The Ardellane Marriage Contracts

The Ardellane Heiress’s Contract Husband

AMARA VELLISON

Chapter One

Celia

The first time Davian Rook saved my life, I was trying to fire him.

“I no longer require your services.”

He did not look up from the tablet in his hand.

We stood in the central ballroom of the Vesper Crown, surrounded by three hundred thousand dollars’ worth of flowers, enough champagne to drown a small country, and forty-seven wealthy donors pretending they had not arrived early to inspect one another.

Beyond the ballroom’s arched windows, Bellweather disappeared beneath a December storm.

Inside, the city’s oldest hotel glittered as if history had never touched it.

Crystal chandeliers hung from a ceiling restored by artisans who charged more per hour than most attorneys. Gold-veined marble reflected the soft light. A string quartet performed near the western staircase while servers moved between the arriving guests with silver trays.

It was the most important charitable event I had organized since becoming chair of the Corinne and Isaiah Community Holdings Trust.

Davian was ruining it by existing within my line of sight.

“I heard you,” he said.

“And?”

“I’m considering whether your statement requires a response.”

“It does.”

“No.”

I stared at him.

He remained focused on the security map displayed across his screen.

Davian had arrived in my life nine days earlier wearing a black suit, an expression of permanent disapproval, and a faint scar across his left temple. Since then, he had searched my office twice, replaced the locks on my penthouse, rejected four drivers, confiscated a delivery of white roses, and informed my assistant that my preferred lunch restaurant had an unacceptable number of entrances.

He had also followed me everywhere.

Everywhere.

The man had stood outside a fitting room while I tried on this dress.

“You cannot refuse to be fired,” I said.

“I can if you’re not the person who hired me.”

“I selected you.”

“From a list your brother provided.”

“And I am now removing you from that list.”

“Ronan signed the contract.”

“I’ll have him terminate it.”

“He won’t.”

“You sound confident.”

“I know your brother.”

“You met him nine days ago.”

“That was sufficient.”

I folded my arms.

Davian finally lifted his gaze.

It was a mistake to look directly into his eyes when I was angry.

His eyes were dark brown, nearly black beneath the ballroom lights, and far too observant. He had an irritating habit of looking at me as if every word I spoke contained information I had not intended to reveal.

Tonight, he wore a tuxedo instead of his usual suit.

The difference should not have mattered.

It did.

The jacket fit across his broad shoulders with offensive precision. His white shirt was crisp, his bow tie perfectly level, and his close-cut beard emphasized a mouth that remained calm regardless of how unreasonable he was being.

I had spent nine days attempting not to notice his mouth.

I was becoming less successful.

“You hired me because three anonymous messages referenced your private schedule,” he said. “The sender knew where you would be, when you would arrive, and which vehicle you intended to use.”

“The police determined that none of the messages contained a direct threat.”

“The police determined that none contained language sufficient to support criminal charges.”

“That sounds remarkably similar.”

“It isn’t.”

“The messages stopped.”

“The last one arrived seventy-three hours ago.”

“And nothing has happened.”

His expression did not change.

“An excellent argument for maintaining the security measures currently preventing something from happening.”

“You’ve turned my life into a prison.”

“You attended two board meetings, a luncheon, a construction-site inspection, a foundation hearing, and a bookstore opening.”

“With you four feet behind me.”

“Usually five.”

“You measured?”

“I estimate distance professionally.”

I narrowed my eyes.

Something shifted at the edge of his expression.

Not a smile.

Davian Rook did not appear to possess the necessary muscles for one.

But amusement lived there.

I had seen it at Ellery House when Mira decided she liked him. My new sister-in-law had watched our first argument with the delighted attention of someone discovering an unexpected source of entertainment.

Then she had looked at Ronan and whispered something.

I had not heard the words.

Whatever she said made my brother look at Davian, look at me, and immediately appear concerned.

“Ms. Ardellane.”

