BECOMING MRS CROSS

Lena Carter hated clichés and yet, here she was, living one. A struggling waitress barely making ends meet, a little sister to care for, a mountain of medical bills piling up, and a landlord who had made it clear that next week might be the end of the line. She pulled her worn hoodie tighter around her slender frame as the chilly Brooklyn wind bit through the streets. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. The name flashing on the screen made her stomach twist. “Rent’s overdue again, Carter,” came the harsh voice of Mrs. Dobbins on the voicemail. “If I don’t have it by Friday, you and your sister are out.” Lena swallowed hard and slipped the phone away. The same call, the same threat. Every month was a battle she wasn’t sure she could win. At twenty-five, she was the sole caretaker of Harper, her younger sister who had been sick for as long as Lena could remember. Their parents were gone, and their only family was an unreliable aunt who mostly drank. The smell of burnt coffee and frying grease greeted her as she pushed open the door of Maggie’s Diner, where she worked double shifts and barely earned enough to cover rent, let alone medical bills. “Lena! Table three wants more ketchup,” Paula’s voice called from behind the counter, without looking up from her phone. Lena forced a smile and grabbed the ketchup bottle, weaving through the cramped tables. The diner was half empty on this sunny Wednesday afternoon, with a handful of regulars hunched over their coffee. She went through the normal routine of refilling drinks, wiping down sticky tables, and dodging the usual advances from lonely men. Then the bell above the door chimed, and a blast of energy entered with it. “Guess what!” Without turning, Lena knew the voice belonged to Riley , her best friend since childhood, a fiery spirit who never took no for an answer. “Unless you’re telling me someone finally robbed this place and set it on fire, I don’t wanna hear it,” Lena muttered, clutching a tray of dirty dishes. Riley plopped onto a stool at the counter, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Better. I booked us a weekend in Vegas.” Lena froze mid-step, a coffee cup nearly slipping from her fingers. “You what?” “Yup! Used my dad’s airline miles, got us a suite at The Mirage. Two nights. No worries, no responsibilities, just wild nights and zero regrets.” Lena’s mind reeled. She had no time, no money, no right to take a break , not when Harper needed her. “You can,” Riley insisted, grabbing Lena’s wrist. “Harper’s with your aunt this weekend. You need to get out before you break.” Lena wanted to argue, but the truth was, she needed it. One night away, to forget, to breathe. She let out a shaky breath and nodded. “Fine. One night. But you owe me breakfast for a month.” Riley’s grin was victorious. “Deal! Now pack something scandalous.” The next night, the neon chaos of the Vegas Strip surrounded them, a whirlwind of lights, noise, and reckless freedom. Riley dragged Lena from club to club, shots of tequila blurring the edges of her exhaustion. For the first time in what felt like forever, Lena wasn’t the girl drowning in worry. She was just another face in the crowd. And then she saw him. He was leaning against the bar, calm and detached, as if the frenzy of the crowd didn’t touch him. His tailored black suit clung perfectly to a tall, muscular frame. The top buttons of his shirt were undone just enough to reveal a hint of skin, his dark hair tousled perfectly. His eyes were piercing blue, cold but magnetic. Riley nudged her. “Whoa. Look at that.” Lena couldn’t look away. He didn’t smile, but the way he moved made it clear he was used to people noticing him and getting what he wanted. Without thinking, Lena found herself walking toward him. She ordered a drink, and soon they were talking. His voice was low, smooth, with an edge of authority. They laughed at the right moments, flirted with the right words. It was just supposed to be a few harmless hours. But those hours turned into a night she couldn’t have imagined. That night, after too many drinks and hours of lingering glances, the air between them shifted. Lena had never been the type to lose herself in a man’s gaze, but there was something about Damon Cross that made her reckless. He wasn’t like the other men here , the loud ones, the sloppy ones, the ones trying too hard. He didn’t need to. Damon commanded attention with a single look, and when those ice-blue eyes locked on hers across the crowded club, she felt her pulse thrum in places it hadn’t in years. At the bar, his voice was low, teasing, making her laugh in spite of herself. She told him about Brooklyn, about waitressing, about Harper. He shared nothing. And yet… it felt like the most honest conversation she’d had in months. By the time the world blurred into a heady mix of neon lights and pulsing music, Lena didn’t resist when he reached for her hand. They stumbled into the suite, a sprawling, high-rise room with windows overlooking the Strip. The city lights reflected off the glass, painting the walls in a wash of gold and crimson. Damon’s jacket hit the floor first. Then his tie. Lena grinned, emboldened by the drinks and by him. She stepped closer, her hands sliding up his chest, feeling the warmth beneath the cotton of his shirt. “You’re trouble,” she murmured. His mouth curved into a smirk. “You have no idea.” He caught her face in his hands and kissed her slowly at first, savoring, then harder. His lips moved over hers with dangerous precision, like a man who always took what he wanted. The room spun, her skin heating everywhere his hands touched. She didn’t protest when he lifted her, carrying her to the bed like she weighed nothing. Her dress slipped off with a flick of his wrist, pooling at her feet. Damon’s gaze raked over her with something between possession and desire, his pupils darkening. “Beautiful,” he murmured against her throat, and she shivered. His mouth left a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck, over her collarbone, his teeth grazing her skin just enough to make her gasp. She tugged at his shirt, desperate to feel him, and he let it fall away, revealing a chest sculpted like sin, muscles taut and perfect. The world outside disappeared. His hands slid down her sides, gripping her hips as his mouth claimed hers again. The kiss was deeper this time, rougher, his tongue teasing, demanding more. He tasted like expensive whiskey and danger. Somewhere between a breathless laugh and a whispered curse, Lena gave in. She arched against him, her body aching, her mind blissfully numb. The night stretched into a haze of tangled sheets, whispered names, and stolen moans. Damon was relentless , slow when it drove her mad, fast when her nails dug into his back, the city’s lights spilling across their bodies. And when he finally whispered her name like it was a secret meant only for him, Lena realized she didn’t care what tomorrow would bring. Not here. Not with him. Morning light streamed through the hotel curtains, and Lena woke with a pounding headache and a dry mouth. She blinked, trying to piece together the previous night the music, the laughter, the way his hand had felt on her back. And then she saw him. Sleeping beside her, as calm as if nothing unusual had happened. Her eyes drifted to the nightstand and froze. A marriage certificate, complete with their signatures. Lena’s heart slammed against her ribs. How had this happened? Before she could process the shock, his eyes opened. That same cold blue, now softened by sleep. He sat up, running a hand through his dark hair. His gaze landed on the certificate, and his jaw tightened. “Well,” he said, voice hoarse, “that’s inconvenient.” Lena stared at him, mouth dry. “Inconvenient?!” she snapped. “You married me? You don’t even know me!” He shrugged, casually swinging his legs over the bed. “We’ll get it annulled. No one has to know.” She gritted her teeth, fury rising. “Unless,” he added, smirking, “you want to stay married, sweetheart.” His arrogance hit her like a slap. Lena knew then that this was only the beginning of a very complicated story and that the stranger lying next to her wasn’t going to make things easy.