Married To My Billionaire Nemesis

Let Me Remind You

EDEN

Astrid doesn't even glance my way. She heads straight towards Hayden like I'm invisible, her white dress catching every light in the damn amusement park. Her perfume hits me, instantly causing my nose to itch.

"Hayden," she says softly. "We need to talk. Alone."

Hayden's hand is still wrapped around mine. For one stupid second I think he's going to drop it, walk towards her, and disappear into whatever history they have.

Instead, he looks at me.

I feel the question in his eyes before he asks it. And I flash him a smile.

It's the same smile I gave the crowd when he was puking into a trash can.

"Of course you do," I say, gesturing at Astrid. "No worries, Wolfie. You can share a cotton candy with Astrid. She looks like she could use something sweet."

His fingers tighten around mine. "Eden—"

"I'm leaving." I pull my hand out of his grip, ignoring the way his hand flexes towards me. "You two catch up. Have fun reminiscing. Don't let me interrupt."

Astrid finally looks at me then. Her lips press into a thin line as she regards me like I'm a minor inconvenience she'll deal with later.

I turn on my heel and walk away without looking back.

Inside my head I'm chanting the same thing over and over: 'Let them get back together. Let him crawl back to her. Let him leave me the hell alone.'

Because if he goes back to Astrid, the contract becomes irrelevant. Grandma's heirs obsession becomes irrelevant. The debt gets paid anyway, and I get to walk away clean.

That's the plan.

That's always been the plan.

So why does my chest feel like someone punched through it?

The hotel lobby is blessedly quiet after the neon chaos of Starlight Park. I head straight for the elevators, already mentally drafting the next entry in my journal:

Day 3: Let him crawl back to his ex. Watch him realize I don't care. (I don't. I don't.)

I'm halfway across the lobby when a voice stops me cold.

"Eden?"

I freeze, thinking I'm hearing things. Then I turn slowly.

Dylan Foster is standing near the check-in desk, hands in the pockets of his dark jeans, looking unfairly good in a simple white T-shirt and that same boyish smile that used to make my heart flutter. There's a tired shadow under his eyes, but the rest of him is still unfairly golden.

He blinks at me like he can't believe what he's seeing.

"Eden Clarke," he says again, softer this time. He lets out a small, surprised laugh. "Holy s**t. What are you doing here?"

I force out a smile.

"Vacation," I say. "You?"

"Same." He rubs the back of his neck, the way he always did when he was nervous in high school. "I... didn't expect to run into anyone I knew. Especially not you."

I glance around the lobby. No Savannah in sight.

He stops a few feet away, hands in his pockets. "You look... good. Really good."

I raise an eyebrow. "You sound surprised."

"Not surprised. Just—" He shrugs sheepishly. "I saw the headlines. The engagement. The wedding. Didn't think I'd run into you in a hotel lobby looking like you just escaped a war zone."

I glance down at myself—sundress wrinkled, hair mussed from the wind—and snort. "Accurate assessment."

He tilts his head. "Where's the groom?"

"Busy," I say, my voice flat. "Catching up with an old friend."

Dylan's brows lift. "Ah. The infamous Astrid Lake?"

How the hell does he know that?

He exhales through his nose. "Rough night?"

"Rough everything."

He smiles softly. "Savannah and I broke up."

I blink.

"Three days ago," he adds. "It was... messy. She's still angry. I'm still trying to figure out how to breathe without her in my space."

Something soft and stupid twinges in my chest. The girl who used to doodle his name in the margins of her notebooks feels sorry for him.

"I'm so sorry," I say, and I actually mean it.

He gives me a small, tired smile. "Thanks. I just... I don't want to be alone tonight. Not really. Do you think we could—talk? Just talk. We can just grab a drink at the bar? I promise I won't be weird about it."

I look at him, and my pulse kicks up.

I've always been attracted to Dylan. Always. Even when I was stupidly in love with the boy who would later ruin me, Dylan was the safe daydream. The one who smiled at me in hallways. The one who never made bets on my virginity.

And right now he's looking at me like I'm the only person in the world who might understand him.

