Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Knox
So, this is my future wife.
The word wife rolls through my mind as I study Isla Monroe’s file glowing on my computer screen.
I take a slow sip of coffee, set the mug on the desk, and lean back in my chair, my gaze still fixed on her picture.
The woman who paints illusions for a living.
The woman whose father turned illusion into fraud. The irony isn’t lost on me.
It’s early afternoon, the narrow window between meetings. I usually use this time to catch up on work in my office, but today, I’ve spent the last two hours going through all the intel my assistant gathered on my wife-to-be.
When I met Isla yesterday, I had minimal information. That’s why I was able to goad her with that remark about Brown University. Now I have everything on record.
Her files read like a checklist of mediocrity: scenic artist, freelance set designer, inconsistent income, local recognition at best. A handful of minor credits that mean little in my world of numbers and acquisitions. Basically, nothing exceptional.
I scroll through the background report again, scanning her employment history, education, and photos pulled from social media. I’ve reviewed thousands of profiles like this. Of people who orbit my world but never touch it.
Usually, I gloss over these sorts of reports. Yet I find myself reading every line of her file twice—every time I go through it.
Maybe it’s because this woman is going to be my wife. Or maybe it’s because something in her details doesn’t add up.
The file says fragile. Ordinary. But the woman I met yesterday didn’t look fragile, and there was nothing ordinary about her, either. Files can’t record defiance. And they can’t capture the way her pulse jumped when her eyes met mine.
She reminded me of her father in ways. She has his confidence but a sharper edge to her personality. That seemed to be all her because her mother appeared meek.
Isla just turned twenty-five, the same age I was when the scandal broke. She would have been seventeen at the time. It's strange to think how young and na?ve she must have been about what was really happening. And in some ways still is.
I scroll down and stop at a picture of her standing beside a painted backdrop she created for a show. Colors of dusk and autumn bleed into gold. It’s beautiful. Beautiful in a way that doesn’t belong here, in a file marked Debt Settlement.
I’ve never met a scenic artist before. It’s the kind of career most people don’t think about. The average person pictures an artist in a gallery, not backstage painting worlds other people escape into.
Her art is the only thing in this file that feels real, like I’m looking at pieces of the real her.
I exhale slowly and drag a hand over my jaw, pushing the thought away.
Curiosity is dangerous. It softens a man’s edge. I can’t afford softness, not where Isla Monroe is concerned.
Whatever she was before this—artist, daughter, dreamer—none of it matters. She has until tomorrow to sign the contract. Once she does, the ledger between our families will finally balance.
The logical part of me knows this arrangement is bizarre. But logic doesn’t erase what John Monroe did. Now, his daughter sits on the other side of the wreckage, paying the price for a man who’s not even alive to answer for it.
Some would call that cruel.
I call it balance.
A light knock sounds on the door, followed by the soft click of it opening. Dorian steps inside without waiting for permission. Typical.
His suit’s immaculate, his expression unreadable. Dorian carries control the way most men carry weapons. Hidden but lethal when drawn.
“Still playing with your food?” He glances at the computer, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
I look up at him. “You always assume I’m playing when I’m planning.”
“Planning? Right.” He stops before my desk and cocks his head. “Not usually when it comes to women. You know what they say about mixing business with pleasure.” Dorian never wastes a moment, not even when he’s joking.
“Good thing I’m not in the mood for pleasure.”
He arches one skeptical brow. “Sure you’re not.” Moving closer, he studies the screen over my shoulder, taking in Isla’s photo. His smirk deepens. “Looks like dessert to me. Although, I have to admit she’s not your type. Never known you to like the artsy kind. She’s beautiful, though.”
“You know this is personal for me.”
“That’s why I came to check in.” His tone cools, sliding back into business. “Thought we could talk before the Beaumont meeting.” He narrows his eyes. “You went home straight after work yesterday and didn’t message me back.”
Because I knew he’d want to talk about things I still needed to process. Like the whole marriage arrangement. He’d never do what I’m doing. None of my brothers would.
Dorian doesn’t want to get married ever.