The hotel’s event director hurried toward us.

Elise Marrow had spent the past six months helping me restore the Vesper Crown’s public spaces while pretending not to be terrified that one of the original plaster medallions would fall on a donor.

She wore a headset over her silver hair and carried two phones.

“The mayor’s party is five minutes away,” she said. “The Westbridge Foundation arrived early, and Mr. Pell wants to know why his table is not beside the stage.”

“Because Mr. Pell donated fifty thousand dollars and the people beside the stage donated five hundred thousand.”

“I gave him a more diplomatic explanation.”

“That is why you’re better at your job than I would be.”

Her attention shifted to Davian.

“Security cleared the west entrance.”

“Who cleared it?” he asked.

“Mr. Vale.”

Davian looked toward the balcony.

A man near the eastern doors touched two fingers to his cuff.

Davian gave a slight nod.

“Elian is repositioning two officers,” he said. “Keep the west entrance closed until he confirms.”

Elise glanced at me.

I resisted the urge to apologize for him.

“Anything else?” I asked.

“The auction display is ready, but we haven’t received the Ardellane necklace.”

“It arrived an hour ago.”

Her forehead creased.

“It isn’t in the vault.”

Davian’s attention sharpened.

“Who signed for it?”

“I did,” I said.

His head turned toward me.

The amusement disappeared.

“Where is it?”

“In the hotel.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

“Elise, would you give us a moment?”

She did not need to be asked twice.

She moved toward the ballroom doors with the speed of a woman escaping an approaching storm.

Davian lowered the tablet.

“Where is the necklace?”

“You don’t need to know.”

“It is an insured historical object valued at two million dollars.”

“Two point four.”

“That correction did not improve the situation.”

“The necklace is safe.”

“Where?”

I picked up a champagne flute from a passing tray.

He removed it from my hand before I could drink.

I looked at the empty space between my fingers.

“Did you just confiscate my champagne?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“You haven’t eaten.”

“You are responsible for protecting my life, not managing it.”

“Tonight, those responsibilities overlap.”

“Give it back.”

“No.”

The server had stopped several feet away.

His eyes moved between us.

Davian placed the untouched glass on the tray.

“Thank you.”

The server disappeared.

I drew a slow breath.

“I placed the necklace in the original bridal suite.”

Silence.

It was not a peaceful silence.

Davian’s stillness became absolute.

“Why?”

“Because the auction display is a reproduction.”

“Celia.”

It was the first time he had used my given name without a title.

The sound of it in his voice did something unexpected to my pulse.

I ignored that.

“The anonymous messages began after I announced tonight’s auction,” I said. “Every message referenced the Vesper Crown. The sender knows the necklace will be here.”

“So you moved it without telling your security team.”

“I created an opportunity.”

“You created an uncontrolled vulnerability.”

“The suite is locked.”

“So was Ellery House when someone set it on fire.”

The words struck harder than he intended.

Or perhaps exactly as hard as he intended.

For an instant, I smelled smoke.

I saw water pouring across Mira’s ruined bookstore. I remembered Bram coughing in the alley, Ronan carrying Corinne’s ledger through the emergency exit, and flames rising behind the windows of the apartment Odessa Ellery had spent decades protecting.

Davian watched the memory move across my face.

His voice changed.

Not softer.

More careful.

“Who knows where you placed it?”

“My assistant and Elise.”

“Who else?”

“No one.”

“Your assistant’s name?”

“You met Priya.”

“I met a woman standing outside your office while you dismissed every recommendation I made.”

“That was Priya.”

He spoke into the microphone concealed near his cuff.

“Elian, lock down the bridal floor. Quietly. No alarms and no radio traffic outside the primary channel.”

A response came through his earpiece.

Davian extended his hand.

“Key.”

“I don’t have one.”

“How did you lock the suite?”

“The hotel’s original doors were restored with modern electronic locks.”

