Chapter Two

ETHAN'S POV

The whiskey in my glass looked the same as it had twenty minutes ago since I got here.

I hadn't touched it. Couldn't bring myself to. I just sat there staring at the amber liquid like it was a puzzle I wanted to solve.

I was supposed to be at home mourning my dead grandma but instead I was at a dive in bar thinking about my life.

The funeral had been three hours ago. My grandmother. The only person in my entire family who'd ever loved me without conditions, without expectations. Without needing something in return.

Gone.

And my family hadn't even waited until she was in the ground before they started tearing each other apart over her money.

The will reading had been brutal. Uncle Richard shouting about how he deserved the estate because he'd visited her every week. Aunt Patricia crying about how she'd sacrificed her career to care for her mother. My cousin James sitting there with that smug expression like he already knew he'd won.

Then the lawyer read the part that changed everything.

Evelyn Kane leaves her entire estate to her grandson, Ethan Kane. The family business shares. The properties, her personal fortune, everything.

The room had gone silent. Then exploded.

But there was a catch. There was always a catch with my family.

I had to be married within six months.

Or everything went to James.

My grandmother knew exactly what she was doing. She knew I'd buried myself in work for ten years. She knew I'd sworn off relationships after watching my parents destroy each other in a loveless arranged marriage that should have ended decades ago.

This was her way of forcing me to build a real life. To stop hiding in my office and to actually live instead of just existing.

And she knew that wouldn't be easy.

I'd come to this dive bar in Brooklyn to clear my head and probably figure out what to do.

But three hours and zero drinks later, I still had nothing. Just the weight of her disappointment pressing down on my chest even though she was gone.

The bar was nearly empty. Just me and the bartender and a couple of regulars who looked like they'd been sitting in the same spots for decades.

Then the door opened and she walked in.

I noticed her immediately, it was hard not to. She looked completely out of place. She had an expensive coat, designer purse.

A face that said she'd never set foot in a place like this before.

She sat down two stools away from me. She didn't look at me, she didn't look at anyone she just stared straight ahead with eyes that were trying very hard not to cry.

"What can I get you?" the bartender asked.

"The strongest thing you have." Her voice was steady but I could hear the cracks underneath.

"And keep them coming."

The bartender poured something into a class and slid it across the bar. She downed it in one swallow without even flinching.

Impressive.

He poured another. She drank that one just as fast.

"Rough night?" he asked.

She laughed. It sounded broken.

"You have no idea."

I watched her out of the corner of my eye. Watched her hands shake as she reached for the third drink.

I watched her blink back tears that she refused to let fall.

Her pretty face looked stressed, oh I forgot that part out, she was goddamn pretty.

The bartender moved away to serve someone else. She sat there alone with her drink.

Before I could think better of it, I spoke.

"Whatever it is, alcohol won't fix it."

She turned to look at me for the first time. Her eyes were dark and wounded and absolutely beautiful.

"I know," she said. "But it might help me forget for a few hours. And right now, that's all I want."

I understood that.

"Fair enough." I raised my untouched glass slightly.

"To forgetting."

She raised hers.

"To forgetting."

We drank. Or rather she did. I still couldn't bring myself to touch mine.

"You're not actually drinking," she observed.

"No."

"Why not?"

Good question.

"If I start, I'm not sure I'll stop."

She nodded like that made perfect sense.

"What are you trying to forget?"

"Family." The word came out bitter.

"You?"

"Same." She signaled for another drink.

"Isn't it funny how the people who are supposed to love you are the ones who hurt you the most?"

It wasn't funny. But it was true.

"My grandmother died today," I found myself saying. I didn't know why I was telling this stranger things I hadn't told anyone.

"She was the only person in my family who actually gave a damn about me. And even dead, she's still trying to control my life."

The woman looked at me.

"I'm sorry. About your grandmother."

"Thanks." I meant it.

"What about you? What brings someone like you to a place like this?"

"Someone like me?" There was an edge to her voice.

"You look like you've never been in a dive bar before. Like you should be at some fancy restaurant or charity gala instead of drinking bottom-shelf whiskey in Brooklyn."

She laughed again. That same broken sound.

"You're right. I shouldn't be here. I should be at home getting ready for my wedding tomorrow. Making sure everything is perfect. Being the perfect bride."

My eyes dropped to her left hand. There was no ring.

