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MARISELA

I hated him. Despised him. I wanted to aim a manicured fist at that arrogant fucking face of his. Knock out every one of his perfectly straight teeth until the only thing left for him to flash were a pair of bloodied gums.

I also wanted to shove him down on that desk and ride him until I forgot why I hated him so much.

That was the problem whenever Adrian and I were in the same room.

We were like fire and ice, and I didn’t know which one I was anymore.

Just that when you put us together, it caused a lot of steam.

The all-consuming kind that burned you up along with it.

Until you didn’t recognize yourself anymore.

And that was exactly why I needed to stay as far away from him as was humanly possible.

Something that wasn’t easy to do when I needed his help. Twice over.

He was still staring at me from across his desk, leaning back in his seat.

One polished shoe crossed over a knee and his unbuttoned dress shirt bunching at his sides, so that I had no choice but to stare at the sculpted abs he liked to cover up with a black-on-black suit or a set of blood-splattered scrubs. Both were equally intimidating.

I slowly lowered myself into the chair opposite him, smoothing out the hem of my skirt before pinning him with a glare. “You know why I’m here, Adrian. I paid you to do a job, and you failed to deliver. It’s time for you to clean up the mess you made.”

“No.” He tsked his tongue. “You tried to pay me to do a job, and I refused to accept your money.”

I lifted a shoulder into a half shrug. “A piss-poor business decision, if you ask me. But we both know the only opinion you care about is your own. Speaking of, do your men know they were working for free?”

I waited for the underlying threat to sink in. Instead, Adrian’s mouth spread into an even wider grin. “ My men were paid. Just not by you.”

There was that urge to punch him again.

I might have risked a nail and actually done it if I weren’t so sure he’d like it too fucking much.

I mean, this was the same man who nearly came in his pants when I stabbed him.

The same man who saw the fact I’d drugged him, cut off a piece of his body, and returned it in a tiny cardboard box as a sign of my undying affection.

I guess it kind of was. I’d never put that level of effort into anyone else. Because no one pissed me off as much as he did .

Adrian lifted a curious brow, his smug way of telling me to get on with it. “Why now? It’s been five years.”

“Because you weren’t supposed to kill him, puta .”

“Who said I killed him?”

“I’m not stupid, Adrian,” I grunted. “The medical examiner’s office tested the bones you sent them. They came back a genetic match.”

He smirked. “What can I say? My hand slipped. It happens.”

“Not to you it doesn’t, Dr. Lambert.”

“All these years, and I still haven’t been able to figure it out, you know?”

“Figure what out?” I huffed.

“If you actually wanted me to kill him or not… Why now, Marisela?” he repeated, as if it was going to somehow elicit another answer. An answer he liked better, seeing as what I had to say clearly wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

“Because there’s an issue with the will,” I grumbled under my breath.

It’d taken me five years to finally get the courts to declare Tate dead instead of missing, even with the severed fingers as evidence.

Just as long to raise the funds I needed to continue to run the company after most of our joint assets were frozen.

Only to discover the greatest legal minds still couldn’t find a loophole in the stipulation that stated everything went to the next living blood relative.

Apparently, all my arranged marriage had gotten me was a closet full of designer clothes and as much jewelry as I could shove into a suitcase. Both were useless when it came to swaying the board of directors.

It was probably why Tate was so quick to agree to my terms. It didn’t matter how many bastards were or weren’t tied to his name, because I never would have gotten anything anyway. Everything was always going to go to the heir I’d never produced.

Adrian leaned forward in his seat again, dropping the arrogance in his voice as he eyed me with something that resembled concern this time. “What kind of issue?”

There was no point in trying to keep the truth from him. It wouldn’t be long before the lawyers reached out. Though I had to admit it irritated me to no end that I was forced to have a front-row seat to the fucker’s satisfaction.

“The kind that means I get nothing… and it all goes to you.”