Marrying My Ex for Revenge

The last time I saw Adrian Kane, I was in a wedding dress and he was running away from me.

Now he's standing in my office.

"I know I-" He stops. Starts again. "I need your help."

His voice is steady, but I catch the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers tap against his charcoal slacks.

I don't look up from the quantum encryption contracts scattered across my desk. The Yamamoto deal alone will net Sinclair Technologies forty million.

It won't leave me at the altar.

"Help." I let the word sit there. "Interesting choice."

"Elena. Please."

The way he says my name-soft, desperate-makes my chest twist. I built walls specifically to keep that tone from reaching me. Spent five years constructing them brick by brick.

But his voice still finds the cracks.

When I finally look at him, my pen stops mid-signature. It's been five years since I saw him and my breath still catches.

He's still devastating-those ice-blue eyes, sharp jawline, broad shoulders in a Tom Ford suit.

But there are shadows under his eyes now. Lines that weren't there before. His hair is shorter, more controlled.

Everything about him screams success, power, money.

Except his eyes.

"You look-" he starts.

"Expensive?" I set down my pen. Slowly. "I am. Eight figures expensive, actually. So unless you're here to acquire my company, I'm not sure we have anything to discuss."

"I want to marry you."

I reach for my coffee. Take a sip. Another. Set the cup down with deliberate care.

Then I laugh.

"I'm sorry," I say, still laughing. "I thought you just said-"

"I did."

"Marry you." I lean back in my chair. "Marry. You."

"Yes."

"The same you who-" I stop. Smile. It doesn't reach my eyes. "Actually, let's not. I have things to do, and I'd hate to waste both our time on memory lane."

"Elena-"

"Your father's dead." I watch his face carefully. "Heart attack. Last week. I sent flowers. Black roses. Did you get them?"

His jaw tightens.

"And let me guess-there's a will. Very specific requirements about your inheritance."

I stand, moving around my desk. Heels clicking against marble. "Something about... oh, what was her name? The girl from Columbia. The one you were supposed to marry five years ago."

I stop in front of him. "Did I get that right? Or is there a different Elena Sinclair you abandoned at St. Patrick's Cathedral?"

"How did you know?"

"Harold called my lawyer two hours ago." I circle him slowly. "Offering condolences. Asking if I'd received any interesting correspondence lately. Very subtle. I can see why your father kept him on retainer all these years."

"I didn't know he was going to-"

"Oh, I'm sure you didn't." I stop. "Tell me, does it feel different? Having him control your life from a grave instead of a corner office? Because from where I'm standing, you look exactly the same. Still doing what daddy says. Still choosing him."

"That's not-"

"Still running."