"Should be?"

"I caught my fiancé in bed with my sister tonight." She said it flatly. Like she was reading a grocery list.

"In our bed. The night before our wedding. So instead of finalizing seating charts, I'm here getting drunk and trying to figure out how my life became such a disaster."

Shit. "That's rough."

"Yeah." She downed another drink.

"The best part? My family still expects me to marry him tomorrow. For the business merger, for appearances. Like my feelings don't matter at all."

I understood that too. The way some families treated their children like chess pieces. Moving them around to benefit the family name without caring what it cost.

"Marriage is just a business transaction to people like our families," I said.

"Love doesn't factor into it. Just money and power and maintaining the right image."

"Exactly!" She turned to face me fully. Her cheeks were flushed from the alcohol. Her eyes bright with unshed tears.

"My mother literally told me it doesn't matter if he loves me. It matters that he's the right family. The right connections."

"My grandmother's will requires me to be married in six months or I lose everything."

The words spilled out.

"Her entire estate. Billions of dollars. All of it goes to my scheming cousin unless I find someone to marry in the next six months."

"That's insane."

"That's family." I finally picked up my glass. Looked at it and put it back down.

"She thought she was helping. Thought she was forcing me to build a real life instead of hiding behind my work. But all she did was turn marriage into another business transaction I have to navigate."

The woman was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "I'd rather marry a complete stranger than go through with marrying someone who betrayed me."

Something about the way she said it made me look at her. At the determination underneath the pain. At the strength underneath the vulnerability.

"I'd rather marry a complete stranger than play by my family's rules," I said.

Our eyes met. Something passed between us.

"At least a stranger couldn't hurt you," she said quietly.

"Not the way someone you love can."

Then I finally picked up my glass and downed the entire content at one go.

The bartender came back. Poured more drinks. We both downed them without talking.

The alcohol was finally starting to work. Making everything fuzzy around the edges. Making the pain feel distant and manageable.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Olivia." She didn't ask for mine.

"What are you going to do? About the will?"

"I don't know. I'll find a way to be free. But I refuse to play her games even if it means losing everything."

"That's brave."

"That's stubborn." I corrected.

"What about you? About the wedding?"

"I'm not going." She said it with certainty. "I'd rather lose my family than marry someone who doesn't love me. Someone who betrayed me. Who chose my sister over me."

"Good." I meant it.

"You deserve better than that."

"So do you. Better than a marriage that's just a business transaction."

We drank more. The conversation flowed easier now. Lubricated by alcohol and shared misery.

She told me about her fiancé. About giving up her dreams to be what he wanted. About her sister's betrayal. About a lifetime of putting her family's expectations ahead of her own happiness.

I told her about my parents. About watching them tear each other apart in a marriage that was arranged for business. About swearing I'd never let my family do that to me. About building my company from nothing just to prove I didn't need their money or their approval.

Hours passed. We ordered shots, downed them. Laughed at things that weren't funny, made jokes about our terrible families.

"Marriage is a trap," Olivia declared at some point. Her words were slurring slightly.

"Just a way to control people. To keep them in line."

"Agreed." I was definitely drunk now. The room was spinning gently.

"Love is a lie. Family is a trap. Marriage is a business transaction."

"You know what's funny?" She leaned closer.

"We're both being forced to get married. You to keep your inheritance. Me to save face for my family."

"Hilarious." But I was smiling. First time all day.

"We should just marry each other," she said. Then laughed like it was the best joke she'd ever heard.

I laughed too.

"Yeah. Solve both our problems."

"You get your inheritance. I get out of marrying my cheating ex." She was still laughing.

"Perfect solution."

"Except we're strangers."

"Even better." She raised her glass.

"Strangers can't hurt you. Can't betray you. Can't pretend to love you and then sleep with your sister."

I raised mine.

"To marrying strangers instead of playing by family rules."

"To marrying strangers!" she echoed.

We drank, laughed. Made more jokes about our hypothetical stranger marriage.

Then someone at the bar mentioned Vegas. Said something about shows and casinos and wedding chapels.

Olivia's eyes met mine.

"Have you ever been to Vegas?"

"No."

"Me neither." She swayed slightly on her stool.

"Want to go?"

It was insane. Completely insane. We were drunk and broken and making terrible decisions.

"Yes," I heard myself say.