EVELYN

A sharp hiss of water filled the room, the sound of a shower running somewhere nearby. My head throbbed violently, a slow, insistent pounding that made me groan as I shifted. My limbs felt heavy, as if they belonged to someone else. I blinked against the brightness cutting through the room, my vision a blurry mess of gold and white.

Something was off.

The bed beneath me was soft—too soft. The sheets smelled expensive, a fresh blend of sandalwood and something faintly citrusy. I inhaled deeply, pressing my face into the plush pillow before realization jolted through me.

I wasn’t in my apartment.

My breath hitched. The duvet was thick and luxurious, nothing like the thin, scratchy blankets I was used to. I forced my eyes open fully, and my jaw dropped.

What. The. Hell?

I was in a penthouse.

Not just any penthouse—the kind people like me only saw in magazines, in glossy real estate ads we scrolled past on social media while dreaming of another life. The room was massive, all marble floors and high ceilings. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a sprawling city skyline, the early morning light glinting against the glass like gold dust.

My heartbeat kicked up. What the hell happened last night?

Before I could process the thought, the sound of the shower stopped. My body stiffened, pulse roaring in my ears as I heard the shuffle of movement from inside. Then, the door swung open.

A tall, brown-skinned man stepped out, steam curling around him like mist. A towel hung dangerously low on his waist, droplets of water trailing down his sculpted chest. My throat went dry.

He was ridiculously attractive.

Broad shoulders. Defined abs. The kind of body you only saw in Calvin Klein ads or I*******m fitness models who didn’t have to wake up early for work.

I yanked the duvet to my chest, my fingers clutching it like a lifeline.

“So, you’re awake.”

His voice was deep—so deep it sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. He reached for a bottle of lotion, squeezing some into his palms before rubbing it across his arms. A sigh escaped him, almost bored, before he turned and disappeared through another door.

I didn’t think.

Didn’t hesitate.

The second he was gone, I threw off the duvet and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. My head swam, my limbs still sluggish, but I forced myself up. Where were my shoes? My phone? My bag?

Shit.

Panic settled in my gut as I scanned the room. My heels—gone. My phone? Not on the bedside table. I ran my hands through my hair, trying to piece together last night, but my memory was a black hole.

Then, the door creaked open again.

This time, he was dressed. A crisp white shirt, the top two buttons undone, revealing the slightest hint of his collarbone. Black tailored trousers that fit his lean, muscular frame perfectly. He was rolling up his sleeves as he leaned against the doorframe, watching me.

“Don’t tell me you’re trying to run away.”

I swallowed hard, caught in his stare.

“I… I was…” I chuckled nervously, rubbing my neck.

He scoffed, his lips curling into something close to amusement as he walked over to a white leather sofa—the expensive kind that screamed wealth and power. He sank into it with effortless grace, stretching one arm across the backrest.

“Have a seat,” he said, motioning to the identical chair across from him.

I hesitated, my feet refusing to move.

“I’m really sorry if I did anything stupid last night,” I blurted out, forcing myself to sit.

He studied me, his gaze unwavering, sharp.

“You really don’t remember anything, do you?”

I winced. “Sorry…”

He sighed. “Sorry to tell you this, but as of last night… you became my wife.”

I froze.

Then I laughed.

Laughed because it was ridiculous. Laughed because there was no way in hell that was true. But he didn’t laugh. He didn’t even blink. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a neatly folded paper. He flipped it open and held it up.

A marriage certificate.

Our names. Our signatures.

A picture of us standing side by side, holding it.

My stomach dropped. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.”

I shot up from my seat, shaking my head. “No, no, no—this has to be some mistake. There’s no way I got married last night.”

“You did.”

“There’s no way out,” he cut me off, his tone final. “I warned you yesterday, but you still chose this. So if you’re thinking of coming up with some excuse to get out of it—don’t bother. For the next ten months, you are my wife. And that’s final.”

I stared at him, my brain struggling to keep up. “This doesn’t make sense. Getting married to a stranger? That’s insane.”

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Evelyn Ateya Wangari. Only daughter. Lost your mother when you were seven. Works for Jade Jewelry, marketing, and production. Dated some guy who betrayed you last night—with your best friend.”

My breath hitched.

