Jaxon Voxx
The morning after still clung to me like cigarette smoke and sin.
I leaned against the cold marble counter of my penthouse kitchen, bare-chested, wearing nothing but black slacks. My coffee had gone cold in my hand. I hadn't taken a sip.
I could still smell her.
Astrid.
The ghost of her laugh, the taste of her skin, the way her nails clawed at my shoulders like she never wanted to let go. Her moans still echoed in my skull like a cursed melody.
She was supposed to be a one-time thing. Quick. Forgettable. But her eyes had haunted me more than I cared to admit. Eyes that looked at me like I was a man, not a monster.
And then I left a damn hundred-dollar bill on the nightstand like a bastard.
I didn't even ask her name.
"Fucking coward," I muttered, tossing the cup into the sink hard enough to crack it.
But I didn't get far that morning. I'd barely made it into the house when I found them waiting.
Grandfather. And Rafael.
The old man sat on my leather armchair like a king on a throne, cane resting against his leg, eyes cold and sharp. Rafael stood nearby with a smug look painted on his face, wearing a perfectly tailored suit and a smirk that made me want to break his jaw—again.
I knew why they were here.
"Don't speak," Grandfather barked before I could open my mouth. "I heard what you did."
I stayed silent, jaw tight. My shirt was still half unbuttoned, hair messy, the scent of Astrid all over me.
"You raised your hand against your cousin," Grandfather continued, voice low but firm. "Don't you ever forget who you are and who he is. You're family. You don't touch each other like enemies."
"He pushed me," I growled. "Disrespected me in my own house."
"He's still blood," the old man snapped, slamming his cane against the floor. "If you do that again, Jaxon, I swear—"
"I get it," I cut in, eyes cold. "It won't happen again."
I glanced at Rafael, who wore the same smug look he always did when he thought he'd won.
But I didn't forget.
Rafael had always hated me. Wanted the throne. Wanted Grandfather's approval. But no matter how hard he worked, he couldn't shake the fact that I was the heir. I had the instincts. The cruelty. The beast in my veins that made men follow without question.
He was the polished prince.
I was the wolf.
Six Months Later
The penthouse felt different. Colder. Darker. Or maybe I just stopped pretending things were fine.
I lit a cigar and exhaled slowly, watching the smoke twist in the air.
Grandfather sat in front of me again—older, wearier, but no less terrifying. Rafael stood near the window this time, arms crossed, eyes filled with something venomous.
"There's a problem," Grandfather said.
"Of course there is," I muttered, sinking into the couch.
"Someone's targeting our ports in Spain and disrupting shipments in Naples. Whoever it is, they know how we operate. Our men are getting paid off. Information is leaking."
Rafael chimed in, voice sharp. "It's internal. Has to be."
"And you'd know?" I shot back.
"Enough," Grandfather warned. "Jaxon, I want you to find out who it is. Fast. Quiet."
"I will."
"And Jaxon—" he paused, tapping his cane. "This is not just about business anymore. We're under scrutiny. Media attention. Investors watching our every move. I can't have you running around like a rogue."
I rolled my eyes. "What are you getting at?"
"You need a wife."
The silence was immediate.
"What?"
"Stability," he said flatly. "A woman beside you changes the story. Makes you seem human. Trustworthy."
Rafael chuckled behind his glass. "Good luck finding anyone desperate enough."
I ignored him. My mind had already begun to turn.
Astrid.
I remembered her face again—raw, vulnerable, like life had beaten her down too many times. But she hadn't broken.
I knew her type. Too proud to ask for help. Too strong to show weakness. But struggling. Barely holding it together.
And six months ago, I left her with nothing but a hundred-dollar bill and my scent between her thighs.
She was never supposed to matter.
But now?
Now she was exactly what I needed.
"I'll take care of it," I said coolly, already reaching for my phone.
Later That Night – Outside the Club
I watched her from the shadows, leaning against the counter. The club's neon lights spilled across the pavement. She moved with grace and weariness, dressed in a black corset top and jeans, tray in hand, smile fake but trained.
Still beautiful.
Still burning.
I sat in front of her
She froze.
Her eyes widened like she'd seen a ghost.
I gave her a slow, cold smile.
"Miss me?"
"Are you—what the hell—"
"I know about your situation," I cut in, voice like ice wrapped in velvet. "Your mom. The hospital bills. The two jobs. The eviction notice."
Her throat tightened. "Did you stalk me?"
"I investigated you."
"Why?"
I stepped closer. "Because I have a proposal."
She stiffened.
"I need a wife," I said flatly. "For appearance. For legacy. Just until my grandfather dies."
She looked like she couldn't breathe.
"And you…" I leaned in, lowering my voice to a whisper. "You need money."
She didn't speak. Just stared.
"Fifty million dollars," I added, and watched her eyes go wide. "Signed. Sealed. Yours. All you have to do… is play my wife."
I paused.
"And never fall in love with me."