003

ALEX

I wasn’t prepared for any of this.

The second the sleek black car pulled up to the front of the hotel, the world outside exploded. Cameras flashed like lightning, reporters shouted over each other, and a sea of faces pressed up against the velvet ropes. My stomach twisted so hard I thought I might throw up right there in Damon’s million dollar car.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, shrinking back in the seat. “There’s a whole damn army out there.”

Damon, cool as ever in a tailored black suit and those stupidly perfect sunglasses, glanced over at me with a crooked grin. “Welcome to the circus, husband.”

I shot him a glare. “Stop calling me that.”

His smirk widened. “But it suits you.”

Before I could come up with a smart-ass response, the driver opened Damon’s door, and the cameras went wild. The flashes reflected off the car like a disco ball, and for a split second, I considered diving onto the floor and hiding under the seat.

Damon slid out like he’d done this a thousand times, which, judging by the way the crowd reacted, he probably had. Then he turned back and extended a hand toward me.

I hesitated.

One part of me screamed to bolt. The other part was beaten down by years of struggle, bad luck, and people who never gave a damn,  knew I couldn’t afford to screw this up.

Five million dollars.

Six months.

I could do this.

I took his hand.

His fingers curled around mine, firm and warm, and he tugged me out of the car like it was the easiest thing in the world. I stumbled a little, immediately blinded by the flashbulbs, the swarm of voices crashing into me.

“Damon! Over here!”

“Who’s the mystery husband?”

“Alex Carter, how does it feel to marry the most eligible bachelor in the country?”

I swallowed hard and kept my face as neutral as possible, though I was probably pale as a ghost.

Damon leaned in, close enough that his lips brushed my ear.

“Smile, baby. Or at least fake it.”

I shot him a look but forced something vaguely resembling a grin onto my face. Damon’s hand slid to the small of my back as he guided me through the crowd and into the restaurant like we weren’t the center of a damn media frenzy.

Inside, it was quieter, but no less intimidating.

Everything was polished wood, gleaming chandeliers, and the kind of luxury that screamed money. And of course, the place was packed with Damon’s people rich men in expensive suits, women in designer dresses, faces I’d seen splashed across tabloids and magazines back home.

And every single one of them was staring at me.

I wanted to crawl under the table.

“Relax,” Damon murmured under his breath, his hand still at my lower back. “They’re vultures. The trick is pretending you don’t give a damn.”

“Easy for you to say,” I muttered. “You were born for this.”

His expression flickered, something unnameable in his grey eyes  but he didn’t reply.

A tall, blonde woman with icy blue eyes approached, looking me up and down like she was deciding whether to have me executed.

“Damon.” She kissed his cheek, lingering a second too long.

“Vanessa ,” he greeted smoothly.

Ah. So this was the infamous ex fiancée Riley had gushed about between tequila shots. Vanessa Hartley. Gorgeous, powerful, and according to the tabloids, the woman who almost tamed Damon Cross.

Her gaze slid to me, a razor-sharp smile curving her lips. “And this must be the husband. How… unexpected.”

I gave her my best dead eyed smile. “Yeah, well. I’m full of surprises.”

Damon chuckled, a low, approving sound that made Veronica’s expression tighten.

The next hour was a blur of introductions, fake smiles, and whispered comments I was definitely not meant to hear.

“He’s cute, but God , so working class.”

“Bet this one won’t last a month.”

“Think Damon’s slumming it for attention?”

Every word chipped away at my already fraying nerves. I kept my mouth shut, kept my fake smile plastered on, and silently counted down the minutes until I could escape.

It wasn’t until Damon slid his hand to my waist under the table, fingers curling possessively, that my pulse kicked up for a whole different reason.

He leaned in, lips brushing my ear again. “You’re doing good, sweetheart.”

I shivered.

Fucking hell. Why did he have to sound like that? Like he could snap his fingers and I’d crawl into his lap in front of all these people.

“Stop calling me that,” I whispered, though my voice came out breathy and traitorous.

His grin was pure sin. “Make me.”

And before I could think of a single response, he lifted my hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to my knuckles.

I swear to God, the entire room froze.

Eyes widened. Conversations faltered. Even Veronica’s wine glass paused halfway to her lips.

Damon’s thumb brushed the inside of my wrist as he held my gaze. “Mine,” he murmured, barely audible.

A possessive claim disguised as a public display.

It shouldn’t have made my stomach flip.

It shouldn’t have made my chest ache.

It shouldn’t have made me want more.

But it did.

And I was so, so screwed.