And Locke and Levi are playboys who have no plans to date seriously, let alone attach themselves to one woman.
I don’t know how that’s going to go down with our father, who expects us to tie the knot with respectable women to produce the next generation of Vale heirs.
The only person who’s safe—for the moment—is Adaline.
But I’m certain Dad will arrange her marriage when that time comes.
“What do you want to talk about?” I ask, keeping my tone relaxed, as if I don’t already know what’s on his mind.
That brow slides up again. “Are you good?”
“I’m fine.” I nod, giving him a nonchalant smile. “Why? This is the best idea I’ve had in years.”
“Agreed. I just wanted to make sure you’re good with it.” He nods once. “One minute, I was handing you the files showing John’s treachery, and the next, you’re getting married to his daughter. Even you have to admit that’s a little fucked up.”
I chuckle. “I’m fine, Dorian.”
“It’s just that… marriage is kind of a big deal. Even short term.” His eyes widen slightly before he lets out a short laugh. “You’re not so different from me when it comes to that subject. Have you even been in a relationship for six months?”
“You know I haven’t.” My longest relationship was three months, and I still considered that a fling. “This is about business. And it’s only six months of my life. I’ll live. I’ve done worse things for longer.”
“I’m sure you have. I just hope things will be straightforward.”
“It will, and in the end, I’ll have my hands on the restaurant and clearly defined terms for dissolving the marriage.”
“I got to hand it to you; you’re a better man than me.” He gives me a slow clap, and I bow like I’m accepting an award.
“I do what I have to do.”
Dorian props himself against the desk, casting a look over his shoulder at Isla’s photo on the screen. “I suppose you haven’t heard anything more from your beloved or her people.”
“No, I didn’t expect to. William would’ve done his part. The rest is up to my beloved.” The word feels strange on my tongue but has a satisfying ring in my ears.
“You seem confident she’ll sign without a hitch.”
“I am.” I grin back. “And once I have that contract, I can’t wait to meet with the board.”
A ruthless grin brightens his eyes. “Those fuckers are in for a wild surprise.”
“They certainly are.” I swirl what’s left of my coffee and down it, letting the bitterness settle on my tongue.
The board are the bane of my existence. With the exception of family, there are thirteen members.
Although I bring in millions every year, they can’t stand me. Because I can’t be controlled. Neither can my brothers.
The board don’t like them, either; their ideas are too modern, too bold. Yet those same ideas are the reason Vale Global dominates the market.
If it were up to me, only people with the surname Vale would sit at that table.
But my great-grandfather’s inheritance came with strings attached: a permanent board to give us “credibility.” He believed any company dealing with the kind of money that goes through our hands needed the illusion of oversight to appease auditors and regulators.
I agree, in theory. In practice, it’s a shit show masquerading as power. Power my father still gives away too damn freely in the name of credibility. Granted, having a lineup of notable names helped during the scandal. But most days, it feels like it’s us against them.
Dorian pushes off the desk, the humor fading from his face. “At least you’re in Dad’s good book.”
“And you aren’t?”
“He’s still mad at me for how I handled the Swain contract. He thinks I should have given them a discount, even though they could more than afford it. He’s also pissed I told those reporters who did the exclusive on us to fuck the hell off.”
“Well, that was on national TV, Dorian. Of course, Dad is mad.”
We both laugh.
“You have a point. But there’s more. He spoke to me this morning. I guess you’ve put the wheels in motion for the next level.”
From the look he gives me, I guess Dad told him about England. “He had the talk with you?”
“He did, and he thinks I make the company look bad.”
“No more than I did.” I smirk.
“That wasn’t your fault. My case is a little different. I won’t change who I am. But I’m sure Dad will make it difficult for me.” He exhales a heavy sigh. “He says if I’m to lead the company at your side, I need to shape up.”
“Shape up? And do what?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, but I’m sure he’ll enlighten me soon enough.”
The phone on my desk rings. I glance at the screen. Its Melinda, my secretary. She never calls me at this time, unless it’s an emergency.
I hit the button to answer, my gaze still on the screen. “Yes, Melinda?”
