Adam didn't care about Raymond's disappointment. Or the judge's dry, amused commentary. That wasn't what landed the hardest.
It was her.
The way Sofia had walked out—head high, shoulders back, not a single glance behind her.
She hadn't begged and hadn't cried.
And somehow, despite everything he'd just said, she left with more dignity than he'd shown the entire day.
He had gone into this convinced she was beneath him.
Now, he wasn't sure he even deserved to stand beside her.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He didn't have to look—he already knew. Probably his assistant, or worse, his godfather to tell him the merger was off.
He silenced the call and rolled his shoulders back, adjusting the lapels of his suit. The tie around his neck suddenly felt tighter than a moment ago—not from pressure, but from consequence.
The marriage was supposed to be a formality.
Just a name. A signature. A requirement to close the deal of the decade.
He didn't need a wife. Only a woman who could fit the role, say the vows, play the part. And that woman was Sofia.
Not because she was perfect—because she was already his. Tied to him by accident. By one reckless night. By fate, or misfortune.
He hadn't chosen her.
But the universe had.
And now he needed her. Not in the way the tabloids would spin it. Not for love, or longing, or romance.
He needed her name next to his on that marriage license. Needed to walk back into Raymond's office and say:
"Deal closed."
If that meant chasing her, convincing her, even begging her to come back—then so be it.
He had sacrificed too much to let this fall apart.
Sofia Everhart was no longer a mystery. She was the key to everything. And Adam Ravenstrong always got what he needed.
Even if he had to claw it back one shattered vow at a time.
Tristan fell into step beside him as they walked to the car. For once, the man had nothing sarcastic to say. No quick remark. No smug grin.
Just silence. Which said everything. Adam didn't look at him. He couldn't. Instead, he opened the car door and slid in, jaw clenched, mind already calculating his next move.
Because this wasn't over. She was going to be his wife. No matter what it took.
"Do you want me to find a replacement bride?" Tristan asked as they stepped into the house, his tone deceptively casual as he shrugged off his jacket.
"No."
Adam's answer was swift, sharp, and final.
Tristan raised an eyebrow.
"So you're just giving up the merger after all that drama? After humiliating her in front of everyone? I don't get it. You were practically losing your mind when she didn't come back after that night—then she does, and you tear her apart because she wasn't a virgin?"
He paused, then said more quietly, "When you damn well know it was you who took that from her."
Adam poured himself a drink with a bit too much force. The ice cracked like thunder in the glass.
"She lied."
Tristan leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "Did she? Or did she just not give you the performance you expected?"
Adam didn't respond.
Tristan scoffed. "You humiliated her because your pride got bruised. Admit it. She didn't fall at your feet, and that messed with your ego."
Adam took a long sip, jaw tightening.
"This isn't about ego. It's about integrity. If Raymond expects me to uphold my end, she should've—"
"Oh, please," Tristan cut in, rolling his eyes. "You think anyone believes this was about integrity?" He laughed under his breath. "This was about control. She shook you. She got under your skin. That terrified you."
Adam slammed the glass down a little too hard.
Tristan grinned. "There it is. The Ravenstrong twitch. Just admit that Sofia actually matters to you."
"I don't care about her," Adam said through gritted teeth.
"Oh, sure you don't," Tristan said, nodding as if agreeing. "That's why you haven't stopped thinking about her since that night at LUXE. "
Adam's silence spoke volumes.
Tristan leaned closer, smug. "Face it—you didn't just want her for the merger. You wanted her. Period. And when she showed up in that dress, looking at you like she meant it, your pride panicked. You didn't know whether to marry her or run."
"I ran," Adam muttered bitterly.
Tristan smirked. "And slapped her with your own damn guilt on the way out."
Adam rubbed a hand over his face, frustrated. "I don't feel guilty."
"Oh, absolutely not," Tristan said, sarcasm thick in his voice. "That must be why you haven't said more than ten words without sounding like you're about to punch a wall."
Adam glared at him, but Tristan only smiled wider.
"Just admit it, man. You like her. You wanted her even before you knew who she was. And now you're spiraling because she's not just some name on a contract. She's real. And she walked out on you."
Adam stared at the floor, silent for a long moment.
Then, stiffly: "It's still about the merger."
Tristan snorted. "Right. And I'm here for moral support."
Adam sighed, shoulders sinking. "Fine. Maybe it's not just about the merger."
Tristan raised his brows. "There he is."
"I still need her to marry me," Adam muttered.
"For the deal, of course," Tristan said with a wink.
Adam shot him a glare but didn't correct him.
"I need your help." Adam's voice cut through the quiet like a command wrapped in something dangerously close to vulnerability.
"Take care of her house. Pay off every debt her family owes—quietly. And then talk to her. Tell her I want to marry her."
He paused, jaw tight, eyes burning with resolve.
"This time, not in a courthouse. I want a garden wedding. Grand. Beautiful. I'll give her the kind of wedding that will shut up every critic and shake this entire country."
Tristan blinked. Hard.