“Then we obtain access from management.”

“That might alert the person watching the hotel.”

His eyes held mine.

“You believe the sender is inside.”

“I believe the sender will be inside before the auction begins.”

“And you withheld that conclusion from me.”

“You would have removed the necklace.”

“I would have removed you.”

“Which is why I didn’t tell you.”

A muscle shifted in his jaw.

I had discovered three things capable of testing Davian’s control.

Unsecured windows.

Unscheduled movements.

Me.

“I’m going upstairs,” he said.

“I’ll come with you.”

“No.”

“It’s my hotel.”

“It belongs to the trust.”

“I oversee the trust.”

“And I oversee your security.”

“You do not oversee me.”

“Tonight, the distinction is temporarily irrelevant.”

He turned away.

I caught his arm.

Davian stopped.

Beneath the fine wool of his tuxedo jacket, his body felt solid and warm. His gaze dropped briefly to my hand.

Mine followed.

I released him.

“The mayor arrives in four minutes,” I said. “I cannot disappear.”

“You can, and you will.”

“This event will fund six literacy centers, three housing restorations, and a legal clinic. Do you know how long I spent convincing these people that community ownership was not a threat to their portfolios?”

“No.”

“Seven months.”

“Then five minutes will not destroy it.”

“You have clearly never managed wealthy donors.”

“I’ve protected several.”

“That is not the same.”

“No. Protecting them required less patience.”

He started toward the ballroom doors.

I followed.

Davian looked back once.

His expression said stop.

Mine said he had known me for nine days and should understand the futility of that expectation.

We entered the corridor together.

Two security officers moved ahead of us. Another fell into position behind me.

Guests continued arriving through the main lobby, shedding coats dusted with snow and pausing beneath the restored dome. Cameras flashed near the entrance. Reporters called my name.

I smiled without slowing.

“Ms. Ardellane, is it true the trust rejected North Vale’s latest settlement?”

“Ms. Ardellane, will tonight’s auction fund the East Bellweather properties?”

“Celia, one photograph!”

Davian shifted closer as we passed the cameras.

His hand settled lightly against my back.

It should have felt professional.

Instead, the warmth of his palm traveled through the thin emerald silk of my dress and spread along my spine.

I maintained my smile.

“You’re touching me,” I said beneath my breath.

“I’m directing you away from the press barrier.”

“I know how to walk.”

“The photographer on your left is attempting to move behind you.”

I glanced toward the man.

Davian’s fingers pressed once against my back, redirecting me before the camera’s flash struck my eyes.

We reached the private elevator.

The doors opened.

Davian waited until the officers entered, then guided me inside.

His hand disappeared.

The absence of it was more distracting than the contact had been.

I faced the mirrored wall.

My reflection looked composed.

The emerald gown fell from one shoulder in a clean line before gathering at my waist. My hair was swept into a low arrangement that had required forty minutes and an unreasonable number of pins. Diamonds from my grandmother’s collection rested at my ears.

Beside me, Davian looked like the kind of man people hired when diplomacy had failed.

“You should return to the ballroom,” he said.

“You should stop issuing instructions you know I won’t follow.”

“I issue them because occasionally reason may overcome instinct.”

“You think I’m unreasonable?”

“I think you confuse independence with invulnerability.”

The elevator began moving.

“And you confuse protection with control.”

“No.”

His eyes met mine in the mirror.

“I know the difference.”

Something in his voice made me turn.

The officers stood in front of us, focused on the rising floor numbers.

Davian remained beside me, his posture relaxed to anyone who did not know what to look for.

I had spent nine days learning.

The slight angle of his shoulders placed his body between mine and the elevator doors. His right hand rested near the inside of his jacket. His attention moved constantly—mirrors, ceiling panel, emergency hatch, floor indicator.

“You’ve done this before,” I said.

“Used an elevator?”

“Protected someone who resented you.”

