Chapter Three: The Ultimatum.

(Helena’s POV)

Daniel always said Adrian Cavendish never did anything without calculating the cost. A favor from that man came with strings so thick I bet they could strangle you.

"Whatever his real reasons, they aren’t charity," Eleanor warned over the phone after I told her of my encounter with Adrian, her voice clipped with irritation. “He wants something.”

And that was the problem. It seems he wants something, but I can't figure out what. The same thought had been circling like a vulture in my mind since last night.

Marry me.

The words refused to leave my mind, clinging to my skin like a bad perfume, suffocating and impossible to scrub off.

Marry him? I would rather set myself on fire.

And yet—pride didn’t pay my debts.

Nor did it erase the final eviction notice nailed to my door.

I had spent two years fighting, scraping together what little I could, desperately trying to outrun the wreckage Daniel left behind.

But last night, I had finally hit the wall, and Adrian Cavendish had been waiting on the other side.

By mid-afternoon, pride and desperation waged a full-scale war inside me.

The bank was the last battlefield, A meeting with the branch manager resulted in exactly what Eleanor had predicted: a polite but firm rejection.

The bank manager in the crisp navy suit folded his hands and sighed through his nose. “Mrs. Whitmore, your husband’s business debts……”

“Late husband,” I corrected, fingers tightening around the strap of my bag.

“Right. Late husband. As I was saying, the debts accumulated under Mr. Whitmore’s name—”

“My name,” I snapped. “My name was on everything., I was his wife. His partner.”

That earned a pitying glance from him. “That may be, but the accounts are overdrawn. There’s nothing left to negotiate.”

Two weeks. That’s all they gave me, fourteen days before my house was gone.

A lifetime spent among New York’s elite, and not a single person willing to help me with some money, Eleanor has been a great help but there was only so much she could do.

And the only help ame with a diamond ring attached to it. A sheet of paper fluttered to the floor as i reached my house

The sight of a thick red stamp blaring FINAL NOTICE nearly knocked the air from my lungs, right there, nailed to the door, like a public execution.

A bitter laugh bubbled up before I could stop it. Well. That was that, then, I guess the universe is looking to frustrate me.

With slow, measured movements, I peeled the notice from the wood, fingers smoothing over the crisp edges as if handling something fragile. As if pretending this wasn’t the end, but sadly it was.

No more fighting and no more pretending that anything could be salvaged from the wreckage of Daniel Whitmore’s spectacular fall from grace.

With my fingertips hovering over the lock, the weight of a single decision pressed down on me.

Call him, Or don’t.

Two options, both terrible in different ways.

Adrian’s voice echoed in the back of my mind, low and steady.

You have no other options, Helena.

Nails dug into my palm, and i gave in.

The number was dialed before I could talk myself out of it.

The phone barely rang once before his voice filled my ear. The bastard was expecting this.

“Helena.”He called out, his voice smooth and amused, like this was all part of his perfect little plan. The words lodged in my throat burned, but there was no turning back now.

“I’ll do it,” I said. “But I want my own terms.”

There was a long pause, then, the unmistakable sound of a smirk in his voice.

“Of course you do. I’ll call my driver to pick you up tomorrow so we can finalize the details.”

The next evening, a car arrived outside my house.

A sleek black car, i bet would cost an arm and a leg. Of course, Adrian Cavendish wouldn’t be caught dead in something less.

A tall blond man stepped out introducing himself as Lucas, Adrian’s ever-efficient right-hand man, opened the door. "Mr. Cavendish is expecting you."

An exaggerated sigh passed my lips. “Oh, I’m sure he is.” The leather seat felt far too luxurious, like sinking into something designed to trap you in comfort.

The city lights blurred past the window as we moved, mirroring the chaos inside my chest.

Marrying Adrian Cavendish, my dead husband’s best friend was a ridiculous, impossible thought. And yet—here I was.

