Chapter 3

AVA

He smiled, clearly catching the recognition in my eyes.

“Think nothing of it, princess,” he said casually. “Just a strange coincidence. I’m running from something, same as you. That’s probably why we both ended up here.”

He tilted his head. “Wait… you don’t actually think I followed you here because of an earring, do you?”

He laughed before I could respond, and waved the bartender over. “A bourbon, neat. And another for the lady if she’s not done running from life yet.”

I watched him closely. Too calm. Too confident. It felt... off.

“Seriously?” I asked slowly, the doubt clear in my voice. “You just happened to be in Vegas… at the exact same bar I stumbled into?”

He met my gaze without blinking.

“Stranger things have happened.”

I didn’t fully buy it, but I was too exhausted to argue.

“So,” I said, tracing the rim of my glass. “Since we met at my wedding, I’m guessing you’ve heard the gossip.”

He raised his drink and clinked it gently against mine. “You mean the most expensive live scandal in Manhattan history? Hard to miss.”

That made me laugh—small, dry, real.

I took a sip, then looked at him seriously. “Why do people stay in things they know are wrong?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he asked, “Why did you?”

The question hit harder than I expected. I didn’t want to open up to a total stranger, but somehow, I found myself talking.

“I feel like I’m standing in the middle of a fire,” I whispered, staring into my nearly empty glass, “and everyone expects me to keep twirling.”

He said nothing. Just sat beside me, silent and steady, like someone who understood the weight of burning alive.

Then, his voice dropped low, calm but sure.

“Then stop twirling.”

A laugh escaped my chest—sharp, surprised, real.

He nodded at the bartender. “Another for her. One for me.”

The bartender poured two shots without a word. He’d seen enough broken people tonight to know we weren’t looking for conversation.

I picked up my drink, turning it in my hand. “You always give strangers therapy at hotel bars?”

He sipped his whiskey. “Only the ones who look like they haven’t taken a breath in years.”

My smile faded. Something about the way he said that… cut too close.

I drank again. The tequila warmed my throat, then my chest, then every place inside me that felt cold.

He didn’t say a word, just watched me with that quiet intensity.

“My father built an empire on manipulation and lies,” I said. “And I was his favorite puppet.”

There was no judgment in his eyes. Just something I didn’t expect, understanding.

I tilted my head slightly. “What about you?”

He hesitated. Only for a moment.

“Let’s just say I know what it feels like to be used by someone who’s supposed to protect you.”

That hit me harder than I wanted to admit. 

A few minutes later, we were both laughing. Honest, tipsy laughter that came from something raw, stupid, and painfully human. I couldn’t remember the last time I laughed and actually meant it.

His smile reached his eyes, soft and real. But when he looked at me, really looked, something changed.

I felt it first in my chest. Then lower.

We leaned in slowly, like we didn’t have a choice.

His forehead brushed mine. He was close, but waiting for me to pull back.

I didn’t..

His fingers touched my cheek, light as air. My skin warmed under his touch. My heart started pounding.

I didn’t realize how close we were until I felt his breath.

Then he kissed me.

It was soft at first. Careful.

I didn’t pull back. My hand found the back of his neck and held him there, needing more.

He let out a low sound against my lips. That sound went straight through me.

The kiss deepened. His mouth moved slower, more certain. Our tongues met. My fingers curled in his hair.

Then he pulled back, breath unsteady.

“Shit,” he muttered.

His eyes searched mine, then flicked down to my mouth again. “That wasn’t planned.”

My lips parted. I exhaled a shaky breath, nodding slightly. “I figured.”

We both laughed, awkward, unsure. He scratched the back of his neck. I looked down, biting my lip.

Neither of us stepped away.

“I wasn’t going to kiss anyone tonight,” he said, not meeting my eyes.

I smirked faintly. “Guess you failed.”

“Guess I did,” he murmured, still smiling, still flushed.

Our eyes met again.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, voice husky.

I nodded.

We didn’t even make it to the bed properly. The door slammed behind us, and his hands were all over me, gripping my waist, sliding up my thighs, pushing my back against the wall like he couldn’t decide what to touch first. I grabbed his shirt, struggling with the buttons, then gave up and pulled until he yanked it off himself. His chest was solid, warm, and I didn’t stop to admire it.

His mouth hit my neck, and I gasped.

“God…”

He pulled back just enough to growl in my ear. “No. Just Roman.”

That made me moan. I didn’t mean to, but it slipped out, rough and helpless.

He lifted me in one quick motion. I wrapped around him without thinking. He carried me across the room, mouths still locked, his body pinning mine to the bed as we hit it in a rush.

“I need this,” I whispered.

“You have no idea,” he growled, reaching for my dress.