“All clients resent security eventually.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

“No.”

The answer ended the conversation.

The elevator stopped on the eighth floor.

The doors opened onto darkness.

Davian’s arm crossed in front of me before I took a step.

The corridor lights should have been on.

Instead, only the green emergency markers glowed above the exits.

One of the officers reached for the wall control.

“Don’t,” Davian said.

The man froze.

Davian studied the corridor.

“What happened to the cameras?”

The second officer checked his phone.

“Floor network went offline ninety seconds ago.”

“Ninety seconds?” I repeated.

Davian stepped out of the elevator.

Both officers followed.

I moved with them.

He turned.

“Stay inside.”

“The necklace is in the bridal suite.”

“Which is why you’re staying inside.”

“If someone has it—”

“The necklace is replaceable.”

“It belonged to Corinne.”

“Then let me ensure you live long enough to inherit something else.”

I stared at him.

He faced the officers.

“Vale, with me. Mercer, hold the elevator and keep her inside.”

Mercer stepped between me and the corridor.

Davian and Vale moved into the darkness.

The elevator doors attempted to close.

Mercer blocked them.

For ten seconds, nothing happened.

Then twenty.

The emergency lights washed the corridor in dull green. Snow pressed against the tall window at its far end. The storm had swallowed the neighboring buildings, leaving only distorted reflections in the glass.

I listened.

Footsteps.

A door opening.

Davian’s voice, too low to understand.

Then silence.

“Can you contact him?” I asked.

Mercer touched his earpiece.

“Signal interference.”

“From the network failure?”

“Possibly.”

Possibly was not a useful word.

I took out my phone.

No service.

The hotel had cellular repeaters on every floor. A network outage might affect the cameras, but it should not have blocked both radio and cellular communication.

“This is deliberate,” I said.

Mercer glanced at me.

“Remain in the elevator.”

The doors tried to close again.

He pressed the button.

They reopened.

A metallic sound came from somewhere inside the corridor.

Mercer reached beneath his jacket.

The elevator lights went out.

Darkness swallowed us.

A hand seized my wrist.

I reacted before I thought.

My free hand struck upward. My palm connected with a face. Someone cursed.

Not Mercer.

I drove my heel down, felt it strike a foot, and pulled away.

A shoulder hit my chest.

I fell backward against the elevator wall.

Emergency light spilled through the open doors.

A man wearing a catering jacket stood between me and Mercer.

Mercer was on the floor.

The attacker’s face was covered by a black mask.

He reached for me again.

I grabbed the nearest object—an ornamental brass stand holding an evacuation placard—and swung.

The metal edge struck his shoulder.

He staggered.

I swung again.

He caught the stand.

We struggled over it.

He was stronger.

He pulled me forward and slammed me against the elevator frame.

Pain exploded through my upper arm.

His gloved hand closed around my throat.

“You should have accepted the warning.”

The voice was distorted behind the mask.

I clawed at his wrist.

He tightened his grip.

“You Ardellanes never know when to let go.”

A dark figure moved behind him.

Davian caught the man by the back of his jacket and tore him away from me.

The attacker struck the elevator wall.

Davian drove one fist into his ribs, turned, and forced him facedown onto the floor.

It happened with frightening speed.

No wasted movement.

No shouted threat.

Only controlled violence.

The attacker reached beneath his jacket.

“Hand!” Davian ordered.

The man pulled out something silver.

Davian twisted his arm.

A knife struck the carpet.

Vale appeared from the corridor and kicked it away.

Davian forced the attacker’s wrist behind his back.

“Secure him.”

Vale dropped beside them.

Davian rose and came to me.

The transformation was immediate.

One moment, he was cold force.

The next, both of his hands framed my face.

“Look at me.”

I did.

His control was still present, but something had broken beneath it.

Fear.

Davian Rook was afraid.

“Can you breathe?”

“Yes.”

“Did he strike your head?”