With a sigh, my fingers tapped restlessly against the seat, forcing down the nerves rising up like a tide.

By the time the car rolled to a stop in front of his mansion, my resolve had settled. If Adrian thought he would be calling all the shots, he was about to be sorely disappointed.

The penthouse looked the same as it had the other night.

Sleek, immaculate yet empty in a way that money could never fix.

Adrian stood by the window, back to me as I entered his home, gazing over the glittering skyline like a king surveying his empire.

A dry laugh escaped before I could stop it. "Do you ever actually sit down?"

He turned, smirking as if amused by the fact that I still had a mouth on me, even while begging.

One hand lifted lazily. “Only when it matters.”

My fingers twitched with the overwhelming urge to throw something at him.

Instead, I crossed my arms, matching his casual indifference. "Let's get this over with." With a slow nod, he gestured to the table, where a crisp marriage contract sat waiting.

The sight of it sent an unexpected wave of nausea crashing over me.

Adrian moved to pour himself a drink. “I assume you have conditions.”

“You assume correctly.”I replied with a deep breath.

Instead, I crossed my arms, matching his effortless indifference. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Adrian didn’t blink. Didn’t react. Just gave a slow, measured nod before gesturing toward the table—where a crisp marriage contract lay waiting.

The sight of it sent a wave of nausea rolling through me.

My name. His name. Bound together in ink.

Adrian turned away, moving to the bar with an unhurried ease that made my skin prickle. He poured himself a drink, the clink of glass against crystal breaking the silence. Too calm. Too in control.

"I assume you have conditions," he said smoothly.

"You assume correctly," I replied, inhaling sharply, forcing my voice to steady.

He glanced at me over the rim of his glass, waiting.

I lifted my chin. I wouldn’t sign my life away for nothing.

"I want my husband’s business back," I said, my words deliberate. "The debts erased. The company rebuilt. I won’t walk away from everything Daniel left behind with nothing."

Adrian exhaled slowly, setting his drink down with a quiet thud. Studying me. Calculating.

"You want me to fix what he ruined," he said. I met his gaze, unflinching. "I want what’s mine."

A long pause. A flicker of something in his eyes—approval, amusement, something darker.

Then, finally, he said, "Done."

“I keep my name.”

There was a pause, that wasn’t something he’d expected. But one long sip of whiskey later and a lazy shrug, he replied “Fine.”

My next demand came without hesitation. “And I get my own bedroom.”

Something flickered in his sharp blue eyes, a challenge, I was challenging him and he seemed to enjoy it.

“Worried about falling for me, Helena?” He laughed with the smirk that followed should have been illegal.

Heat climbed up my neck, but my expression remained firm. “That’s a very direct way of telling you I don’t trust you..”

His smirk widened. "Smart girl."

But before I could dwell on it, I pushed forward. “And after two years, when my business stabilizes, we divorce.”

Adrian cocked a brow, looking far too amused. “Planning your escape already?”

“I’m making sure we both get what we want,” I shot back.

“Two years?” He repeated

“Two years.” I repeated my voice firm.

“Agreed.” He let the words settle before finally answering.

I exhaled in relief, when he gave me an answer .The pen felt heavier than it should have as fingers curled around the metal.

For the briefest moment memories of Daniel and I flashed through my mind, our first kiss, the day he proposed and promised to love me but now i’m faced with a decision to become another man’s wife, the ink remained untouched, the line of my name waiting to be signed.

Taking a deep breath, I signed my name and in one stroke, Helena Whitmore became Helena Cavendish. I slid the contract across the table, my heart thudding painfully in my chest as Adrian picked it up, his expression impossible to read. After a long silence and a soft, satisfied hum, he looked at me holding out his hand and smiling.

"Welcome to your new life, darling."

My stomach turned.

Two years, I reminded myself. Just two years. But as I slipped my hand into his, a terrible thought gripped me.

A lot can happen in two years.