Chapter 4 - The Terms of Engagement
The penthouse at the top of the Villano Tower was a masterpiece of modern glass, dark walnut, and brushed steel.
Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a sweeping, panoramic view of the storm-tossed waters of Lake Michigan and the flickering skyline of Chicago. The interior was quiet, warm, and smelled of polished wood, fresh lilies, and subtle incense.
Darius escorted Mireia to a private guest suite featuring a king-sized bed, a marble bathroom, and a walk-in closet stocked with designer clothes in her exact size.
“My team picked up these garments from your Lincoln Park apartment before Arthur’s men arrived,” Darius explained casually, standing near the doorway. “You will find everything you need.”
Mireia turned around, amazed by the sheer efficiency of his network. “You planned this before we even left the restaurant.”
“I prepare for contingencies, Miss Dalton,” Darius replied. “I will be in my study down the hall. Change into dry clothes, rest, and when you are ready, we will discuss our terms.”
Thirty minutes later, Mireia stepped into Darius’s private study.
She had changed into a soft, cream-colored silk blouse, dark tailored trousers, and high heels. Her wet hair had been dried and pulled back into a sleek, elegant low ponytail. She looked every inch the sovereign heir she had just discovered she was.
Darius sat behind a massive black granite desk, reviewing a stack of legal documents. A fire crackled softly in the stone hearth behind him.
When she walked in, he immediately stood up, gesturing toward a leather armchair across from his desk.
“Feeling warmer?” he asked.
“Much,” Mireia said, sitting down. She crossed her legs elegantly, leaning back into the chair. “Let’s talk business, Mr. Villano.”
Darius sat back down, steepling his long fingers over the desk. “I like a woman who doesn't waste time.”
“You want Arthur Dalton destroyed,” Mireia began, her voice calm, calculated, and sharp. “I want my mother’s name cleared, my freedom secured, and Caleb Vance ruined so thoroughly that he can never look at another woman without remembering what he lost.”
Darius’s lips curved into a dark, appreciative smile. “A poetic ambition. Go on.”
“I have the ring,” Mireia continued, pulling the silver signet from her pocket and setting it on the granite surface between them. “You have the historical records, the financial infrastructure, and the physical security. But to unlock the Crescent Trust in Zurich, the bylaws state that the heir must be legally married to a recognized head of an international estate.”
Darius’s hazel eyes flared with sudden, intense interest. “You’ve read the trust covenants.”
“I spent twenty minutes in your library down the hall while drying my hair,” Mireia replied coolly. “My mother raised me to read fine print, Darius. Arthur thought I was just a docile corporate daughter, but I spent six years managing the administrative archives of Dalton Enterprises. I know where every tax shelter, every hidden shell company, and every illegal offshore account is buried.”
Darius leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk, his broad shoulders framing his dangerous face.
“So what is your proposal, Mireia?” he asked softly.
Mireia looked straight into his hazel eyes without a single flicker of fear.
“Marry me,” she declared flatly.
The study went dead silent, save for the crackle of the wood fire.
Darius stared at her. A low, rumbling chuckle built deep in his chest, breaking out into a dark, mesmerizing laugh that resonated through the room.
“You threw a ring at Caleb Vance two hours ago,” Darius noted, his eyes dancing with dark amusement. “And now you are proposing a marriage of convenience to a mafia boss?”
“Caleb Vance was a weak boy who used me as a shadow for my sister,” Mireia said coldly, her tone laced with absolute conviction. “You are a dangerous man who wants the same blood for blood that I do. This is not a romance, Darius. It is an alliance. A legal marriage gives you access to fifty percent of the Crescent Trust’s administrative board, giving your firm the ultimate global legitimacy you’ve sought for a decade. In exchange, you give me your name, your protection, and the firepower to crush my father.”
Darius stopped laughing.
He looked at her—really looked at her. He took in her fierce pale blue eyes, her perfect, unyielding posture, her sharp mind that had analyzed a century-old international trust in twenty minutes. She wasn't a victim seeking a savior; she was a queen claiming her throne, offering a treaty to a neighboring king.
Darius stood up slowly. He walked around the granite desk until he stood directly beside her chair.
He reached down, picked up the silver signet ring, and held it out to her.
“A marriage of convenience, Mireia?” Darius whispered, leaning down until his dark eyes were inches from hers. His thumb gently brushed against her lower lip. “I agree to the alliance. But understand one thing right now.”
Mireia held her breath, feeling the intoxicating heat of his presence. “What?”
“If you take my name,” Darius promised softly, his baritone voice dripping with possessive authority, “I will never let you give it back. I do not do temporary alliances. You will be my wife—in the eyes of the law, in the eyes of the city, and in every room we enter together.”
Mireia felt a sudden, powerful surge of electricity shoot straight through her heart.
May you like
She didn't pull away. She reached up, took the signet ring from his hand, and slid it onto her middle finger.
“Deal, Mr. Villano,” Mireia said softly. “Let’s burn them down.”
