Desired by you

Celeste POV I hate him. The second, Jaxon Wolfe strides into the restaurant, exuding arrogance like a goddamn cologne, I know this night will be a disaster. He moves with that infuriating kind of confidence—shoulders squared, steps unhurried, completely at ease in his perfectly tailored suit. Like he owns the place. Like he owns the world. And hell, with his family's wealth, he probably does. I tighten my grip around the stem of my wine glass as his dark eyes scan the room, unhurried, expectant, until they land on me. A slow smirk curves his lips, and my blood boils instantly. Cocky. Overconfident. A prick. And unfortunately, my fiancé. The word makes me want to gag. This entire arrangement—if you could even call it that—was nothing more than a twisted business strategy cooked up by our fathers, two corporate warlords who thought slapping a diamond on my finger would magically unite their empires. As if forcing me into a marriage with him could erase decades of boardroom bloodshed. Jaxon approaches, moving like a panther in a jungle of high society. Calculated. Unhurried. Predatory. The closer he gets, the more I loathe the way his charcoal suit fits him like sin, emphasizing broad shoulders, a trim waist, and legs that are far too long for someone so undeserving of being attractive. I don’t stand when he reaches the table. I don’t offer a polite smile. I don’t pretend to be pleased. Because I’m not. He slides into the chair across from me, one arm draping lazily over the back, as if this is his throne and I’m just a peasant who should be grateful for his presence. “Celeste,” he drawls, his voice warm honey with a razor’s edge. “You look… intimidating.” I arch a brow, swirling the wine in my glass. “And you look exactly like the kind of man I’d sue for s****l harassment.” Jaxon lets out a low chuckle, the sound deep enough to send an unwanted shiver down my spine. “That quick, huh? Didn’t even let me buy you a drink before pulling out the legal threats. I’m almost impressed.” I set my glass down with a soft clink, giving him a slow once-over. “I like to be efficient. Something you wouldn’t understand.” He smirks. “Oh, princess, efficiency isn’t exactly what women complain about when it comes to me.” My stomach clenches—not in a good way, definitely not in a good way. I hate that his voice is smooth enough to feel like a caress. Hate that he carries himself with effortless power like he was born to conquer. Because I was, too. And I’ll be damned if I let him think he’s even an inch above me. Jaxon leans forward slightly, that insufferable smirk still in place. “Tell me something, princess—how did your father bribe you into coming here? I doubt it was out of the goodness of your cold, cold heart.” I tap a manicured nail against my glass. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the same way yours threatened you. Because let’s be honest, you’re not exactly husband material.” His grin widens, wolfish. “That’s funny. I was just about to say the same about you.” There it is. The familiar battle lines drawn between us. Jaxon and I have been enemies for years. Not because of some childish playground rivalry, but because our families have spent decades clawing at each other’s throats in boardrooms. The first time we met, I was eighteen, sitting across from him in a high-stakes corporate meeting, and he had the audacity to suggest that my company should “stay in its lane.” Like hell. I shoot him a saccharine smile. “You should know, Jaxon, that I don’t do incompetent men.” His eyes darken, a dangerous glint flickering in their depths. “And you should know, Celeste, that you wouldn’t last under me.” Something hot curls in my stomach, but I drown it in ice. He thinks he can rattle me? He has no idea who he’s dealing with. I lean forward, lowering my voice, each word a poisoned blade. “I’d rather die than fake an orgasm for you.” Jaxon chuckles, low, dark, sinful. “Princess, if you were in my bed, faking would be the last thing on your mind.” Bastard. My pulse spikes—not because of him, absolutely not. It’s just the irritation. The absolute rage bubbling in my veins. Slowly, deliberately, I pick up my wine glass, tilt it slightly, and spill just a few scarlet drops onto his crisp white shirt. “Oops,” I murmur, feigning innocence. Jaxon exhales sharply, glancing down at the stain. For a fraction of a second, I think I’ve won. But then—that smirk. That slow, dangerous smirk that makes my skin prickle with something unacceptable. “Oh, baby,” he murmurs, voice rich and smooth, “if you wanted to get me out of my clothes, all you had to do was ask.” I hate that my pulse jumps. I hate that my thighs clench under the table But I hate him more. The waiter appears at the worst possible moment, hovering uncertainly. Jaxon waves him away lazily. “That won’t be necessary.” He stands abruptly, adjusting his jacket. “This date’s over.” I rise just as quickly, matching his energy. “Finally, something we agree on.” The second we step outside, the tension shifts. We’re no longer in a fine-dining restaurant with chandeliers and overpriced wine—we’re on a battlefield. Jaxon turns to me, his voice low, sharp. “This marriage? Not happening.” I cross my arms, lifting my chin. “We actually agree on something, Wolfe. Mark this day in history.” His lips curl into that infuriating smirk. “You sure you can handle it when your daddy takes away your credit cards?” I scoff. “I built my career. You, on the other hand, just sit on your family’s empire like a lazy, rich asshole.” He steps closer, invading my space, his scent wrapping around me—something dark, expensive, intoxicating. Too close. His voice dips, taunting. “You want to talk about sitting on things, Celeste? Careful, sweetheart. You might just start fantasizing about me.” Oh, for f**k’s sake. I shove past him before I do something stupid. Like let my body betray me. I storm into my father’s penthouse, my heels clicking against marble floors, already preparing for war. He’s waiting, whiskey in hand, watching me like a king about to pass judgment. “Well?” he asks. I toss my clutch onto the counter. “It’s not happening.” My father exhales, unbothered. “You will marry him.” My blood runs cold. “You heard me, Celeste. This isn’t up for debate. If you don’t agree to this marriage, I will cut you off.” The air shifts. My world tilts. I swallow hard. “You’re giving me no choice. He leans back, victorious. “You’ll make the right one.” I have to marry the man I hate. And worse? I think I want to. END OF CHAPTER 1.