Page 44 of His By Contract

The elevator doors whispered open onto polished marble floors that stretched endlessly ahead. Georgia’s heels struck a sharp rhythm as she stepped into Richard Vaughn’s private suite, each click echoing through the vast space like a countdown.

Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped the room in harsh city light, casting long shadows across furniture that looked more like modern art installations than places meant for comfort. Everything gleamed—chrome, glass, and stark white surfaces that reminded her of a museum where touching wasn’t allowed.

A massive abstract canvas dominated one wall, all harsh angles and blood-red slashes against black. The kind of piece that cost more than her mother’s medical bills, but said nothing about its owner except that he could afford it.

Georgia let her fingertips trail along a leather chair, noting how the space felt like Adrian’s penthouse stripped of any hint of humanity. No books left casually on tables, no coffee cups forgotten on desks. Just calculated perfection designed to remind visitors they were temporary guests in a fortress.

She wore vulnerability like a designer dress, carefully selected and fitted for this performance. Her steps faltered just slightly as she moved deeper into the suite. Let him see uncertainty in her movements, doubt in her hesitation. Every tremor in her hands was a carefully placed stitch in the trap she was weaving.

A bar of sunlight cut across her path, and she paused in its warmth, knowing how it would illuminate her face, highlight the shadows under her eyes. She’d chosen minimal makeup today. Let him see the toll of Adrian’s world etched on her features. Let him think she was cracking under the pressure.

The sound of a door opening pulled her attention toward the far end of the suite. Georgia steadied her breath, smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from her skirt. Time to play her part.

Richard Vaughn’s footsteps approached with a predatory grace. Georgia lifted her chin, letting exhaustion seep into her smile. “Mr. Vaughn.”

“Georgia. You look…” His pause carried weight. “Tired.”

“Adrian keeps a demanding schedule.” She sank into a chair, her movements liquid with practiced fatigue. “Sometimes I forget what it felt like to create without… oversight.”

Vaughn’s eyes sparked with interest. He circled her chair like a shark scenting blood. “Adrian’s particular about his investments.”

“Is that what I am?” Georgia’s laugh held no warmth. “An investment to be managed?”

“You’ve known him, what? Six months?” Vaughn leaned against his desk. “I’ve watched Adrian build his empire for years. The patterns never change.”

Georgia glanced up through her lashes. “What patterns?”

“Scotch?” He moved to a crystal decanter without waiting for her answer. “You strike me as someone who appreciates quality.”

“Thank you.” She accepted the glass. The crystal felt cold against her palm.

“Adrian cultivates beauty,” Vaughn continued, “but he suffocates it. Controls it. Tell me, does he insist on approving every design before it leaves your studio?”

Georgia took a careful sip, watching him over the rim. “You seem to know him well.”

Pride bloomed across Vaughn’s features. He settled into the chair opposite her, loosening his tie. “Better than most. Better than he’d like.” His smile sharpened. “Would you like to know what’s really happening at Adler Capital?”

“I’ve seen the headlines.” Georgia leaned forward, vulnerability painted across her features.

“Headlines,” he scoffed. “Surface ripples. The real damage runs deeper. That leak? Just the beginning. By next quarter, Adrian’s empire will crumble from within.”

Vaughn sprawled deeper into his chair, one leg crossed over the other, his posture loose, but calculated. Like a cat pretending to doze while watching its prey. The sharp edges of his suit softened, but his eyes grew harder, more focused.

“Adrian’s always been shortsighted when it comes to… personal matters.” Vaughn swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “He thinks money and control equal loyalty. But you’re not the type to be bought, are you, Georgia?”

Georgia traced the rim of her glass, letting silence fill the space between them. The scotch burned sweet on her tongue, expensive and smooth. The room dripped with ostentation, the kind of wealth that begged to be seen, so unlike Adrian’s restrained taste. Every surface yearned for attention, from the gilt-edged mirrors to the overstuffed leather chairs.

“I could give you more than freedom.” Vaughn leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I could give you a front-row seat to his downfall. Let you watch while everything he built crashes down. Maybe even help push it along.”

The city stretched below them, a concrete canvas of possibility and power. Georgia kept her face perfectly still, watching how Vaughn’s satisfaction grew with each second she didn’t protest.

“Think about it—your designs, your name, your success. All yours, not his. And the bonus?” His smile spread, slow and cruel. “You’d get to watch him lose everything he values. Including you.”

Georgia met his gaze with quiet consideration. Let him see what he wanted to see in her silence. His certainty filled the room like smoke, thick with the scent of victory.

“Adrian’s already lost, Georgia. The question is—do you want to go down with him, or rise from his ashes?”

Georgia watched as Vaughn’s posture shifted, his shoulders rolling back with the ease of a man who believed he’d already won.

---