Chapter 10 Exposure

ADRIAN'S Pov

When I woke up, the first thing I saw was sunlight spilling through the curtains and the faint smell of coffee drifting through the air.

For a moment, I forgot where I was. The couch beneath me felt too soft, the blanket too heavy, the air too cold and clean to be home. Then it hit me, this wasn't my apartment. This was his penthouse.

Soren Knight's.

And I was still married to him.

I groaned quietly, pressing a hand to my forehead. My body ached from sleeping on the couch, and my mind ached from trying to make sense of this entire mess. I hadn't meant to fall asleep here, but he'd been quiet last night, distant, like he always was, and somehow the silence felt safer than my thoughts.

I sat up, rubbing my eyes. The TV was still on, low volume, looping the credits of some old comedy. There was a glass of water on the table beside me, and beside it... a folded blanket.

He'd covered me.

That realization shouldn't have made my chest tighten, but it did.

"Morning," a voice said from behind me.

I turned quickly to find Soren standing by the counter, already dressed in his sharp suit, tie perfectly aligned, not a single hair out of place. He was holding a mug of coffee like it was part of his hand.

"Didn't mean to wake you," he said.

"You didn't." I stretched, wincing a little. "You look like you've been awake for hours."

"I was," he replied, setting the mug down. "There's a meeting with the board in an hour. I needed to prepare."

Of course. Even after being humiliated on national television, Soren Knight still woke up before sunrise to prepare for a meeting.

I tried to laugh it off, but it came out more like a sigh. "You really don't stop, do you?"

He gave me a small look. "Not everyone can afford to."

The words hit a little too close to home, and for a second, I didn't know how to respond. He wasn't wrong. I couldn't afford to stop either, between hospital bills, debts, and trying not to drown in someone else's world.

I forced a smile. "Right. Mr. Knight and his empire."

He frowned slightly, like he wasn't sure whether I was teasing him or insulting him. "You can have breakfast if you want. The chef left something in the kitchen."

"You have a chef?"

"I have staff," he corrected. "Most of them know better than to speak."

"Wow," I muttered. "Sounds like a fun house."

He ignored that and went back to looking at his tablet, scrolling through whatever business reports ran his life. The silence that followed was thick, awkward, and cold, just like everything else about him.

But I'd gotten used to that silence.

I stood and walked toward the counter, grabbing an apple from a bowl that looked too perfect to actually be eaten. "So... what happens now?"

He didn't look up. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, we're married. The whole world knows it. Your father's furious. The press won't stop calling. So what's the plan, Soren?"

He finally met my gaze. "We make it believable."

"Believable?"

He nodded. "Nathan was right. If we pretend this was intentional-if we act like this was a choice, it'll calm the media and keep investors from running."

I blinked. "You want us to pretend to be a couple?"

"That's exactly what we'll do."

I set the apple down slowly. "You realize how insane that sounds, right?"

"Insane or not, it's necessary," he said coolly. "If I lose control of this company, Victor wins. I'm not letting that happen."

"And what do I get from this?" I asked, crossing my arms.

He hesitated, which meant he hadn't thought that far ahead. "You'll be taken care of. Financially."

I raised a brow. "So I'm just your paid husband now?"

He didn't flinch. "If that's what it takes."

The calmness in his tone irritated me more than the words. I wanted to shake him, to make him realize how ridiculous it sounded.

"I didn't marry you for money," I said sharply. "It was an accident. A stupid night that got out of control."

"And now it's a contract," he said simply. "One that can save both of us."

I opened my mouth to argue but stopped. Because somewhere deep down, I knew he wasn't wrong.

If pretending to be his husband could solve his corporate disaster and keep me from drowning in hospital bills... maybe it wasn't the worst deal in the world.

But it still hurt to hear him talk about it like a transaction. Like I was just another number in his perfectly organized life.

"Fine," I muttered, grabbing the apple again. "I'll play along. For now."

He studied me carefully, his blue eyes unreadable. "You have no idea what you're getting into."

"Neither do you," I shot back. "You think you can control everything, but people aren't business deals, Soren. You can't schedule feelings."

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he'd say something cutting. But he didn't. He just turned away, straightening his cuffs like he was trying to fix the one thing he could control.

"Be ready by noon," he said. "Nathan will brief you on what to say."

I frowned. "Say for what?"

"The press conference."

My stomach dropped. "Press conference?"

He finally looked at me again. "The world wants to see us. We'll give them what they want."

********************

Two hours later, I was standing beside him in front of dozens of flashing cameras.

Soren looked completely in his element, calm, sharp, untouchable. I, on the other hand, was trying not to squint at the lights or sweat through the suit Nathan had chosen for me.

The press whispered like a wave before one of them called out, "Mr. Knight, is this marriage legitimate?"

Soren's voice was steady when he answered, "Yes. Adrian and I are married. It may not have been planned, but it is real."

I blinked, glancing up at him. Real?

He placed a hand on my back, light but firm, enough to make the cameras explode with flashes. His smile was smooth, convincing, almost gentle.

For the first time, I saw him not as the cold CEO, but as someone who could make the whole world believe a lie.

And I was part of it.

The questions came faster after that. How we met. Why Vegas. Whether it was love or strategy. Soren answered every one with precision, and I followed his lead, trying not to say the wrong thing.

By the time it ended, my heart was pounding.

He leaned close as we walked offstage, his voice low enough for only me to hear. "You did well."

"Don't sound so surprised," I muttered.

"Don't sound so proud," he replied.

I glared at him, but he was already walking away, surrounded by reporters and assistants.

And somehow, I felt invisible again, just like the night this all began.

When we finally got back to the penthouse, I kicked off my shoes and collapsed on the couch. My phone buzzed with notifications, articles, photos, social media posts. Every single one with our names in the headline.

Soren Knight and Adrian Vega: The Billionaire and the Nobody.

I stared at the screen until my chest ached.

This wasn't supposed to be my life.

I'd just wanted to pay for my mother's treatment, to keep her safe. And now, I was trapped in a world where every move, every breath, every touch was part of a performance.

I heard footsteps behind me.

"You handled yourself well today," Soren said quietly.

I turned to him. "You keep saying that like this is some kind of job interview."

"In a way, it is," he said, voice calm as ever.

Something inside me snapped a little. "Do you ever stop being like this?"

"Like what?"

"Cold. Detached. Acting like nothing touches you."

He didn't answer right away. His eyes softened, just for a second, and I saw a flicker of something human beneath the armor.

Then it was gone.

"This is who I am," he said.

"No," I said quietly, standing to face him. "It's who you pretend to be."

He froze, eyes darkening slightly, but before he could speak, I walked past him toward the hallway.

I didn't want to see the look on his face.

I didn't want to admit that part of me cared.

But just before I turned the corner, I heard him say my name, softly, almost like a confession.

"Adrian..."

I stopped but didn't turn around.

His voice was lower now. "Don't make this harder than it already is."

I swallowed, forcing myself to keep walking even though my heart was pounding.

"Too late for that," I whispered.