Chapter 3 Adrik's media disaster

Noelle's POV

You ever get the feeling you're standing at the edge of a cliff, and the ground's crumbling underneath you, and you know you should step back, but instead... you kinda wanna jump?Yeah.

That's exactly what sitting across from Adrik Carter feels like.

The silence between us stretches, taut and uncomfortable.

Like we're two gunfighters in a showdown, only instead of six-shooters, we've got... whatever the hell this is. He watches me like a hawk. Cool. Detached.

Meanwhile, my brain is doing somersaults trying to make sense of what he just said. "Marry me," he repeats, as if it's a perfectly normal Tuesday thing to say to a complete stranger who just punched you. I blink at him. Words scramble out of my mouth before I can catch them.

"Is this one of those social experiments where rich people see how far the peasants will go for rent money? Because if it is, buddy, I'm about five seconds from slapping you again."

The corners of his mouth twitch - not quite a smile, but dangerously close. "This is a business proposition," he says smoothly. "You marry me. In return, you get financial security, and I get... stability."

I frown. "You don't seem very unstable to me." He lifts a single brow in a way that somehow manages to look both amused and tired. Then, wordlessly, he picks up a remote and clicks it toward a giant flat-screen TV mounted on the wall.

Instantly, a news broadcast flickers to life. A blonde anchor with teeth so white they could double as headlights beams into the camera. "And in shocking news today, billionaire recluse Adrik Carter was involved in an altercation at a local bar last night..."

They cut to the viral video.

Me, My stupid face, My heroic mug-swing. Adrik standing there like a brooding action hero while I, the crazy bartender, save the day. I groan and bury my face in my hands.

It gets worse...They roll footage of Adrik leaving the bar alone, hoodie pulled up, surrounded by flashing cameras. Someone in the crowd shouts, "Hey Adrik, what's with the bartender? New girlfriend?" Another voice: "Billionaire brawler!" Laughter. Taunts. Then a close-up of his face, stone-cold, jaw clenched so tightly it looks painful.

The news anchor returns with a fake-sympathetic pout. "Concerns about Mr. Carter's mental health and erratic behavior are mounting as Sterling Industries prepares for its historic IPO. Investors are growing nervous. Can the genius behind Aurum Tech hold it together-or will the company implode under the weight of its enigmatic founder?"

The screen goes black. The room falls silent again, except for the quiet hum of the city beyond the glass windows. Adrik sets the remote down like it personally offended him.

"So," he says, voice clipped. "As you can see, I have a public relations crisis." I stare at him.

"You got that," I say finally, voice dry as the Sahara. "But how does marrying me fix that?" He leans forward slightly, and even though he's not touching me, it feels like he is. "Because, Ms. Winters, appearances are everything." He says it like a fact, not an opinion. Like gravity. Or taxes. Or heartbreak.

"If I'm seen settling down, presenting a stable personal life, the media frenzy dies. Investors calm down. The IPO goes through without a hitch."

"And you think I'm the kind of girl who screams 'stability'?" I ask, incredulous. "Buddy, I punched you with a beer mug." He smirks.

"Exactly. You're unpredictable enough to be believable. You're not a polished PR puppet. You're real."

I snort. "Real broke." He doesn't deny it. Instead, he reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a slim black folder. Slides it across the desk with a flick of his fingers, like a dealer in a high-stakes poker game. I open it.

The contract inside is thick.

Like, bind-a-whole-encyclopedia thick. Skimming the first page, my eyes snag on a few keywords:

One-year marriage term. Monthly stipend. Five million dollars upon completion, Equity shares in Aurum Tech subsidiary, No requirement of intimacy (unless mutually desired).

I blink at that last part. He sees where my eyes are stuck and has the audacity to look amused. "Relax," he says. "I'm not looking for a romantic partner. Just an image." I flip to the next page. There's a whole clause about mandatory public appearances, social media posts, attending corporate events together, "occasional displays of affection for credibility," and, bizarrely, a ban on "unapproved spontaneous tattoos." I glance up. "Have you done this before?"

"No." His voice sharpens. "This is a one-time arrangement." I close the folder slowly. Five million dollars? I could pay off my loans, Set Lila up for life, Start my app, Get my damn dignity back But it's insane. Completely, utterly, batshit insane.

"You realize how crazy this sounds, right?" I say. "Ms. Winters," he says smoothly, "this is business. Nothing more." I want to argue. Want to point out that marriage is supposed to be about love, not damage control. That somewhere deep inside me, the little girl who used to dream of fairytales is clawing at the walls, begging me not to sell myself like this but dreams don't keep the lights on.

I clench my hands in my lap. "Why me?" I whisper. "You could have anyone. A model. A movie star. Someone... better." His gaze softens, just for a moment. "Because," he says quietly, "you hit me without hesitation. You didn't care who I was. You saw something wrong and acted. That's the kind of loyalty you can't fake." I stare at him.

No one's ever called me loyal before.

Messy, sure. Chaotic? Absolutely. But loyal? I swallow hard. "How long do I have to decide?" He shrugs, casual. But there's a tightness around his eyes that betrays the truth. "Preferably before the media finds another scandal to feed on."

I glance at the contract again, five million dollars, one year,an eternity, a heartbeat. "Can I think about it overnight?" I ask.

"Of course," he says smoothly. "But don't take too long. Opportunities tend to...expire." I get to my feet, folder clutched tightly in my hand. As I turn to leave, he says my name again.

"Noelle." I glance back. His face is unreadable. Cold, Sharp, Terrifyingly beautiful. "Be careful," he says softly. "Once you step into my world... there's no going back." The words send a shiver down my spine. I nod once, then flee like the building is on fire.

Outside, the air is crisp and biting.

I stand on the sidewalk, people rushing past me in a blur, neon signs blinking in the distance, traffic blaring in chaotic harmony.

I open the folder again, Five million dollars,One year. The chance to change my entire life.

I close my eyes, letting the noise of the city wash over me. Somewhere deep in my chest, something cracks open.

A voice.

Soft.

Dangerous.

Excited.

Jump.