His Bride By Force

ALEXA

   I laughed until the bruise on my stomach throbbed like I'd just been hit with a baseball bat. And for truth to be told, I had. Glances were thrown my way, some etched with pity, others with disdain and disgust.

I was at a funeral after all. My husband's funeral to be exact. But what did they know? I was finally free. Free from the midnight punches, the sound of broken glass and my husband's baseball bat.

Gods, I'd feared that I would have to endure it until I was grey and old. But the bastard was dead at thirty and I didn't have to do anything.

Sofia, my best friend moved to pick up the black umbrella I'd dropped, placing it above my head to shield me from the rain.

"Have you gone mad?!" a woman shrieked.

I turned to see her. An older woman in a black two-piece suit, mascara running in dark rivers down her cheeks. "How dare you laugh at my son's funeral?!"

I ignored her, wiping at the tears of joy now rolling down my cheeks.

"To hell with Vincent Storm!" I howled and Sofia stifled a laugh, pretending to dab at her nonexistent tears.

"Addio, bastard!" I pumped my fist in the air, spinning around on my heels to storm out of the cemetery, Sofia closely following by my side.

A few minutes later, we were seated in the car. Sofia handed some more tissues to me and adjusted the rearview mirror to fix her makeup.

"Tonight we drink until we drop," I slurred and Sofia grinned.

"Of course, Bella mia!"

Sofia was genuinely happy for me, if fate hadn't come to my rescue, she'd almost hired someone to do the job.

But Vincent had been no ordinary man. He'd owned a large chain of companies and had been one of the most affluential billionaires in New York City.

"I want to go shopping first. I want something sexy. Something to turn heads at the club," I said in a sing song voice, drumming my fingers on my thighs as my bestie turned on the music.

"Let's go!" Sofia yelled and hit the gas, pulling out of the parking lot.

We sang aloud, screaming out the lyrics of the music blasting from the speakers. And finally, we arrived at a boutique.

I whistled under my breath when I saw a stunning black lace dress in display.

Without hesitation, I checked it out and handed my card to the cashier with a confident smirk. The machine beeped loudly.

Declined.

I blinked. "Try again."

The cashier, a young woman with polite awkwardness painted across her face, nodded and swiped again.

Declined.

My heart dropped.

I reached into my purse and handed over a second card. Then a third.

Each one failed.

The line behind me shifted with impatience. Someone whispered my name. Someone else chuckled.

I could feel the heat crawl up my neck like fire ants. I was Alexa Storm. Billionaire's widow. High society's ice queen. And now? It seemed as though I'd gone broke.

Customers nearby stole curious glances, and the manager subtly edged toward the counter. Sofia stepped in quickly, pulling out her own card, mumbling, "I've got it," while shooting me a sharp look of concern.

My cheeks burned, my pulse thundering in my ears. I barely registered leaving the boutique. The world outside spun on fast-forward while I walked in a daze, muttering, "No, no, this has to be a mistake..."

We made it to the car in silence, the earlier giddiness drained like champagne down a dirty sink. When we pulled up at my penthouse, the sight awaiting us twisted my stomach worse than any hangover could.

Bright red eviction notices were taped across the door, along with a thick envelope bearing the seal of the Eastbridge Superior Court.

Sofia peeled it off and read aloud, her voice laced with unease. "You're being sued... by Vincent's former associates."

My heart sank.

Inside, my apartment looked like it had been ransacked, though nothing had been stolen. Not physically, at least. But my identity had been gutted.

The home assistant blinked to life: 

"Your accounts have been frozen pending legal investigation. Please contact your financial institution."

I tore the envelope open with shaky fingers.

There were names I didn't recognize, but the implication was clear: they wanted money. A lot of it. And they didn't care how they got it.

Sofia yanked her phone out, already trying to call someone or anyone who could make sense of this piling mess.

"Your accounts are frozen," she muttered, holding her phone to her ear, her gaze meeting mine. "There's a legal investigation going on. Something about embezzlement. Alexa, what the hell did Vincent do?"

I didn't answer. My eyes were fixed on the door we'd just walked through. I could hear approaching footsteps. Even so, when I heard the door bell ring, I flinched.

With my heart in my throat, I walked to the door and opened it. A man stood there. He was clad in a dark blue suit, his brown tie crooked. He had a black suitcase with him and an awkward expression on his face.

"Alexa Storm?" he asked.

"Yes," I croaked.

"I'm here to discuss the terms of Mr. Vincent Storm's inheritance."

My heart leapt, but only briefly. I ushered him in and he blatantly ignored the mess in the house.

He clicked open his briefcase and placed a file in my hands.

"You are named primary beneficiary, but there are stipulations."

He opened a file. "Clause 19: The recipient must be of sound mental stability and must have exhibited marital fidelity during the duration of the marriage."

I laughed bitterly. "He was a monster."

The lawyer didn't flinch. "That may be. However... there are psychiatric reports submitted by Mr. Storm prior to his death. Surveillance. Witness statements."

He stood. "You've been deemed neither mentally stable nor faithful."

"Is this a joke?" Sofia demanded.

"Unfortunately, no. Until the court concludes otherwise, you are disqualified from claiming the inheritance."

I stared at him in disbelief, my world crashing down for the second time today.

"Oh," he added with a clinical smile, "this came for you as well."

He handed me a sleek black envelope.

I opened it slowly, my trembling hands clutching at the silver letter:

Dinner. 7 PM.

The Cross Estate

-Killian

I dropped the invitation like it had scalded me. This was not the time to get entangled with suspicious strangers.

Sofia caught the letter before it could hit the floor, her eyes widening. "Killian Cross? As in the Killian CROSS?!"

"I don't care," I muttered. "I just want to forget."

I wasn't really sure why Sofia was acting all weird. Besides, I'd never heard that name before.

I was supposed to be celebrating my freedom today, not putting up with all of the bullshits my dead husband had thrown my way.

And that's how we ended up at the club. I drank until my vision blurred and my legs felt like jelly.

Music pounded in my ears as I stumbled towards the back of the club with my stilettos in my hand. "Bathroom," I mumbled to no one.

The world spun around me, faces blurring into streaks of color. I wasn't sure if I was moving forward or if the room was just spinning faster.

The bathroom door was a blur, but I pushed through anyway, slamming it open.

Urinals.

"Shit," I slurred, blinking rapidly.

"Are you lost?" a low, unfamiliar voice asked, from somewhere behind the stall door.

I whirled, swaying on my feet as my eyes locked onto the figure in front of me.

I froze when I saw the owner of the silky voice. He towered above me, his piercing pale blue eyes sparking with unrestrained mischief. Clad in an elegant midnight black three piece suit, his hair was pulled away from his face, the sides shaved low. He smelled of something delicious and insanely attractive—dark amber and cedar. The instant our gazes met, the air sizzled around us. I knew those eyes. I knew him. But at the same time, I was sure I'd never met him before. Even so, why?

Why did he feel so familiar like a torn page from an abandoned journal?

And as though I was under a spell, a name slipped from my lips.

"Killian."

A dark smirk tugged at his lips.

"Hello, Tesora."

"I didn't think we would meet tonight," he said, his voice laced with amusement.

My lips parted, but I couldn't speak or move, an ache piercing through my skull.

He stepped forward, his scent serenading me.

"Or is this where you planned to run into me?"