Chapter 4

Connie's POV

For a moment, my mind went completely blank. I sat there on the hotel bed, stiff and motionless.

"Sorry—what?"

Adrian was leaning against the desk, one hand resting on the surface, completely at ease. His white shirt caught the morning light. He let a few seconds pass, then said it again, in exactly the same tone someone might use to suggest grabbing coffee.

"A marriage of convenience."

I stared at him, my thoughts lagging several steps behind.

Then, for some reason, my eyes drifted to his shirt.

Was it always this thin?

From where I was sitting, I could make out the outline of his torso beneath the fabric, lean and sharply defined.

An old post about him on Sidechat suddenly came back to me:

Adrian Vance, could you please stop dressing so conservatively when you play basketball? Is it really that cold outside? If you've got abs, show them off! Come on, give us a look!

What the hell was wrong with me?

I pressed my thumbnail into my palm until it stung, closed my eyes, and told myself to get it together.

Then, before I'd even opened them again, I heard him add, as casually as ever:

"To be precise, I'm asking you to marry me."

My eyes flew open. I looked straight at him, and whatever I'd been thinking about his shirt evaporated instantly.

"Excuse me?"

"If the woman in those photos is my wife, it stops being a scandal."

He was still leaning there, unhurried, that faint mark on his throat catching the light—pink against pale skin, almost painfully conspicuous.

"And being married would make me look more stable. That matters to investors."

My head was spinning. I grabbed the nearest pillow and held on. I had to still be drunk. That was the only explanation.

You don't drink that much without consequences. This was proof.

Because right now, I was sitting here listening to Adrian Vance propose to me, and some part of my brain was actually entertaining the idea.

This had to be a hallucination—some ridiculous fantasy my bruised, half-pickled mind had cooked up overnight. Gray's words, the humiliation, the whole wreck of last night, and now my subconscious was apparently consoling me with a rom-com plotline. Disgraced girl marries brilliant billionaire, shows up at the next gala on his arm, and looks Gray dead in the eye.

Drunk. Definitely still drunk.

I raised my hand and patted my own cheek. Hard enough to feel it. The warmth from my palm lingered.

Marrying Adrian Vance was probably someone else's dream. Someone with very specific tastes.

It was not a realistic plan. It was not something that happened to me.

I needed to splash cold water on my face.

Adrian's voice broke through my thoughts.

"Most marriages in our circles are arrangements."

A short pause.

"If that's the kind of arrangement Miss Hale is looking for, then I—" A low sound, not quite a laugh, the tail of it curling faintly. "—I'd like to think I'm a reasonable option."

My hands went still.

If it had to be an arrangement, Adrian was objectively the strongest candidate.

But this was Adrian.

And I was hardly an equal match for him. I was the Whitlocks' adopted daughter, and I was still a Hale. Even if I'd been born a Whitlock—which I hadn't—the gap would still be there.

No reasonable person would call this a match.

"As for what Miss Hale would stand to gain..."

His fingers stilled briefly on the clasp.

"After the divorce," he said, "I'd make sure you walked away with half my assets."

"Half?" I stared at him, certain I'd misheard.

Adrian gave a small nod, then continued.

"Miss Hale can take some time to think it over."

I looked up slowly.

He was watching me now. His expression was calm, almost indifferent, as though he'd just suggested a minor scheduling change and was waiting for my calendar to clear.

I looked back down.

The truth was, I'd been in love with Grayson for thirteen years. In all that time, I'd never imagined marrying anyone else. If I ever walked down the aisle, I'd always thought it would be with him.

But to him, I was someone he could casually hand off to another man.

Someone who would never be good enough for him.

I didn't know how long I sat there.

When I finally came back to myself, Adrian had been watching me for what felt like a while. He didn't push. He just waited.

"You can take some time to think it over. We can get breakfast first."

He straightened up and turned to leave.

And something in my chest—all of it, the tangled mess I'd been sitting in since last night, all the jagged edges and loose threads—went very still.

Then something inside me snapped.

"Adrian."

He stopped. Turned back.

His eyes were dark and calm, and for a second they just rested on me—steady, unreadable.

Then the corner of his mouth moved.

"Sounds like Miss Hale has made up her mind."

His voice had that same unhurried ease, as though none of this surprised him.

I took a breath.

"If we do this—are you sure you're not getting the short end of the deal?"

One eyebrow lifted. "Short end?"

My gaze was on his face, but not really focused on anything. My fingers had found the hem of my dress without my noticing, twisting the fabric slowly.

"We're not exactly... an equal match. You know that."

Adrian didn't answer right away.

He stood there with his eyes on me, and for a moment, something dark flickered across his face. Then it was gone, erased before I could make sense of it.

He said it slowly, like he was turning the phrase over to see how much weight it could bear. Then he looked at me.

"The Vances don't do that. We never have."

The casual amusement faded from his expression.

"And the Whitlocks are more than enough for the Vances." He paused, apparently giving it real thought, then added, "The Hales too."

I went quiet.

Behind me, the curtain stirred in the draft from the vent, the fabric brushing against itself with a faint, dry rustle.

I looked at him without looking away.

It was the closest I had ever been to him. Close enough to see the color of his mouth, the slight lift at one corner of it, the amber flecks in his eyes.

He tilted his head slightly, and his gaze hadn't left me once.

Those eyes were a problem. The kind you could lose yourself in if you weren't paying attention.

I closed my eyes for a second.

Adrian Vance's mouth. That mouth has to be good to kiss.

And somehow, I was back on Sidechat, scrolling through those posts the way I used to.

So I really had read all of them back then. Every single post.

Fine. That mouth probably was good to kiss.

And, well—

I was fairly sure I'd already kissed it last night.

I was still turning that over when he spoke.

"Miss Hale, if this is genuinely hard for you, you're welcome to take more time to think about—"

"No."

My eyes snapped open. I pushed the whole tangle of images out of my head.

I held his gaze and said each word clearly.

"I'll marry you."