Chapter 1 – Waking Up Married

LENA

The first thing I felt was the pounding in my head.

The second thing I felt was the weight on my finger.

I groaned, burying my face into the ridiculously soft pillow beneath me. The air smelled faintly of expensive cologne and something else I couldn’t place—clean, masculine, dangerous. My mouth was dry, my brain foggy, and I swore the pounding in my skull was loud enough to shake the room.

Please tell me I didn’t do anything stupid last night.

Slowly, like ripping off a band-aid, I pried one eye open.

This… was not my hotel room.

I was staring at a ceiling that looked like it belonged in a palace. There was a chandelier. A literal chandelier. The sheets under my body were silk, the comforter weighed more than my entire body, and the room was big enough to host a wedding reception.

Oh God.

Sitting up too quickly was a mistake—I winced as the pounding in my head doubled, gripping my temples. I looked down at myself and almost choked.

I was wearing nothing but a man’s white dress shirt, unbuttoned at the top, the sleeves rolled up sloppily like someone had shoved me into it. And on my left hand… a massive diamond ring winked at me.

Not a cute, fun Vegas “ha-ha” plastic ring. No. This thing was heavy, glittering, real. Six carats at least, sitting there like a neon sign screaming Congratulations, idiot!

My heart stopped.

I scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over the sheets tangled around my legs. That’s when I saw it—on the sleek glass nightstand beside the bed.

A piece of paper.

My hand shook as I picked it up, and my eyes scanned the bold print across the top.

Marriage Certificate.

Filed in Clark County, Nevada. Dated yesterday.

And in black ink, my messy, slanted signature at the bottom.

Beside it… his.

Roman Wolfe.

I had no idea who the hell Roman Wolfe was, but according to this piece of paper, I was now Mrs. Lena Wolfe.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, my voice cracking in the silence.

I pressed a hand to my forehead, trying to breathe through the panic flooding my chest. Okay. Okay, Lena, think. What’s the last thing you remember?

The night before was a blur of neon lights, music too loud, and alcohol that tasted like candy until it hit my system like a freight train. I remembered shots. So many shots. My best friend daring me to flirt with the guy at the bar.

The guy with the dark hair. The sharp jawline. The eyes that had practically burned through me from across the room.

My stomach flipped. Him.

Flashes came back in pieces: his low laugh against my ear, the way his hand fit perfectly against the small of my back, how the world tilted when he kissed me. I remembered a car, then lights, then… a chapel?

Oh, God.

I looked down at the certificate again, my heart racing. This wasn’t a joke. This wasn’t a prank. I had actually, legally, married a stranger in Las Vegas.

And he was still here.

Because on the other side of the bed, I saw the outline of him under the sheets.

My breath caught in my throat.

Even in sleep, he was impossible to ignore. The sheet barely covered his torso, leaving golden skin and carved muscles exposed to the morning light filtering through the curtains. His hair was messy, his jaw shadowed with stubble, his lips slightly parted like he didn’t have a care in the world.

I did. I had several.

Every nerve in my body screamed at me to run, but my eyes refused to move away from him. Whoever he was, he wasn’t just attractive. Attractive was too small a word. He was devastating. He looked like someone who belonged on the cover of Forbes magazine, not passed out in a Vegas hotel suite next to me.

I swallowed hard, clutching the certificate like it was proof I hadn’t lost my mind completely.

Roman Wolfe. Thirty-six, maybe thirty-seven? Older, definitely. Wealthy, obviously. And apparently… my husband.

What the hell had I done?

The reality of it pressed down on me like a weight. My mom was going to kill me. No—first she’d faint, then she’d kill me. I could already hear her voice in my head. Lena, how could you be so reckless? Do you even know this man? What kind of example are you setting?

Tears stung my eyes, though I forced them back. Crying wouldn’t help. I needed to fix this. Fast.

I glanced at the nightstand again, searching for answers. Beside the certificate sat two empty champagne flutes, a crumpled veil, and a hotel key card. The veil made my stomach lurch. I actually wore that. I actually went through with it.

I pressed my hands to my face, groaning.

A movement from the bed made me freeze.

The man—Roman—shifted slightly, stretching an arm across the sheets where I’d been lying only moments before. His brow furrowed, like even in sleep he knew something was missing.

Panic surged through me. If he woke up, what would I say? “Hey, thanks for the wedding, I’m gonna go now”? I wasn’t ready for that conversation.

Heart hammering, I grabbed my purse from the floor, shoving the certificate inside like evidence of a crime. My clothes were scattered across the room, but there was no time to change. I tightened the belt on the oversized shirt I was wearing and prayed I could slip out unnoticed.

My bare feet padded across the carpet toward the door. I was one step away from freedom when I heard it—his voice.

Low, rough, still heavy with sleep.

“Running already, Mrs. Wolfe?”

I froze.

Every muscle in my body locked up as the words hit me. Slowly, I turned my head.

He was awake now, propped on one elbow, watching me with eyes that were darker than I remembered. Sharp, knowing, and far too alert for someone who had just been asleep.

The corner of his mouth curved into something between a smirk and a challenge.

And just like that, my escape plan crumbled to dust.