ADRIEN POV
The boardroom smells like polished wood and blood.
Not literally, but close enough. Every pair of eyes is fixed on me, some with admiration, some with hunger. A Moreau in the flesh, the dynasty's heir, the man who is supposed to keep this empire untouchable.
And all anyone can talk about is her.
Marcus is pale, tapping his pen like it's a heartbeat he's trying to control. Across the table, my mother's expression is cut from ice.
"Adrien," she says crisply, "this is unsustainable. You will end it. Immediately."
The photographs splash across the glossy screen at the head of the table. Me and Nora Quinn. The flashbulbs caught a look, a touch, an illusion that the entire world devoured.
I keep my face impassive. "You want me to end something that never began."
"Do not play clever with me," Eleanor snaps. "The public believes it. They are gossiping, speculating, dissecting. That girl has become a liability."
The word twists something sharp inside me. Liability. As though she's a faulty investment or a cracked diamond.
"She's not the problem," I say, voice lower now, "the press is."
Marcus clears his throat. "With respect, the press isn't going away. You have two options: deny her, or… manage the narrative."
Everyone looks at me. They all want the same thing.
And for once, I don't disagree.
Later, in the car, the city streaks by in rain-slick glass and neon reflections. My phone buzzes with another headline notification:
Adrien Moreau's Mystery Woman: Teacher, Temptress, or Gold Digger?
I silence it. The urge to crush the phone in my hand is stronger than it should be.
Because it isn't just speculation anymore. It's slander. They're dragging her into a world she never asked for.
Which means the choice is simple. Protect her—or consume her.
And I've never been good at letting go.
I arrive at the school just as the last students are leaving. A few spot me, whisper, nudge each other. Phones rise like weapons.
Nora steps outside, clutching a stack of papers, shoulders tight. She stops dead when she sees me.
"You can't just show up here," she hisses, marching toward me.
"Apparently I can." I gesture to the gathering crowd of gawking teenagers. "Smile, Nora. Cameras are watching."
She glares daggers at me. "You are the most arrogant—"
"Yes," I cut in smoothly. "And you're smart enough to know why I'm here."
Her lips press together, furious.
I lower my voice, just for her. "They're not going to stop. The headlines, the harassment, the lies. If you want it to end, we do this my way."
"And your way is?"
"A relationship. Ours. Public, polished, controlled."
She laughs bitterly. "So I'm supposed to be your human shield?"
"No," I say, eyes locking on hers. "You're supposed to be my partner. Temporarily."
Her breath catches. She hates that word—partner—because it sounds too real.
I take a step closer, close enough to catch the scent of her shampoo under the rain.
"Think about it. We do a few appearances, let the world get their pictures, and when the frenzy dies… you walk away. With your life intact."
Her eyes flash. "And in the meantime, I sell my soul?"
"No." I allow myself the faintest smile. "You lease it."
For a moment, she just stares at me, torn between fury and something else she doesn't want to name.
Behind us, another phone camera clicks.
Nora mutters a curse under her breath. She knows she's trapped. She knows I've won.
But she also knows I've given her a choice.
"Fine," she says finally, voice sharp as glass. "But on my terms. One wrong move, Moreau, and I walk."
My smile deepens, slow and dangerous. "Then I suggest we don't make any wrong moves."
The cameras catch the exact moment she says it.
The world thinks it's a confession.
But for me, it's just the beginning.