9

The club pulsed with bass, sweat, and strobe lights.

Bodies moved like liquid under the flashing colors, laughter mingled with the throb of music, and the air was thick with perfume, cologne, and a dash of bad decisions.

Tina and I slipped into a corner booth near the VIP section—far enough to avoid creeps, close enough to spot drama.

She tossed back her curls and gave me that look the second the waiter dropped our drinks.

"Okay," she leaned in, practically vibrating, "spill. Everything. The wedding night. How was it?"

I hesitated.

The truth?

There was none. No kiss. No hug. Nathan had left the country faster than I could say just married.

But then I remembered the contract.

Wife. To the world, I was his wife.

And wives? Don’t sleep alone on their wedding night.

So I smiled, leaned back against the velvet booth, and took a slow sip of my drink like the memory was too good to rush.

"Girl," I said, drawing out the word, "when I say I didn’t know my legs could bend like that…”

Tina shrieked.

“You’re lying!”

I smirked. “Oh, I wish I was.”

Her jaw was on the floor. “So he’s good?”

“Good?” I gave her a fake-scandalized look. “He’s dangerous.”

Tina fanned herself with a napkin. “I knew it. I just knew he had freak energy under all that billionaire coldness.”

“Behind closed doors?” I gave a slow, dramatic sigh. “He’s all heat.”

Tina grabbed her drink. “This calls for shots. My best friend married a sex god and didn’t even invite me to the honeymoon.”

I chuckled, heart pounding with guilt I refused to entertain.

“Next time,” I winked.

She nodded. “Next time, I’m sneaking into your luggage.”

And just like that, I’d built a fantasy neither of us could afford to question.

Tina had just ordered another round when a familiar voice brushed against my ear like a memory I hadn’t asked for.

“Ivy Carter?”

I turned.

Wide shoulders. Fitted shirt. That lopsided smile.

Oh no.

“Liam?” I blinked.

He chuckled. “Didn’t think I’d see you again outside of biology class.”

Liam Armstrong. My high school lab partner, teenage crush, and the only boy who ever passed me a note that said You make mitochondria look hot.

Tina raised a brow. “And who’s this?”

“Old friend,” I said quickly.

“Old flame,” Liam corrected with a grin.

My cheeks burned. “Don’t listen to him.”

He shrugged. “Just one dance. For nostalgia’s sake?”

Tina was already mouthing say yes like a lunatic, practically pushing me out of the booth.

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. One.”

We moved to the dance floor, the bass thumping beneath our feet, the crowd swaying in colorful waves. Liam pulled me closer than necessary, hands on my waist like we were more than classmates.

The music slowed.

His lips brushed close to my ear. “So… married, huh?”

I nodded, unsure of what to say.

“You don’t look married.”

I didn't know if I should take that as a compliment or not,so I just smiled.

*****

Nathan’s POV

The soft jazz playing in the background of the penthouse was the only thing keeping me sane. My laptop screen glowed with numbers and reports, yet none of it was sticking.

I was restless. Unsettled.

And I hated it.

My phone buzzed.

I reached for it without much thought,until I saw the sender.

Amy.

I braced myself.

A message.

“Hope you’re enjoying your wife. Thought you’d love this.”

Attached was a photo.

I clicked.

Ivy.

In a club.

Wrapped in another man’s arms.

Their faces were close. Too close.

His hand? Not where it should be.

My jaw clenched.

I poured myself a glass of whiskey I didn’t need.

The image was still there,burned into my mind.

Ivy’s smile. Her hand in that bastard’s. The way her head tilted back when she laughed like she didn’t have a care in the world.

She looked free.

Too free.

I took a slow sip, jaw tense.

She was supposed to be mine,at least publicly. Not parading around in tight dresses and smiling at old flames like a single girl on vacation.

This was why the contract had rules.

No scandals. No disrespect. No emotional complications.

And definitely no headlines that made me look like a fool.

Amy's voice sliced through the silence.

“Still brooding, Mr. CEO?” Amy texted.

I didn’t answer. Just downed the rest of the whiskey.

She double-texted. “You’re really going to ignore me all night because your little PR wife went dancing?”

Amy rolled her eyes. “You’re angry because she danced with someone, not because of media. Don’t insult me, Nathan.”

I didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Because maybe she was right.

Maybe it was the way Ivy smiled in that photo,so different from the guarded, sarcastic girl I’d married.

And I hated that I noticed.

“She’s already replacing me, isn’t she?”

“No,” I said coolly, brushing past her. “This is still business.”

I stood by the window of the hotel suite, overlooking the city I was supposed to be conquering.

Boardrooms. Negotiations. A multi-million-dollar merger.

And yet… I wasn’t thinking about any of that.

I pulled out my phone and dialed Desmond.

He picked up on the second ring, always the efficient one.

“Yes, sir?”

“We’re flying back to New York tomorrow morning,” I said, my voice clipped.

There was a beat of silence. “Sir… what about the investors? The launch? We haven’t even closed the—”

“The team can handle it. We’ve trained them for this. They don’t need me holding their hands.”

Another pause. I could practically hear him blinking in disbelief.

“But, sir... with all due respect...”

“This isn’t a discussion, Desmond. Book the jet.”

I ended the call before he could respond and tossed the phone onto the bed.

What the hell was wrong with me?

There was no reason to go back. No business emergency. No loose ends that couldn’t be tied from here.

So why did I keep checking my phone?

Why did I care what Ivy was doing, or who she was doing it with?

She was just a contract.

A name on a page.

A placeholder.

And yet... her smile from that photo. That damn photo Amy sent me. It wouldn’t leave my mind.

I tried to drown it with logic, with numbers, with reminders of why this entire arrangement existed,but none of it worked.

My fists clenched.

Was I really flying across the country just because she danced with some guy?

Get it together, Blake.

I moved to pour myself another drink but paused mid-reach.

Instead, I walked over to my phone, picked it up, and opened the gallery.

There she was again.

Ivy.

Laughing.

Alive.

Untouched by everything that came with my world.

And somehow, that bothered me more than it should’ve.

I locked the screen and muttered to myself.

“I’m just going to check in. Make sure things are... stable.”

Right.

Just stable.

I wasn’t going back for her.

I was going back for control.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.