I glance toward the elevators, half expecting Hayden to come storming in, Astrid trailing behind him like a bad smell.

He doesn't.

I look back at Dylan.

His eyes are soft, tired and hopeful.

"Sure," I say before I can talk myself out of it. "Why not?"

A small, grateful smile breaks across his face.

"Thank you."

We head towards the bar off the lobby. It's quiet, dimly lit, and mostly empty. He orders us both neat whiskey.

I don't correct him. I need something to burn away the image of Astrid's perfect white dress and Hayden's stunned expression when I walked away.

Dylan raises his glass.

"To running into old friends when you least expect it."

I clink mine against his.

"To surviving high school," I mutter.

He laughs under his breath. "God, yeah."

We drink. The whiskey is smooth and smoky, and it settles like fire in my chest.

Dylan leans his elbows on the bar, staring into his glass.

"I keep thinking about that reunion," he says. "The way you looked when Savannah and I walked up. You were... different. Stronger. But still you."

I snort. "Still Dumpster, you mean."

He flinches.

"Don't call yourself that. You were never that."

I stare at him, and he watches me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.

"I always liked you, Eden," he says softly. "More than I ever let on. I was just... too stupid to do anything about it back then."

His gaze drops to my lips, and my throat goes dry. I can tell he's slowly leaning towards me. I can feel my face heating up. But I also know this isn't right. He's probably just trying to use me to get over Savannah.

Besides, I'm...fuck...

I'm married to a douche.

So, I gulp more whiskey, trying not to look at him.

"Eden?"

Electricity ripples down my spine as a familiar deep voice growls behind me. I turn, and there he is standing there with a deep frown between his brows. Hayden.

Shit.

How did he get here so fast?

"Hey, man—" Dylan starts to say, but Mr Broody ignores him.

"Get up, Eden."

Hayden doesn't even glance at him.

His stormy green eyes are locked on me, burning with something feral. His chest rises and falls too fast, as if he sprinted here.

He looks like he's about to commit a crime.

I lift my chin, refusing to flinch. "I'm having a drink."

"No." His tone is flat. "You're not."

Dylan slides off his stool, stepping half in front of me like some chivalrous shield. "She said she's having a drink. Maybe you should—"

Hayden's gaze finally darts to him. But it’s brief, dismissive and deadly. Strange. They used to be best buddies. Am I missing something here?

"Back off, Foster."

Dylan stiffens. "You don't get to talk to me like—"

Hayden moves faster than I expect.

One second he's standing there vibrating with rage, the next his hand is around my wrist. Before I can pull away, he scoops me up in one brutal, bridal-style lift, my legs dangling over his forearm, my back pressed to his chest.

I let out a startled yelp.

"Hayden! Put me down!"

He doesn't. Instead, he turns and stalks toward the elevators, ignoring the bartender's wide-eyed stare.

Dylan calls after us. "Eden—"

Hayden doesn't break stride. "She's my wife," he snarls over his shoulder, the word ‘wife’ dripping with so much possession it might as well be branded on my skin.

The elevator doors slide open, and he strides inside, still carrying me. The doors close, and I twist in his arms, shoving at his chest. "You absolute caveman. Put. Me. Down."

He doesn't.

Instead, he backs me against the mirrored wall, my spine hitting cool glass. My legs are still hooked over his arm. The position forces me to cling to his shoulders or risk sliding down. His free hand slams beside my head, caging me.

His face is inches from mine, his breathing ragged.

“You think you can just sit there flirting with him while I'm five minutes away choking down jealousy so thick I can't f*****g breathe?"

My laugh is sharp. "Jealous? You were literally about to have a heart-to-heart with Astrid and her perfect white dress. Don't pretend—"

His eyes darken. “So, this is about Astrid? You could have just asked me—”

I let out a laugh. “Who the hell do you think you are? Why should I care about you and Astrid?”

My statement seems to drive him to the edge, his nostrils flaring.

“Who am I?”

His hand fists my hair, yanking my head back to expose my throat to him.

“Just in case you were starting to forget, let me remind you,” he growls.