He didn’t undress me gently. He stripped me down like he’d waited too long already. My dress hit the floor. His eyes roamed my body like he wanted to memorize everything.

“You’re insane,” I whispered.

“You’re perfect,” he said, kissing down my chest.

His mouth closed over my nipple, sucking while his hand played with the other. I arched into him, grabbed his hair, whispered his name without meaning to.

“More,” I begged.

He moved lower. Down my stomach. Then between my thighs.

When his tongue touched me, I gasped.

My legs trembled. I couldn’t stay still. His hands held me open while his mouth kept devouring me, like he knew exactly how close I was and didn’t want to stop until I came undone right there.

“You taste like trouble,” he muttered.

I moaned so loud, I didn’t care who heard. My head dropped back. The orgasm hit hard, fast and loud, and I had to grab the sheets just to stay grounded.

But he wasn’t done.

He kissed up my body, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked me dead in the eye.

“Last chance to say no,” he said, breathing hard.

I grabbed his face and pulled him back down. “Shut up and fuck me.”

He didn’t hesitate. He slid into me in one deep, slow stroke.

I gasped, legs tightening around him. He swore under his breath, forehead dropping to mine. We didn’t move at first, just stayed like that, locked together, trying to breathe.

Then he pulled back and started to move, each thrust harder than the last. I matched him, lifting my hips to meet him, chasing every second of it. My nails dragged down his back. He kissed me rough and messy, like he couldn’t get close enough.

We didn’t talk. There were just moans, curses, the sound of skin, the bed creaking under us, and his name breaking from my lips over and over.

When I came again, it hit me so hard I bit his shoulder. He didn’t stop. He followed right after, burying himself deep, groaning like he’d lost his mind.

We collapsed together, chests heaving.

No words. Just silence.

And somewhere in that chaos, I felt it—quiet, stupid, terrifying.

Safe.

---

I woke up with a heavy head and the taste of stale tequila on my tongue. The sunlight pouring through the thin curtains made everything worse. I shifted, feeling unfamiliar sheets tangled around my legs. My body ached, and my head throbbed with each second.

Then I saw it.

A ring.

A simple, silver band sat on my finger. Cheap. Small. And definitely not mine.

My heart skipped.

My breath caught as I sat up.

Then the memories came. Scattered. Wild.

The bar. Tequila. His voice, Roman. The way he laughed. The way he touched me. The way we kissed like we were burning.

Then it came in sharper flashes.

A chapel. Neon lights. My voice, slurred and reckless: “Let’s get married.”

His reply: “Okay.”

The officiant mumbling vows. Roman sliding a ring onto my finger. Me giggling. Signing something without thinking. Our hands locked. More kisses. The hotel room.

My stomach twisted.

I turned and saw a folded piece of paper on the nightstand.

I picked it up with shaking hands.

Certificate of Marriage

Bride: Ava Morgan

Groom: Roman King

Filed. Legal. Official.

I stood still, the paper trembling in my hand. The ring on my finger suddenly felt heavier.

Roman…..King.

The name echoed in my head like a warning bell.

I didn’t know why it felt familiar, but it did, like a half-forgotten nightmare clawing its way back to the surface.

My eyes snapped to the television mounted on the wall across the room. It was playing some business news segment, the sound barely audible. A ticker rolled across the bottom of the screen.

Then I saw it.

His face.

Roman.

My breath caught as I stumbled across the room and grabbed the remote. My fingers fumbled with the buttons until the volume blasted through the silence.

“…confirmed: Roman King, CEO of King Holdings, is believed to be behind the shocking exposé that ruined Ava Morgan’s wedding last night…”

I froze.

“…Sources say the leaked video of Julian Crest’s affair was only the first strike. King Holdings has officially pulled out of the merger with Morgan Luxe, sending Edward Morgan’s empire into freefall. Stock is down nearly fifty percent…”

The image shifted to a video of Roman standing at a press event, calm and collected in a tailored black suit, answering questions like none of this was personal.

“…was it worth it?” a reporter asked from the crowd. “Dragging Ava Morgan into your war with her father?”

Roman gave a half-smile. “I don’t regret revealing the truth. Some things need to burn before anything new can rise.”

The room swayed.

I backed up slowly, heart pounding.

I had married him.

Roman King, my father’s biggest rival.

The man who destroyed my wedding, my name, and my charity.

I staggered back, my heart thudding so loud I couldn’t hear anything else.

The shock tightened around my chest like a rope. My knees buckled slightly. I sat on the edge of the bed, the room spinning.

My mouth opened, but no words came.

The weight of everything slammed into me at once.

The ring on my finger. The name on the certificate. His face on the screen.

My chest tightened, breath caught in my throat.

Then, barely audible, the words slipped out of me,

“What the hell have I done?”