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CHAPTER 2 — "A Marriage That Can't Be Undone"

Author: Sunkissed
last update publish date: 2026-06-23 00:13:53

Naomi's POV

My name is Naomi Bridges and I am twenty-six years old and I have made some questionable decisions in my life.

There was the time I dyed my hair red and it came out the color of a traffic cone. There was the time I quit my stable accounting job to freelance and ate instant noodles for three months straight. There was the time I lent my entire savings to my cousin who was going to "definitely pay me back."

But standing in the bridal suite of Saint Bridget's Cathedral, still wearing a pinned dress that was slowly losing the battle against my hips, having just legally married a man whose last name I didn't even know...

This one might be the worst.

I pulled the veil off my head and finally got a proper look at myself in the mirror. Flushed cheeks. Smudged liner. Hair that had given up halfway through the ceremony. The dress was beautiful, honestly, all ivory lace and sweeping fabric but it had been made for someone leaner and the pins at the back were the only reason I hadn't caused a completely different kind of scene at the altar.

I'd spent my whole life being the girl who almost fit. Almost pretty enough. Almost slim enough. Almost good enough.

Today I was apparently almost somebody's wife.

I pressed my fingers to my temples.

Think, Naomi. Think.

Mrs. Patel had vanished the moment the ceremony ended, dissolving into the crowd like smoke. The screaming woman from the doorway had been quietly escorted out by two men in dark suits before I could get close enough to ask her anything. And the groom... my husband... had walked out of the cathedral without a single word or backward glance, like marrying a stranger was a mild inconvenience he'd deal with later.

I was still sitting in the bridal suite forty minutes later, shoes off, when the door opened.

I straightened fast.

It wasn't him.

It was an older man in a grey suit carrying a leather briefcase that looked older than both of us combined. Wire-rimmed glasses. Silver hair combed back neatly. The kind of face that had spent decades delivering news people didn't want to hear and had made peace with that.

He stepped inside, closed the door and set his briefcase on the vanity table.

"Miss Bridges," he said.

I blinked. "You know my name?"

"I know quite a bit." He clicked the briefcase open. "My name is Mr. Adeyemi. I am the family lawyer for the Holt estate."

Holt.

I turned the name over in my head. Holt.

Holt?!

As in... Adrian Holt? That Holt? The one whose face appeared on the cover of Forbes two years running? The one who'd rebuilt his late father's company into a multi-billion dollar empire before he was thirty?

I had just married Adrian Holt.

I laughed. Not a happy laugh. The kind that escapes when your brain simply cannot hold the information it's been given.

Mr. Adeyemi did not laugh. He pulled a thick document from the briefcase and set it flat on the table in front of me.

"I'll be direct," he said. "The Holt inheritance contract, drawn up by Mr. Adrian Holt's late father, contains a specific clause." He tapped the page. "Mr. Holt must be legally married before his thirty-first birthday or controlling interest of Holt Industries transfers to the board."

I stared at him. "When does he turn thirty-one?"

"Tomorrow."

The room felt very small suddenly.

"So if he annuls this..."

"He loses everything." Mr. Adeyemi folded his hands. "The marriage must remain legally intact for a minimum of one year. Any attempt to dissolve it before then triggers the clause automatically."

I looked down at the document. At the signature already on the bottom of the page.

Mine.

Signed before the ceremony, buried inside the stack of papers Mrs. Patel had shoved at me with a cheerful “just standard stand-in paperwork, don't worry about it, sign here, here and here."

I had signed my own marriage contract without reading it.

I needed to start reading things.

"Miss Bridges." Mr. Adeyemi closed the briefcase with a soft click. "I suggest you get some rest. A car will take you to the Holt residence within the hour."

He walked out as calmly as he'd walked in and left me sitting there with my shoes off and my pins digging in and the full weight of what had just happened settling over me like a ten-tonne wedding cake.

The door opened again almost immediately.

This time it was him.

Adrian Holt filled the doorway the way important men always did, like the room had been waiting for them to arrive. He'd removed his jacket and his tie was loosened and he looked at me the way you look at a problem you haven't figured out how to solve yet.

His eyes moved over me once. Not unkindly. Not kindly either. Just... assessing. Clinical. Like I was a clause in a contract.

Which, technically, I now was.

"You spoke to Adeyemi," he said. Not a question.

"He came to me actually," I said. "I was just sitting here having a quiet breakdown."

Nothing. Not even a flicker.

I cleared my throat. "So you knew about the clause?"

"I knew about the clause," he said. "I did not know about you."

"Join the club."

He stepped inside and moved to the window, hands in his pockets, looking out at the cathedral gardens below. The silence stretched between us like taffy.

I watched the side of his face. Sharp jaw. Long lashes. The kind of handsome that must make life significantly easier in every room except this one.

Finally he turned.

"I need a year," he said simply. "One year and I will make it worth your time financially. You will want for nothing. After twelve months, we dissolve this quietly and you walk away with enough money to rebuild whatever life you want."

I should have said yes immediately. I should have smiled and nodded and counted my blessings.

Instead I heard myself ask, "Who was she? The real bride?"

Something shifted behind his eyes. Just slightly. Just for a second.

"That is not your concern."

"I wore her dress," I said. "I spoke her vows. I think it's a little bit my concern."

His jaw tightened.

"Her name is Vivienne Cole. She was... a prior arrangement." He said the last two words like they tasted stale. "She chose not to appear."

I nodded slowly. Something told me that wasn't the whole truth but I also didn't have the energy to pull at that thread tonight.

He crossed to the door, paused with his hand on the frame and looked back at me one final time.

"Looks like we're husband and wife."

A pause.

"Don't mistake that for love."

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