Chapter 1

NYLA

The ink was still wet on the divorce papers when Aeron turned his back on me, already calling his assistant to book a flight to Paris.

I expected a third anniversary gift; instead, he offered me divorce papers and a one-way ticket out of his life. 

"Mrs. King?" Daniel, Aeron's lawyer, called my name, snapping me back to reality. 

"Walk me through it, Daniel," I said, straightening my posture. "What happens now?"

"Well, for the next ninety days you'll continue living as Mrs. King," he calmly explained, carefully paging through a stack of papers. 

"I beg your pardon," I uttered, almost choking on the expensive whiskey I had been sipping on all night. 

"There was a three-month cohabitation clause in the pre-nup you signed three years ago. Mr. King Sr insisted on it," Daniel said, sliding a single piece of paper across the small coffee table between us. 

"I had no idea. I mean, why would he include that in our pre-nup?" I asked, nervously flattening my palms on my ankle-length dress. 

Daniel set the papers aside to finally meet my gaze. "He wanted Aeron to be certain before he let you go. Not many couples get an opportunity like this. Make the most of it, Nyla."

"The real reason, Daniel," I insisted, carefully setting my whiskey glass on the table. 

"If you don't live under the same roof for 90 days, the billion-dollar merger tied to your marriage fails," he finally admitted. 

I let his words sink in. "I see," I nodded in understanding. "Thank you for coming, Daniel. I'll see you in 90 days," I murmured, a dry smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. 

"A lot can happen in 90 days, Nyla," Daniel pointedly stated. He didn't say anything after that; he just wordlessly walked out of the spacious living area. 

My hand wrapped around the cool whiskey glass. I gulped down the rest of my drink before rising from my chair. 

How on earth will I change his mind in the span of ninety days? I couldn't even get him to spare me a glance during the three years we were married. 

But Daniel was right, a lot can happen in ninety days. Not all hope was gone. And what harm could there be in trying?

I went back to my bedroom, stripping out of the conservative dress I put on for our meeting with the lawyers.  

A red lingerie set lay at the foot of my bed, paired with a matching silk robe that left little to the imagination. 

My cheeks flushed. There was only one person responsible for this. My nosy personal assistant. 

I looked down at the set, biting into my bottom lip. I'd never worn anything like this, not even on our wedding night. 

Aeron warned me not to. And maybe that was one of the reasons why we got a divorce. 

I slid the lingerie set over my delicate skin. I didn't bother to wear the robe; if I wanted this to work, I had to be shameless. 

My dark brown hair brushed against my tailbone, reminding me just how exposed I was in this set. 

My reflection displayed a completely different woman than the one I'd been pretending to be for the past three years. 

I adjusted the bra straps, as well as the thong that barely covered anything. 

My bare feet were silent against the cool marble floors. I stepped into the dimly lit hallway, searching for Aeron. I paused when I found light streaming out of his study. 

The door was slightly ajar. 

My heart hammered against my ribs as I stopped in front of the heavy oak door that led to his study. 

I braced myself for all the ways this could go. He could either kick me out of his office or fuck me on his desk. 

The sound of papers rustling behind the door suddenly became audible. He was working late again. 

Before I could change my mind, I pushed the door to his study open, revealing myself to the room.

Aeron slowly lifted his gaze from the papers he was busy signing. His eyes tracked upward. Over my bare feet, my ankles, my calves. His gaze lingered on the jut of my hips, the skin that the lingerie couldn't cover. 

When his eyes finally found mine, the shock in them was raw and unguarded. It was the first real emotion I’d seen from him in years.

"Nyla." My name was a low rasp, stripped of all its former indifference.

"You missed a clause, Aeron," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. I took a step forward, the cool Persian rug rough under my soles. 

"The reconciliation period." 

I took another step. The distance between us felt charged. "Ninety days."

He didn’t move, but his knuckles were white where they gripped the arms of his chair. "This is your idea of reconciliation?" 

"It's a start," I said, stopping once I stood directly in front of him. "You never looked at me. I'm giving you a chance to look now."

For a long moment he just stared. 

Then, with a violence that made me gasp, he was on his feet. His hands shot out. His fingers found the clasp of my bra and released it with a single click. 

The constricting silk and lace fell away and my breasts spilled free. The cool air was a shock against my tight, aching nipples. 

He didn’t touch them. But his eyes devoured them.

"Is this what you wanted?" He growled, the words thick. "To parade yourself in my study like a whore?"

The insult should have shattered me. Instead, it ignited something feral. "No," I breathed, straightening up, letting him see all of me. 

Shamelessly, I trailed my hand down his shirt. My hand stopped at the waistband of his pants. "I wanted you to see what you’re throwing away," I whispered, my lips brushing his.