2

Aria’s Pov

 

"Lander Storm."

"Lander Storm."

"Lander Storm."

 

The name played on a loop in my head like a broken record, haunting every corner of my mind. I sat on the edge of my bed, staring blankly at the wall as my father’s words from the study replayed over and over. Of all the men in this world, why did it have to be him?

 

I could never forget my first year of college. I was a girl with a heart as fragile as glass, and I had a crush—no, it was a painful, desperate obsession—with Lander. I remembered the day I finally gathered enough courage to confess my feelings. I was standing there, trembling, holding a handwritten letter in front of him and his laughing friends. He didn't even bother to read it. He just smirked, looked me up and down, and said loud enough for everyone to hear: "I’m sorry, but I don’t date charity cases. Besides, I already have a girlfriend."

 

That was the most humiliating day of my life. The echoes of my classmates' laughter still stung my ears five years later. From that moment on, I vowed to erase him from my world. And now, he was supposed to be my husband?

 

"Dad, no! He has a girlfriend!" I had shouted back at my father in the study. "And besides, he’s my ex-crush... the one who treated me like absolute trash!"

 

"So? What if he has a girlfriend?" my father had replied, his voice cold and practical. "This is a one-year contract. You aren't marrying for love, Aria. You’re marrying for the survival of this family."

 

"So you’re making me the 'other woman' in their relationship? Why not Laurence? At least his brother is a decent human being!"

 

"Laurence is too busy handling the London branches," Dad sighed, rubbing his temples. "The Storms insisted on Lander. It’s him or no one."

 

I gripped my bedsheets until my knuckles turned white. "What a miserable life," I whispered to the empty room. If life wanted to turn me into a pawn in this game, fine. But I wasn't that helpless girl anymore.

 

***

 

[Lander  Pov ]

 

"Harder, Lander! Don't stop... ahhh!"

 

Irish’s moans echoed against the marble walls of my private pool area. The water was warm, but the heat between our bodies was searing. I gripped the edge of the pool, losing myself in the rhythm, using the physical sensation to drown out the constant boredom of my life. We had been at it for what felt like ten rounds, and as the tension finally snapped, we both collapsed against the edge, gasping for air.

 

I climbed out of the pool, the water dripping off my muscles, and grabbed a towel.

 

"F*ck, Lander... one more time?" Irish whispered, watching me with eyes full of lingering desire.

 

I poured myself a drink, the amber liquid burning my throat. "Are you ever satisfied, Irish? We’ve been at this all day."

 

"I can't help it," she pouted, swimming toward the steps. "Maybe if you made me pregnant, I'd finally be satisfied. Would you marry me then?"

 

I chuckled, a cold, hollow sound. "I’d take responsibility, sure. But I’m nineteen, Irish. A second-year college student is way too young to be playing house. I have an empire to inherit first, and I’m not tying myself down to anyone."

 

My phone buzzed on the glass table. A text from my father: "Come to my office right now. We have a family matter to discuss. No excuses."

 

An hour later, I was standing in my father’s scent-heavy office. He didn't even look up from his papers as he dropped the bomb. "You’re getting married, Lander. It’s a one-year contract with the Montefalcos. We need their influence, and they need our capital."

 

I froze in my tracks, a sarcastic smirk creeping onto my face. "A contract? You’re selling me off? Why not Laurence? He’s the 'golden son' you’re always bragging about."

 

My father finally looked up, his gaze icy. "This marriage was originally meant for Laurence. But Laurence is stuck in London. The Montefalcos won't wait. So, you are going to be his substitute. You will marry the girl and play the part for one year until your brother is ready to take over."

 

My jaw tightened. A substitute? I was being used as a placeholder for my own brother. The insult stung more than the marriage itself.

 

"And who is the lucky girl?" I asked, my voice dripping with venom. "Is it Aria? That mousy girl who followed me around like a lost puppy in freshman year?"

 

"Yes, Aria," my father said, returning to his work. "The papers are being drafted. Try to look like a man worth marrying at the dinner tomorrow."

 

I walked out of the office, my blood boiling. If Aria was desperate enough to accept a 'substitute' husband just to stay a Montefalco, I would give her exactly what she deserved. I would make sure this year was a living nightmare. Having my name wouldn't be a dream for her—it would be the biggest curse of her life.