He smirked, watching the realization dawn on my face. “I spent seven hours listening to the saddest, funniest, most annoying drunken rant. And I wasn’t allowed to leave until I heard it all.”

I buried my face in my hands. Oh God. What had I done?

I peeked through my fingers. “Still, you shouldn’t take advantage of a drunk woman.”

“Like I said, I was desperate. You forced this situation.”

I blinked at him. “Desperate?”

He ignored me, standing as he grabbed a tie from the sofa. “If it makes you feel better, you can draft a contract that favors you. Bring it to me in two days.”

He looped the tie around his collar, fumbling as he tried to knot it. I bit my lip, watching him struggle, irritation bubbling in my chest.

Before I could stop myself, I stood up and stepped closer.

“Just stand still.”

His hands dropped, confused.

I grabbed the tie, fingers deftly working the silk into a perfect knot. I had done this a million times for Daniel. But this man was taller, broader. The scent of fresh cologne and clean linen clung to him, making my pulse stutter.

“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?” I muttered, focused on the tie.

He exhaled, deep and slow.

“Kurtis Otias.”

I stilled. That name.

It sounded familiar.

I tilted my head, studying him. His chiseled jaw, his sharp features. Where had I seen him before?

He cleared his throat. “It’s a common name.”

Before I could respond, the door swung open.

A man walked in, looking slightly frazzled, holding a small bag. A pair of women’s shoes dangled from his hand. My shoes.

“Thanks,” Kurtis said, stepping back.

The man—Fedrick, I assumed—handed me the shoes. “You destroyed your shoes last night. Said they were a present from ‘that bastard.’”

I groaned, rubbing my forehead. “Sounds about right.”

He also handed me my phone.

Kurtis straightened, his tone turning cold. “You can leave now.”

I blinked. “Huh?”

“In two days, Fedrick will bring you back. Bring the contract.”

I frowned. “Shouldn’t I at least have your contact?”

“No. Fedrick’s number will suffice.”

With that, he turned on his heel and disappeared into another room.

What. A. Jerk.

I turned to Fedrick, who gave me a sheepish smile.

The night’s chaos still swirled in my head as I stepped out of the building, the city’s morning air crisp against my skin. My mind was a battlefield—torn between fury and disbelief. I hadn’t even fully processed the insanity of waking up married to a stranger when the universe decided to twist the knife deeper.

The car slowed as we approached the parking lot. At first, I wasn’t paying attention, too lost in my thoughts, my fingers twitching with the urge to pull my phone out and text Daniel—or even deman. I don’t know, just to throw tantrums. But then, I saw him.

Daniel.

He was by his car, his tall frame leaning lazily against the door as he pulled it open. And then Seren boldly sits in. Like hell, the boldness of them both.

She looked satisfied. Smug.

Her perfectly styled hair framed a face that practically glowed, her lips curled into a smirk that sent a dagger straight into my gut. She looked full. Sated. Like someone who had feasted on the one thing she had always wanted—mine.

They were together the whole night.

Damn.

How long had this been going on?

How many times had they laughed behind my back while I was out there, blindly fighting for him? How many times had she smiled in my face while slipping into his bed the moment I wasn’t looking?

The car I was in passed by them, and through the tinted glass, I could still see them—how his hand brushed against hers as he leaned down, whispering something that made her throw her head back in laughter. They weren’t even trying to hide it. Not a single ounce of guilt or shame. No hesitation. Just bliss.

My fingers curled into my lap, my nails digging into my palm. The pain grounded me, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing could be enough.

I was nothing but a pawn—just like she said.

Daniel had used me. Played me. I had given him everything. Everything. My time. My effort. My love. I had fought for him when no one else would. And for what? So he could toss me aside like trash?

Something dark uncoiled inside me. It wasn’t sadness. It wasn’t heartbreak.

It was rage.

I didn’t even realize I was smiling until I caught my own reflection in the window—a slow, dangerous curve of my lips, one that didn’t match the hollow ache in my chest. My vision blurred, my heart pounded against my ribs, but I wasn’t about to cry.

No.

Tears were too kind.

I swore—right then and there—I would make them both pay.

They thought they had won? That I would walk away quietly?

They had no idea who they had just messed with.