“No.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

His thumbs moved beneath my jaw, checking my neck.

I should have objected.

I did not.

His hands were warm. Mine were shaking.

Davian’s gaze traveled over my face, throat, shoulders, and arms. He found the place where I had struck the elevator frame.

Pain sharpened when he touched it.

I inhaled.

His expression hardened.

“Possible shoulder injury.”

“It’s a bruise.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Neither do you.”

“I know you require a physician.”

“After the event.”

“Now.”

The attacker laughed behind us.

Davian turned.

Vale had secured the man’s hands. Mercer was conscious and sitting against the elevator wall, blood running from a cut near his hairline.

The masked man looked at me.

“You think this ends with me?”

Davian moved between us.

“Remove him.”

Two more officers rushed from the stairwell.

They lifted the attacker.

His shoes dragged across the carpet as they pulled him away.

“Ask her,” he called.

No one answered.

The officers reached the stairwell door.

The attacker twisted in their grip.

“Ask the heiress what Corinne promised before she died.”

The door closed behind him.

Silence returned.

My skin went cold.

Davian looked at me.

“What did he mean?”

“I don’t know.”

“That isn’t convincing.”

“It’s the truth.”

He studied me for another second, then touched his microphone.

“Primary channel restored?”

A voice answered through his earpiece.

“Yes. Police are entering through the service level. Hotel systems are coming back online.”

The corridor lights flickered.

Then they brightened.

The sudden illumination revealed an open service panel beside the elevator. Wires hung from its interior. A small black device had been attached to the communications unit.

Davian glanced toward the bridal suite.

Its door stood open.

I moved past him.

He caught my waist.

“Celia.”

“The necklace.”

“I don’t care about the necklace.”

“I do.”

His arm tightened when I attempted to continue.

For one irrational second, neither of us moved.

My back rested against his chest. His hand spread across my waist. I could feel the controlled force of his breathing near my temple.

“I need you to listen to me,” he said.

“I have spent nine days listening to you.”

“No. You have spent nine days preparing your next argument while I speak.”

“That is still listening.”

“You were attacked because you created a trap without telling the people responsible for protecting you.”

“I was attacked because someone wants control of the trust.”

“And you made it easier.”

The words cut through the lingering panic.

I turned inside the circle of his arm.

“You do not get to blame me for what that man did.”

Davian released me immediately.

Regret entered his expression.

“You’re right.”

I had expected resistance.

The apology unsettled me more.

He stepped back.

“You are not responsible for the attack,” he said. “I am responsible for failing to prevent it.”

“You cannot prevent everything.”

“That is not a useful standard.”

“It is reality.”

“For you, reality changes now.”

He turned toward Mercer.

“Medical team is on the way. Remain here.”

Mercer nodded.

Davian took my elbow.

I pulled free.

“I can walk.”

“I know.”

He stayed beside me as we entered the bridal suite.

The room had once hosted generations of Vesper Crown brides before the hotel closed. Restoration workers had preserved its ivory wall panels, curved windows, and elaborate dressing mirrors. A velvet chaise stood near the cold fireplace.

The small safe behind the dressing table was open.

Empty.

The Ardellane necklace was gone.

On the table lay a folded card.

Davian stopped me before I touched it.

He removed a pair of gloves from his pocket.

“You carry gloves to formal events?” I asked.

“I attend formal events with you.”

He put them on and opened the card.

Four words had been written across the paper.

THE WRONG ARDELLANE MARRIED.

I read them twice.

“What does that mean?”

Davian examined the card without touching the ink.

“Your brother’s marriage prevented Garrick from controlling August’s shares.”

“Garrick is awaiting sentencing. Cedric is in custody. Neither of them arranged this from jail.”

“Someone else benefited from the original plan.”

“And they believe Ronan married the wrong woman?”

“They may believe the wrong sibling married.”

The room seemed to shift around me.

I…

Th…