Astrid Wilder
I laughed. Loudly. Mockingly. Right in his face.
"You fucked me six months ago," I said, arms crossed, voice laced with venom, "worshipped me like I was a goddess, like it meant something. Then disappeared. Like a damn ghost."
He stood there, tall and powerful in his black suit, jaw tight and those wild eyes fixed on me like I was some puzzle he wanted to tear apart.
"And then," I continued, stepping closer, "you saw me three days ago. At my mother's funeral. You looked right at me. Cold. Empty. Like I didn't matter. And now—" I scoffed, shaking my head. "Now you pop up at my job with this bullshit proposal like we're in some mafia-themed soap opera."
I leaned in, my face inches from his.
"Who the hell do you think you are?"
He didn't flinch. Not once. Just looked at me with that unreadable expression, like he expected this.
I took a deep breath, unclenched my fists, and stepped back.
"Drop your card, If I decide to sell my soul, I'll reach out."
He slid a simple black card onto the bar counter, gold letters gleaming under the dim lights.
Jaxon Voxx
Private Line. No names. No titles. Just power.
Back home, I kicked off my heels and collapsed onto the couch. Freya was already there, in her usual oversized hoodie, feet tucked under her.
She raised a brow. "You look like you either got a million-dollar check or punched someone."
"Neither. But I was offered fifty million to marry a psychopath."
Freya's eyes widened. "What?"
"Yeah," I muttered, grabbing a pillow to hug. "Remember the guy from six months ago?"
Her jaw dropped. "The Greek god with the devil eyes?"
"Yup. That one."
"What did he say?"
I smirked. "He wants me to marry him. Said he'll give me fifty million. But only until his grandpa dies."
Freya stared, stunned.
I chuckled bitterly. "Guess I can clear Mom's medical bills, cover the funeral costs, and maybe even pay the damn rent now."
"Are you going to do it?" she whispered.
I shrugged. "I don't know. But it's tempting."
Three Days Later
The card burned in my palm as I held my phone, heart pounding.
I tapped the number.
He answered on the first ring.
"Hello, Astrid," Jaxon said. Like he'd been waiting.
"I'll do it," I said simply.
There was a pause, then: "Luca will come get you. Don't be late."
Freya couldn't stop staring.
And I couldn't stop laughing.
Luca, the man Jaxon sent, stood in the hallway like he stepped out of a forbidden romance novel. Sharp suit. Deadly aura. Tattoo peeking out from his collar. A jawline that could cut glass.
"Hi," Freya said, breathless.
Luca nodded. "Miss Wilder. Freya."
She almost fainted.
We arrived at Jaxon's penthouse in silence, the air thick with tension. Everything about the place screamed money and control—glass walls, black marble floors, soft leather furniture.
He stood at the center of it all like he owned the world.
And maybe, in some way, he did.
"You're late," Jaxon said.
I ignored him.
"I have conditions," I said instead.
His brows lifted.
"Freya stays with me."
"No."
"Then the deal's off."
A long pause.
He sighed, jaw flexing. "Fine. She'll stay in the floor beneath the penthouse. With Luca and the others."
Freya grinned. I gave her a side-eye.
Then he handed me the contract. Leather-bound. Heavy.
I flipped through the pages.
Terms of Marriage:
No working in the club again.
You'll act as a proper wife.
Attend major events with me.
Share a bed. Intimacy required.
No infidelity.
I paused, fingers tightening.
"No."
His eyes darkened. "What?"
"We're not having sex," I said bluntly. "Add it. No fucking. This is business."
He smirked. "That's negotiable."
I glared. "Also—I go back to college. I want my degree. And we stay out of each other's personal lives. You don't control me, I don't control you."
He leaned back in his chair, amused.
"Fine."
We signed.
Freya practically skipped as we walked out of the penthouse.
"He agreed to everything?" she whispered, still stunned.
"Well, almost."
Luca was waiting by the car. He opened the door with a small smirk, eyes lingering on Freya a moment too long.
She blushed.
He drove us back to our place to pack.
By nightfall, I moved in.
New name. New rules. New war.
And a husband who wasn't mine.