Chapter 2 Bold Play

Abby's POV

My real life, my twenty-five years of experience, was screaming at me! This man was my only way out. It was either him, or I'd be dead again at twenty-five. I'd survived a bullet, a three-story fall, and time itself just to get here. I couldn't be a scared little girl now.

I had to take the chance.

"Can you give me a shot?" I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.

His eyebrow shot up, a trace of dark amusement in his eyes. "A shot?" he repeated, his voice a low, mocking rumble. "You know, I don't usually hit young girls, Ms. Sinclair, no matter how... theatrical they are."

"I'm not a child," I snapped. "I'm twenty."

"Exactly." He didn't even look at me, his gaze fixed on the road, his hands steady on the wheel. He drove with a controlled speed, as if he knew exactly where he was going and nothing in the world could stop him. "You're twenty," he said, his voice dangerously soft. Then, almost to himself, he whispered, "And I'm thirty-seven."

A dark smirk touched his lips. "We met ten minutes ago, Ms. Sinclair. I pulled you out of a very public fire, and now you're... what? Asking for favors? That's a bold play."

"Too much?" I laughed, a bitter, sharp sound that surprised even me. "You're worried about favors? You have no idea what's at stake."

I bit my lip, my mind racing. He was going to dump me at the next corner. I had maybe ten seconds to convince him.

I turned in my seat, facing him fully. "I don't want to marry Nicholas Anderson. Not in this life, not ever." I met his dark, unreadable gaze. "You didn't just 'help me,' Mr. Romano. You're my only way out. So, if you're in the market for a wife... I'm available. And I'm legal."

He literally choked, a harsh cough escaping him as he inhaled his own breath. The Maybach screeched as he slammed on the brakes and swerved to the curb.

He stared at me, his composure finally shattered, as if I'd grown a second head. He rubbed a thumb hard against his temple.

"You... what?" he finally managed, his voice strained with disbelief. "Young heiress, have you completely lost your mind?"

"Maybe," I said, shrugging, the motion jerky. "If I have, do you have a cure?"

I took a deep, shuddering breath. This was it. I had to be bolder. I was desperate.

I would not die at twenty-five. I would not be tangled up with that monster ever again.

He let out a heavy sigh, but before he could form a rejection, I cut him off.

"Of course," I said, my voice sharp, "if you're too scared of him, just say no to my offer."

That wiped the smirk clean off his face. His jaw tightened, and he massaged his temple again.

"I'm not 'scared' of Anderson," he bit out, his voice dangerously low. "But I don't want to get involved in a childish, third-wheel drama."

I raised an eyebrow. "This isn't 'drama,' Mr. Romano. This is a business deal. My family is selling me to him. I just need a new buyer... someone he won't dare to challenge."

His eyes narrowed, clearly surprised by my cold choice of words. "'A new buyer'? Do you realize how arrogant you sound?"

"Maybe." My chin lifted. "But it's the truth. I am not marrying Nicholas Anderson. My family has sealed the deal, and I'm just looking for a loophole. You're my loophole."

He went completely still. The annoyance faded, and the businessman looked back at me. Cold. Calculating.

"A loophole," he repeated. "And what's in it for me?"

"I'll be your wife," I said, my voice finally steady. "I'll be Mrs. Romano."

He just smirked, a slow, condescending curve of his lips. I could see exactly what he was thinking: I was just a crazy, spoiled heiress in over her head. He thought I had nothing left to bargain with.

He was wrong.

"Can I borrow your phone?" I asked, my voice softening just a fraction.

He nodded, handing it over without hesitation. I quickly typed in my number.

"That's my number," I said, passing it back. "I'll be waiting for your call, Mr. Romano."

His eyes glanced at the screen before he pocketed the phone, his attention back on the road. "Where do you want to go?"

"Just take me home. The Sinclair Residence."

He nodded once, his voice laced with dry sarcasm. "Oh, right. The princess's tower."

He drove me to the massive iron gates of the estate. As the car idled, I turned to him. "Hopefully, you won't keep me waiting too long..."

I let a small, challenging smile play on my lips, my 25-year-old self in full control. "I wouldn't mind a trip down to the civil affairs bureau. 'Mrs. Romano' sounds pretty good to me."

I watched his throat move as he swallowed, his mask of cold indifference slipping for just a second. He looked genuinely floored by my arrogance, by how bold I was being.

He just stared for a beat, then gave a single, curt nod. "Have a good night, Ms. Sinclair."

Then he was gone, the Maybach disappearing into the night, leaving me alone on the curb.

The moment I stepped inside the villa, I was hit by a wall of noise. The hallway was buzzing with panicked voices—all of them, I knew, were talking about me.

Suddenly, my half-sister Erina's eyes widened. She spotted me, stormed across the foyer, and grabbed my arm.

"What the fuck have you just done?!" she hissed, her voice a mixture of outrage and panic. "Mom and Dad are losing their minds! You vanished from your own proposal, and you left? With Matteo Romano? Are you completely insane?!"

This, coming from the woman who had been fucking Nicholas behind my back for who knows how long.

I scoffed, pulling my arm from her grasp.

"Oh, yeah," I said, my voice dripping with an exhaustion she mistook for confusion. "I've totally lost it." I leaned in, giving her a cold, sweet smile. "You know what? Why don't you marry him? Hmm?"