Chapter 5

"Marriage?" I stared at Atticus across the table of a quiet, dark bar. "You're insane."

"It's a business proposition, Sloan," he said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "A marriage of convenience. It solidifies our alliance. It gives the board, the investors, the public, a story they can understand. Power couple leaves cheating husband, joins forces with rival to create a new dynasty. It's clean. It's powerful."

"I am not a story for public consumption," I said, my voice tight. "And I'm not getting married again. Especially not to you." My own marriage was a fresh, bleeding wound. The thought of another was repulsive.

He shrugged, unbothered. "Your call. But with Harden and his mother spinning this 'new family' narrative, a simple business partnership looks weak. They'll paint you as a bitter, jilted wife. They'll paint me as an opportunistic predator. Together, as husband and wife? We're a fortress."

I hated that he was right. My mind, always calculating, saw the strategic value. But my heart, what was left of it, rebelled. "No. Find another way."

The next week was a blur of public humiliation. Harden and Celine were everywhere. Paparazzi photos of them shopping for baby clothes. A fawning magazine interview where Celine talked about her "unconventional love story" and Harden called her his "breath of fresh air."

Helios Innovations was hosting its annual charity polo match, a high-society event I usually dreaded. This year, it was torture. Harden, as the public face of the company, was forced to attend with me, his legal wife. But his attention was entirely on Celine, who was preening in the VIP tent, the Marshall sapphires glittering at her throat.

"You have to make an effort, Ken," Harden hissed at me as we posed for photos, his arm a dead weight on my back. "Our PR team is having a meltdown."

"Really? I thought your PR was focused on your new brand ambassador," I said, my smile a brittle mask.

Celine chose that moment to make a scene. "Harden, darling!" she called out, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Come bet on my horse with me! Let's show them who the real winners are!"

Harden actually hesitated, torn between his mistress and his public duty. He chose her. He walked away from me, leaving me standing alone in a sea of pitying and scornful looks.

I felt a familiar, cold rage build inside me. I was about to turn and leave when a new voice cut through the murmur of the crowd.

"I wouldn't bet on that horse if I were you."

Atticus Rios was standing beside me, dressed in a polo uniform, looking unfairly handsome.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"I believe the term is 'crashing the party'," he said with a lazy grin. "And I have a message for you."

He leaned in close, his voice a low whisper in my ear. "Don't let them see you break."

Before I could process that, he was walking onto the field. He was a last-minute substitute for an injured player. Celine and her friends were laughing, pointing at him. "The oil boy thinks he can play with the big dogs?" she sneered.

The match began. It was a fast, brutal game. Atticus played with a reckless, focused intensity that was terrifying and beautiful to watch. He was a natural, moving with the horse like they were one creature.

It came down to the final seconds. Atticus's team was down by one. He got the ball, broke away from the pack, and charged down the field alone. It was an impossible shot. He swung the mallet.

The ball flew through the air, a perfect arc, and went straight through the goalposts as the final bell rang.

The crowd erupted. Atticus had won.

He trotted his horse not to his cheering teammates, but directly to the VIP tent. He stopped right in front of me. He ignored the gasping crowd, the flashing cameras, and the stunned faces of Harden and Celine.

He looked right at me, a silent, intense question in his eyes. Then, he raised his mallet in a salute, a public, undeniable gesture of allegiance.

To me.