Mistake

Chapter 1:

(Sophia’s POV)

A dull, persistent ache pounded in my head as I shifted in bed, groaning softly. My limbs felt heavy, my mouth dry, and my body unnaturally warm. The distinct scent of luxury sheets mixed with something richer—musky, masculine—lingered in the air.

I inhaled deeply, blinking against the harsh sunlight streaming through the enormous windows. The world around me came into focus, but something felt… off.

This wasn’t my bedroom.

A sinking feeling settled in my stomach.

Slowly, I turned my head.

And that was when I saw him.

A man—**shirtless, with chiseled abs and tousled dark hair—**lay beside me. His sculpted chest rose and fell evenly, his strong jawline relaxed in sleep, his lips slightly parted. Everything about him screamed power, wealth, and dominance.

And he was in my bed.

My heart pounded as realization slammed into me.

Oh my God. What did I do?

I shot up in bed, clutching the silk sheets to my chest. Panic surged through my veins as I took in my surroundings. A lavish hotel suite—marble floors, high ceilings, modern art pieces decorating the walls. I wasn’t in my tiny apartment in New York. I was in Vegas.

And then I saw it.

A diamond ring.

Glinting on my finger.

My breath hitched. No. No, no, no. This can’t be happening.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying desperately to piece together the fragments of last night. The casino, the flashing lights, the endless supply of drinks…

Lila. My best friend, Lila, had dragged me out last night, determined to make me “live a little.” I had protested—at first. But after a few drinks, the world had taken on a dreamlike haze, and suddenly, everything had seemed fun, exciting… dangerous.

And then—

Flashes of memories surged back.

A dance. Strong hands gripping my waist, pulling me close.

A deep, intoxicating voice whispering in my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

The glimmering lights of a wedding chapel.

Laughter.

Lips brushing against mine.

A firm grip on my waist as I stumbled into a limousine.

My stomach lurched.

Oh, hell.

The man beside me stirred.

I went rigid, barely daring to breathe as his brow furrowed slightly, his lashes fluttering against his sharp cheekbones before his eyes finally opened. Piercing blue. Intense.

For a moment, he simply stared at me, his expression unreadable. Then, realization dawned on his face, followed by something else—mild irritation.

“Great,” he muttered, his voice deep and slightly raspy from sleep. He raked a hand through his messy dark hair. “You’re awake.”

I swallowed hard. Who the hell was he?

“Who… who are you?” I croaked. My throat was dry, my voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze sharpened, studying me as if he was debating whether to be amused or annoyed. Finally, in a tone that sent an involuntary shiver down my spine, he said,

“Damien Lancaster.”

My blood ran cold.

No way.

Damien Lancaster—the Damien Lancaster—was a billionaire, a ruthless CEO, and one of the most eligible bachelors in New York. He was constantly in the headlines, known for his brilliant business acumen and complete lack of interest in relationships.

And somehow…

I had married him.

I felt the room tilt slightly, dizziness washing over me. My fingers dug into the sheets as I struggled to steady my breath.

This can’t be real. Maybe I was still dreaming—still trapped in some alcohol-fueled nightmare.

But then Damien moved. He pushed back the sheets, swinging his long legs over the edge of the bed, completely unbothered. Unlike me, he wasn’t freaking out. He wasn’t hyperventilating over a mystery wedding ring or desperately trying to remember the night before.

He was calm. Too calm.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, my entire body going rigid. “This isn’t happening.”

Damien sat up, the sheets slipping down his torso, revealing more of his perfectly sculpted body. If I weren’t already spiraling into a full-blown crisis, I might have taken a moment to appreciate the view.

“It happened,” he said flatly.

His gaze dropped to his own hand, where a matching wedding band rested.

His jaw clenched. “And judging by the documents on the nightstand… it’s legal.”

A sharp, sinking sensation formed in my chest.

I turned my head, my heart pounding as my eyes landed on a neatly stacked pile of papers beside an empty champagne bottle. Swallowing hard, I reached for them.

There, in elegant cursive, was my name—Sophia Carter—right next to his.

Holy—

My breath came in short gasps as I clutched my head. “We have to fix this.”

Damien exhaled sharply, his lips pressing into a thin line. He stood up, towering over me as he ran a hand down his face, exuding frustration but not surprise.

His expression remained unreadable, but I caught a flicker of something else in his eyes—mild irritation? Displeasure? It was impossible to tell.

“Agreed.” His tone was cool, businesslike. No emotion. Like he was discussing a simple transaction rather than an accidental marriage.

He turned toward the bathroom, his muscles tensing slightly. “An annulment should be simple. We’ll deal with it first thing in the morning.”

I nodded frantically. “Yes. Absolutely. This was a mistake.”

But as I said the words, doubt crept in.

Damien Lancaster didn’t make mistakes. He was a man of precision, a master of control. Yet here he was, standing in front of me, acting as if this kind of thing happened all the time.

Had I pushed for the wedding? Had he? Or was this part of something bigger—something I had walked into blindly?

I felt sick.

Before I could say anything else, a sudden buzzing noise filled the air.

Damien’s phone vibrated on the nightstand.

Frowning, he reached for it, his expression darkening as he read the screen.

Then, with a low curse, he turned the phone toward me.

My breath stalled.

BREAKING NEWS: Billionaire Damien Lancaster Secretly Ties the Knot in Vegas! Who is the Mystery Bride?

Oh. My. God.

A wave of nausea rolled through me. My fingers trembled as I stared at the screen.

I had just become the most talked-about woman in the country.

And suddenly, escaping this marriage wasn’t going to be as simple as we had hoped.