"I—what? Wait. Do you want me to fix this? Pay off everything and then just... stroll in and offer her your hand again like some romantic ambassador?"
Adam didn't blink.
"Yes."
Tristan stared at him like he'd grown a second head.
"You seriously think that after what you did, she'll say yes—just because you bought her silence with a floral arrangement and a castle-sized wedding budget?"
Adam's voice dropped, low and steady.
"No. I'm not buying her. I'm undoing the damage I caused.
The wedding isn't a bribe. It's a promise. And whether she says yes or throws a bouquet at my face, she deserves to know I'm not walking away this time."
Tristan crossed his arms, still unconvinced.
"And if she refuses you? What then?"
Adam's eyes flickered with something between pain and pride.
"Then consider it my penance."
He swallowed the weight of his words.
"My payment for breaking her heart."
For a moment, Tristan was quiet.
Then he let out a low whistle.
"Damn. You've got it bad."
Adam didn't respond. He didn't have to.
Because every breath he took—every beat of silence—spoke the truth he still couldn't say out loud.
He didn't just want to marry Sofia. He wanted to earn her.
Adam ran a hand through his hair and let out a long breath. The weight of everything he'd bottled up was starting to spill—awkwardly, honestly.
"Also..." he muttered, reluctantly. "Send her flowers. To her office."
Tristan turned to him slowly, brows lifting.
"You? Sending flowers? Now that's a headline."
Adam gave him a withering glare.
"You're good with... gestures. Romance. I'm not. I've never had to..." He paused, the words tasting foreign in his mouth.
"Woo a woman."
Tristan blinked—and then burst out laughing.
"Oh my God. Did Adam Ravenstrong just say woo?"
Adam scowled. "Don't make it weird."
"You made it weird the moment you admitted you've never had to try. What, you think women just fall into your penthouse because you know how to sign a deal?" Tristan grinned, clearly enjoying every second of this.
"Spoiler alert: Sofia's not one of those women."
"Exactly," Adam snapped, "which is why I'm asking you for help. I don't want to screw this up again."
Tristan's grin softened—just a little.
"So what's the message? Roses and groveling? Daisies and guilt? Or are we talking full-on poetic redemption arc?"
Adam looked away, jaw clenched. Then, quietly:
"Just make sure it's sincere. No games. No branding. Just make sure she knows it came from me."
He hesitated. "Make it feel like something I'd say... if I knew how to say it right."
Tristan watched him for a moment, the laughter in his expression fading into something more thoughtful.
"You're really in this now, huh?"
Adam didn't answer immediately.
He turned toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the city that once felt like his empire—its glittering skyline now just lights against a hollow sky.
"I was taught to build empires, Tristan," he said finally, his voice low, laced with something unfamiliar.
"I know how to conquer markets, close billion-peso deals, and make men twice my age back down in boardrooms. But no one ever taught me how to keep..."
He trailed off, swallowing hard.
"How to keep a woman who actually matters."
Tristan blinked. Then blinked again.
He opened his mouth, clearly prepared to drop some sarcastic quip, but—shockingly—nothing came out.
For once, the great Tristan Wolfe had no comeback.
He just stared at Adam for a long second before finally nodding.
"Alright, buddy. I'll send the flowers. But if you're serious about this..." He leaned forward, lowering his voice like it was some grand secret.
"You're going to need more than roses and your signature scowl."
Adam turned his head slightly, raising an eyebrow.
"Then teach me."
Tristan blinked again, then burst into laughter. "Oh no. Oh no no no. You don't get to dump that on me like I'm some discount Cupid."
Adam narrowed his eyes. "You're always bragging about being smooth with women."
"Flirting is one thing," Tristan said, holding up a finger. "What you need is emotional CPR. That's not flirting. That's... a full-blown redemption tour."
Adam crossed his arms. "You're the one who said I need more than flowers."
Tristan huffed. "Yeah, I meant like... learn to say 'I'm sorry' without sounding like you're firing someone." He began pacing.
"You'll need the flowers, a real apology, maybe a letter—handwritten, not typed on your company letterhead—and probably, at this point, some form of emotional public nudity."
Adam gave him a deadpan look. "Tristan."
"Okay, okay, calm down." Tristan threw his hands up in surrender. "We'll start with the basics. Step one: send flowers. Step two: don't ruin everything with your personality before step three."
"What's step three?" Adam asked warily.
Tristan grinned. "Beg."
Adam groaned. "I should've just hired a PR team."
"You humiliated a woman on her wedding day. This is beyond PR," Tristan said, grabbing his phone. "This is a romance recovery mission. Now go sit down while I figure out what kind of flowers say 'I'm an emotionally stunted billionaire but I want to be better for you.'"
Adam raised a brow. "Does that even exist?"
"It does now," Tristan muttered, typing furiously. "We're going to call it the Sofia Special."
Adam glared at his best friend but bit back a retort. Pride wouldn't fix this. And like it or not, he needed Tristan—to help repair what he'd shattered with his own damn hands.