Chapter Five

~Adrian

“What exactly do you want from me?” I asked.

And she didn’t hesitate.

“I want to marry you.”

I blinked repeatedly.

Was she insane?

“Is this how you usually pick up guys at a bar?” I asked, already getting pissed off.

She straightened, seriousness marked into her features.

“My name is Emilia,” she said. “I’m twenty-three. I just graduated from college. I make my own money.

“I’m super funny,” she said, almost too quickly, like she was nervous but trying not to show it.

Her fingers tugged at the edge of her sleeve, and her lips curled into a half-smile.

“I bet I could even get a smile out of that cranky face of yours.”

I didn’t move. Just stared.

But she didn’t back down.

Her voice dropped a little—quiet, not dramatic—just real. Like she meant it.

“And above all…”

Her eyes stayed locked on mine, still and unblinking, a soft seriousness settling between us.

“I think I’d make the perfect wife.”

She wasn’t kidding.

She was either reckless or desperate… or maybe, just maybe, she was the exact kind of chaos I needed.

“Perhaps a flash marriage can get me out of my trouble,” I murmured, mostly to myself.

I studied her again.

“You’re not messing with me, are you?” I asked, my voice low, nearly a growl.

“No. I’m not.”

Silence stretched between us.

I could still walk away.

I should’ve.

But something tethered me.

“Meet me at Province Hall tomorrow. Ten a.m.,” I said.

I saw her freeze. Her breath caught—just slightly.

“Bring your ID with you.”

I didn’t wait for a response. I turned and walked out.

---

~Emilia

I stood there for a moment, blinking at the now-empty doorway.

He’d really just said that. Province Hall. Ten a.m.

My heart slammed in my chest, wild and fast.

What just happened?

I turned, my steps floating back to our booth as if I wasn’t entirely in control of my legs.

Valerie looked up, her cocktail halfway to her mouth.

“Well?” She looked at me inquisitively.

I slid into the seat across from her, dazed, my fingers tightening around the stem of my glass.

“He took the bait,” I said.

And I didn’t know whether to laugh or panic.

---

City Courthouse

The crisp, tiled floor echoed under my heels as I walked through the entrance of the courthouse—bigger and more beautiful than the one I had wanted to get married in earlier.

In my hands, I held a bouquet of roses.

Flowers.

My hand slightly trembled.

My dress clung to me like water, a white crepe gown that glittered with every step.

I knew I looked good.

That was the plan.

Adrian’s voice sliced through the air before I even saw him.

“What took you so long?”

His tone was sharp, angry, and impatient.

He stood tall, perfectly composed, in a black suit that hugged his broad shoulders.

His hands were tucked into his pockets, but everything about him radiated restrained tension.

I won’t lie—he was looking so hot and stunning.

“I’ve been waiting here for almost an hour.”

I rolled my eyes, unbothered.

“Aww… you missed me already?” I teased, raising an eyebrow.

His expression didn’t shift.

“Let me make this clear to you,” he said, voice hard. “I’m only getting married to you to get away from the arranged marriage my parents set up. In three months, we’ll get divorced.”

Every word from his mouth was cold, unfeeling, and final.

“And also, you’re young,” he added, gaze sliding down to my heels, then back up to my face. “I don’t wish to waste your time.”

I tipped my head slightly.

“I can decide what to do with my time, Adrian.”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t blink.

Just turned slightly toward the waiting judge.

“Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

---

The civil ceremony didn’t take a lot of time.

I barely registered the vows, the judge’s voice, or even the clicking of the camera that took our official wedding photos.

My body was there, but my mind kept trying to imagine what three months with this man would look like.

Cold.

Quiet.

Controlled.

My fingers brushed over the crisp paper of the marriage certificate as I took a glance at it.

That’s when I noticed something.

“The last name here is different,” I murmured, frowning slightly. “Why does it say ‘Jefferson’? I thought your surname was Thompson.”

He barely reacted.

“That’s my mother’s maiden name.”

Something inside me buzzed—instinct, maybe.

That answer didn’t sit right.

But I didn’t press.

Not yet.

He reached into his pocket and handed me a business card.

“I’ll be busy with work. Don’t bother calling unless it’s important.”

I blinked.

“I thought we’d be staying together as a couple.”

He gave me a dry look.

“I don’t share my space with strangers.”

I swallowed hard.

“I’m not a stranger. I’m your wife. Besides… my family kicked me out. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

He paused. Then reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a set of keys.

“Fine. Here are my house keys. But don’t touch anything that’s mine.”

And just like that, he walked away—slipping into his gleaming Rolls-Royce without so much as a goodbye.

---

I stood alone on the courthouse steps, keys in one hand, marriage certificate in the other.

I was married, but I felt more alone than ever.

---

The ride to his villa was quiet.

I stared out the window as the city blurred past, my thoughts spinning like a carousel.

When we pulled up to his home, I inhaled sharply.

The mansion looked ravishing and screamed luxury.

A sleek white building with large glass windows. The lawn nearly mowed to perfection.

I stepped out, my heels clicking against the smooth pavement as I walked through the entrance.

I rang the doorbell.

Immediately, a tall, middle-aged woman opened the door and greeted me in a crisp white chef’s uniform.

“Welcome, Mrs. Thompson,” she said warmly, taking my small suitcase.

“Please, let me show you to your room.”

---

The moment I stepped inside, cool air brushed against my skin.

The interior was even more stunning than the outside—white tiled floors, a grand spiral staircase that looked like it belonged in a palace.

She led me upstairs, my heart pounding with every step.

The bedroom was a masterpiece with thick furniture.

Everything was perfect—curtains made of heavy, rich fabric.

The bed was large and inviting, and the pillows piled high created a nest of comfort.

Still clutching my bouquet, I turned to the woman.

“What’s your name?”

“Ariana,” she replied with a kind smile. “I’ve worked here for seven years. If you need anything, I’ll be

in the kitchen.”

“Thank you,” I almost whispered.

A message from Valerie.

“ You did it. He actually married you. Now make sure you get what we came for before he finds out who you really are”.

My stomach twisted