingly complicated in the span of thirty seconds.

---

The next morning, Emily woke up late, as usual, but with a growing sense of dread gnawing at her. Her apartment felt smaller, her room darker, the air heavier. She tried to shake it off. After all, she had plans, spreadsheets, and a legally binding contract. What could go wrong?

Her phone buzzed with a new notification. It was from the contract agency.

Agency: Your partner, Mr. Adrian Vale, will contact you to discuss preliminary arrangements. Please respond at your earliest convenience.

Emily stared at the message. Her first instinct was to ignore it. Her second instinct was to delete her email account entirely. But rational Emily, the one who thrived on planning, reminded herself: you can't run from a contract.

Taking a deep breath, she tapped the reply button.

Understood.

No exclamation points. No smiley faces. No indication of panic. Just one word.

---

Hours later, a call came through. Emily's phone screen lit up: Adrian Vale.

Her heart skipped. Not from romance. From sheer terror.

"Hello?" she said, voice unsteady despite her best efforts.

"Good afternoon, Emily Parker," a calm, deep voice said on the other end. Perfectly modulated, slightly amused. "I trust you have received the contract?"

"Yes," Emily said, fidgeting with her hoodie strings. "I... I signed."

"Excellent," Adrian replied. There was a pause, then he added, casually, "I look forward to meeting you in person."

Emily's stomach flipped. "In person? Uh... sure. Yes. Of course."

She hung up immediately after, breathing heavily. Her apartment felt unbearably small again, suffocating her with the reality of what she had just done. She needed ice cream. Again.

---

Over the next few days, Emily oscillated between panic, denial, and frantic planning. She calculated every possible scenario: a fake meeting, a staged disagreement, a public scandal. All designed to ensure the divorce went smoothly and efficiently.

She drafted plans, contingency plans, and backup plans. She considered moving out temporarily, changing her phone number, even renting a separate apartment under a pseudonym. All logical, all meticulously detailed.

---

The agency contacted her again, arranging the first meeting. Emily had spent hours researching Adrian Vale online, combing through news articles, interviews, and vague social media mentions. Every piece of information confirmed one terrifying fact: he was powerful, wealthy, and utterly inscrutable.

She dressed carefully for the meeting, not out of romance or vanity, but strategy. She chose neutral colors, minimal jewelry, and practical shoes. Her hair was pulled back efficiently. She rehearsed her tone: polite, detached, noncommittal.

When she arrived at the luxurious office building, the doorman gave her a knowing glance. She passed through security, heart pounding, until she reached a glass elevator that ascended silently to the top floor.

---

Adrian Vale was waiting. Calm. Composed. Exuding the kind of presence that made the world feel smaller around him. Emily's mouth went dry as she stepped into the office.

"Emily Parker," he said, standing as she approached. His handshake was firm, confident, and strangely warm. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Emily forced a polite smile. "Likewise."

They sat across from each other at a sleek, glass conference table. Adrian spoke minimally, asking questions about her expectations, boundaries, and lifestyle. Emily answered with the precision of someone defusing a bomb. Every word calculated, every gesture measured.

She left nothing to chance.

---

And yet... something about Adrian unsettled her. Not his wealth. Not his power. Something else. A familiarity she couldn't place. A sense that this was not the first time they had crossed paths.

But Emily didn't dwell on it. Emotional speculation was dangerous. Her plan was simple: marry, survive, divorce, live freely. Adrian Vale would be a name on a contract, nothing more.

After the meeting, Emily returned to her apartment, exhausted but triumphant. She had navigated the first encounter without compromising her principles. She poured herself a glass of wine, sat down, and opened her laptop.

Her eyes caught on her pen name: E.P. Vale.

A strange thought flickered. Vale... Why did that name feel... familiar?

She shook her head. Dismissing it. No time for reflection. She had plans to execute, spreadsheets to finalize, ice cream to finish.

And somewhere, far away, Adrian Vale smiled at his own screen, silently noting every detail of their meeting, every word she had spoken, and every flicker of emotion she had tried to hide.

For him, this was no contract. This was the beginning of a pursuit that had started long ago.

Emily Parker had no idea.

And that, of course, was exactly how he wanted it.