Chapter 1: The Ironclad Will
The boardroom smelled like lies.
Aria Sterling recognized the stench sharp and metallic, like blood disguised as cologne. She sat at the head of the obsidian table, her father's throne, her knuckles whitening around the edge of his last will and testament. The document was heavier than she'd expected. Then again, Victor Sterling had always preferred to bury his cruelty in fine print.
"To my daughter, Aria," the lawyer droned, adjusting his glasses with a rehearsed sigh, "I bequeath full control of Sterling Technologies… provided she marries within one calendar year of my passing. Should she fail…"
Aria didn't need him to finish. The board members' stares said it all the vultures already circling, hungry for the empire she'd bled to build. Her father's final joke: reduce her life's work to a marriage clause.
"Out."Her voice sliced through the room, colder than the Arctic servers humming beneath their feet.
The lawyer blinked. "Ms. Sterling, there are stipulations to review..."
"Now."
Chairs screeched. Silk suits rustled. Within seconds, she was alone.
Aria traced the embossed Sterling crest on the will, her throat tight. She'd spent a decade clawing her way out of her father's shadow, transforming his floundering hardware company into a trillion-dollar AI titan. She'd slept in labs, sold her patents, and buried three mentors all to prove she wasn't the "spoiled heiress" the world painted her to be.
And now this.
Marry or lose it all.
Her phone buzzed a reminder for tonight's gala. Aria scowled. Another circus where investors would leer at her neckline instead of her neural algorithms. But appearances mattered. Especially now.
She stood, smoothing her tailored ivory pantsuit. The floor-to-ceiling windows of Sterling Tower framed Manhattan like a circuit board, lights blinking in obedient patterns. Control. Order. Her language. Marriage was a relic, a vulnerability and Victor knew it.
"I'll burn this empire before I let it chain me," she muttered.
But as she strode to the elevator, her reflection betrayed her: a queen in a glass coffin, already cracking.
The gala was a masquerade of greed.
Chandeliers dripped over champagne flutes and silicone smiles, the air thick with the cloying sweetness of orchids and ambition. Aria floated through the crowd, her diamond choker cutting into her pulse. She'd deliberately chosen a blade at her throat to match the one in her chest.
"Ms. Sterling!" A venture capitalist cornered her, his breath reeking of bourbon and entitlement. "Rumor says you're taking Sterling Tech public. My firm could…"
She turned him out, her gaze snagging on a disruption across the ballroom. A security guard tall, broad-shouldered, and infuriatingly calm, blocking a paparazzo. The guard's posture screamed military, his black suit straining over shoulders that belonged on a mercenary, not a rent-a-cop.
Kai Donovan.
Her newest headache. Hired last month after a "mishap" with her previous team, he'd already made a habit of ignoring her orders. Yesterday, he'd rerouted her motorcade without asking. The day before, he'd smirked when she'd called him "disposable."
"Ms. Sterling?" The VC snapped his fingers.
Aria recoiled. "Don't ever do that again."
The man paled. "I..I only meant—"
"You've wasted three minutes of my time." She turned on her heel, her stiletto cracking like a gunshot against marble.
But as she moved, the room shifted.
A waiter dropped a tray. Glass shattered.
And then disrupt.
Aria registered the scream first. High-pitched. Humans.
Then the gunshot.
Guests stampeded, toppling tables, their masks slipping to reveal animal panic. Aria's bodyguards closed in, but she shoved them aside, scanning for exits. Idiots.The shooter would aim for bottlenecks…
A hand locked around her wrist, yanking her backward.
"Let go—"
"Move. Now." Kai's voice, low and lethal, cut through her rage. He pulled her against his chest, his arm a steel bar across her collarbone, and shoved through a service door.
Darkness. The scent of linen and his sweat, salt and something darker, smokier.
"Unhand me," she hissed.
"Gladly." He released her so abruptly she stumbled. "Next time, I'll let you play the hero. See how that works out."
Aria whirled. Emergency lights bathed his face in crimson, sharpening the scar that split his left brow. His eyes, a brutal, unapologetic brown, held no fear. Only annoyance.
"You're fired,"she said.
He laughed. "You've said that twice this week."
"Third time's the charm."
"Not until my shift ends." He pressed an earpiece, barking orders to his team. "North exit clear. Sweep the garage."
Aria's phone buzzed a news alert. STERLING HEIRESS TARGETED: FAILED ASSASSINATION OR PUBLICITY STUNT?
She scoffed. As if she'd stage this circus.
Kai stepped closer, his gaze raking her. "You're shaking."
"Adrenaline," She lied.
"Liar." He reached out, and for a heartbeat, she thought he'd touch her. But he plucked a rose petal from her hair leftover from the gala's garish centerpieces and let it fall. "You're not invincible, Queen. Just rich."
Aria slapped his hand away. "And you're replaceable. Remember that."
He smirked. "Keep telling yourself that."
Footsteps echoed down the hall. Her security team, finally competent.
"Ma'am, the car's ready."
She straightened, ice settling back into her veins. But as she walked away, Kai's voice followed her…
"Sweet dreams, Queen. Try not to get shot."
Back in her penthouse, Aria poured a whiskey, Victor's will glaring from her desk.
Marry. Or lose it all? How dare he. She scoffed.
Her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows mocked her: a woman carved from frost, trembling with fury.
And then a reckless, dangerous idea.
She pulled up Kai Donovan's file.
Former Marine. Honorably discharged. Zero romantic entanglements. Current address: a motorcycle and a
post office box.
Disposable. Controllable. Perfect.
Aria smiled.
"Let's see how replaceable you are, Mr. Donovan."