Never Have Another Story

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since Wes had announced their elopement to their families. Two weeks since he had insisted she meet him at the courthouse, signed the papers, and sent off staged photographs of a tropical beach wedding that had never happened. Two weeks since she had last seen her husband.

Now, out of the blue, he had called her. Not a text, not an email. His deep, measured voice on the other end of the line, instructing her to come to his office. Immediately.

Vivi barely remembered the cab ride to the Carter Industries. Her mind had been too busy racing through all the possible reasons Wes might suddenly want to see her. Had he changed his mind about ignoring her? Or, she dared to hope, was this the start of something real between them?

Their marriage had been an arrangement, something their families had quietly orchestrated. Their fathers had been business partners for decades, always toying with the idea of merging their companies. In the end, it seemed the easiest way to bind their empires together was through their children and grandchildren.

Wes had agreed because he’d been promised the CEO position as soon as their marriage was secured. Vivienne had agreed because she had been infatuated with Weston Carter since she was eighteen, when she had first seen him at one of her mother’s garden parties.

She had been hopelessly naive back then, believing that admiration could turn into something more. That if she stood close enough, smiled brightly enough, he would see her.

But he never had. Not really.

Now, she stood in the vast marble-floored reception area of the Carter building’s fiftieth floor, the weight of her decision pressing into her chest like a stone. She adjusted the strap of her pale sundress, touched her light strawberry-blonde curls once more and stepped toward the front desk.

The secretary, a stunning woman with sleek dark hair and piercing blue eyes, barely spared her a glance before raising an unimpressed brow.

"I’m here to see my husband," Vivi said, her voice stronger than she felt. "Vivienne Aldridge."

Technically, it should have been Vivienne Carter, but Wes had been adamant that she not take his name. And since he had kept the only copy of their marriage certificate, she hadn’t been able to change it anyway.

The woman didn’t bother responding. Instead, she pressed a button on the intercom. A beat of silence, then a crackle.

“He’ll see you now.”

Vivi swallowed hard, her heart hammering as she made her way toward the large double doors at the end of the hall.

Inside, the office was all sleek lines and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. The man seated behind the heavy marble desk was just as breathtaking as she remembered.

Weston Carter had always been a commanding presence. His tailored charcoal suit accentuated his lean, athletic frame. His sandy blond hair was effortlessly styled, a few stray strands falling onto his forehead. His hazel eyes—sharp and calculating—were fixed on the screen in front of him, brows drawn in concentration.

He held up a single finger, a silent instruction for her to wait.

Vivienna stopped mid-step, nearly stumbling over her own feet. Heat bloomed in her cheeks. She clenched her hands at her sides, willing herself to stay composed.

A few agonizing moments passed before he finally turned in his chair, loosening his tie with one hand as his gaze landed on her.

"Right," he exhaled, as if they had been in the middle of a mundane conversation rather than a two-week silence. "You’re willing to create this ‘heir’, then?"

The words hit her like a slap.

Vivi’s breath caught in her throat, her body going rigid. She had imagined a hundred different reasons for his call, but never this. Not the cold, transactional nature of it.

“I—” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "Yes."

Maybe this was his way of opening up. Maybe this was how it started between them. She had spent years imagining what it would be like to be his, to have him look at her as something more than an obligation. If this was the only way, she would take it.

Wes sighed, pushing back from his desk. The chair creaked as he stood, but he didn’t step toward her.

“Fine.” His tone was clipped, impersonal. "Take off your panties and leave them on that chair."

The request—no, the command—made the air evaporate from her lungs.

"W-what?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper, a nervous laugh laced with disbelief.

He looked up, his expression unreadable. "You said you were willing. I have ten minutes before my next meeting. If you’ve changed your mind, I’ll tell our families you refused to consummate the marriage and we can file for divorce. No problem."

His nonchalance was a second, deeper slap.

Vivienne’s heart pounded. Was that really it? A deal that could be made and broken with the same detached tone he might discuss the weather?

She swallowed hard, her gaze darting to the massive windows that framed the city. Then back to him. To the man she had loved for so long.

If she said no now, would that be the end? Would he never even try? She’d read enough romance novels, picturing Wes, to hope this might be enjoyable.

Her fingers trembled as she reached beneath the hem of her dress, the lace of her panties cool against her skin. She hesitated. But then, with deliberate movements, she stepped out of them, folding the delicate scrap of fabric and placing it neatly on the chair in front of his desk.

She straightened. Waiting, hoping, for some flicker of emotion from him.

But there was nothing. No heat, no anticipation. Just indifference as he opened a drawer and retrieved a half-used bottle of lubricant, tossing it to her without ceremony.

She flinched, barely managing to catch it.

“Put that on and bend over the desk,” he said.

Her breath hitched.

And she would never have another story, of how she lost her virginity.