“I’m so sorry. There’s a woman on her way to see you. I told her she needed to make an appointment, but she wouldn’t listen.”
Ignoring Melinda’s gatekeeping isn’t just bold, it’s suicidal.
Now, who the hell could that be?
The answer comes when the door bursts open and there stands Isla Monroe, looking like she just blew in on the edge of a storm.
Dorian and I exchange a glance, then I look back at her.
She was barely put together yesterday. Today’s much worse. A hideous, multicolored sweater dress that looks like it came straight from a bargain bin hangs off her body, and her hair looks like a matted silver cat. But in her hands is the contract.
She zeroes in on me with those sharp hazel eyes before marching straight into my office. Not even my father would be bold enough to barge in unannounced the way she has.
“I’ll speak to you later, Melinda.” I disconnect the call and rise from my chair.
Isla reaches the desk and shifts her gaze to Dorian, who’s watching her with open intrigue.
Dorian’s one of the rudest people I know. But the scathing look Isla throws him almost makes me feel sorry for him. Almost.
Dorian leans in, a wicked smirk on his face. “I’ll see you later, brother. Good luck.”
I don’t answer.
He leaves with a bounce in his step, glancing over his shoulder before the door closes behind him.
My attention snaps back to the woman in front of me when she slams the contract onto my desk.
“I signed it,” she declares, the words hitting like a gavel, final and sharp. Something drains from her, as if speaking those words aloud stripped the last of her strength.
This was the moment I’d been waiting for. Surrender.
But it’s not as sweet as I imagined. Maybe because there’s still a flicker of fight left in her.
I pick up the contract and flip through the pages, checking she’s signed each section. She has.
“Looks good to me.” A mirthless grin slides across my lips. “Didn’t you want the extra day to think about it?”
Her jaw clenches, and her hand balls into a tight fist at her side. “You bastard. You know I don’t have the luxury of time.”
“I’m aware.” I lean back, taking her in. She reeks of desperation. “Just making sure you’ve thought things through.”
“I have thought.”
My gaze drops to her lips, full, soft, and defiant. The only part of her untouched by the chaos she’s drowning in. Those lips could get her into trouble—the words that come out of them and all the sinful things lips like that were made for.
I school my thoughts and grin. “I’m glad you’ve thought. Being my wife won’t be easy.”
Her eyes flash, fury spilling over her face. “You listen to me, you pompous asshole. I’m only agreeing to this for my mother’s sake. Nothing more.”
Wow. And there it is. That fire.
I’ve never had a woman speak to me like that. Most of them want to be on my arm, or on my cock. This one, the woman I’m about to give my name, fucking hates me.
I’m not entirely shocked when my dick twitches in my pants. After all, I live for challenges. And she just became one.
I incline my head, letting my gaze drag over her before I circle the desk. I stop a breath away and her pulse jumps. Good. I’ve thrown her off balance.
“You don’t seem to be aware…” I let a humorless smile tug at my mouth. “That I’m the one who’s been wronged here. By your father.”
She lifts her head higher and pins me with a hard stare. “That doesn’t mean you own me.”
I lean in closer, maybe too close. Beneath that thing she’s passing off as clothes linger the faint scents of magnolia and honey clinging to her skin.
“That’s where you’re wrong, love.” I give her a full-blown smile and wave the contract in front of her face. “This little document means you’re mine.”
“I’m not yours. And I am not your love.”
“Yes, you are, love.” My voice drops, low and deliberate. “Everything in your world belongs to me, including you. Given the power I have to take everything from you, I wouldn’t piss me off if I were you.”
That shuts her down. The fire in her flickers, then dies.
Her lips part, but I already know she won’t say anything. Silence stretches between us before I break it.
“You’ll be called in a few days with the next steps.” My tone is all business now. “Be sure to answer your phone.”
Her eyes narrow. She looks like she’s summoning courage again yet says nothing. Then she turns on her heel and walks away.
I watch her go, my gaze dragging down to the curve of her hips and the sway of her ass in that dress.
The door clicks shut, but the image of her loiters in my mind.
Something tells me this little arrangement is going to be one hell of a ride.
I can’t wait.