CHAPTER 5 – THE WEDDING CHAOS
889 Words
Celeste's POV
If someone had told me a month ago that I’d be standing in a designer wedding gown, about to marry Jaxon Wolfe, I would have laughed in their face.
Or thrown my drink at them.
Maybe both.
Yet here I am, in a private suite at the venue, glaring at my soon-to-be husband while a hundred guests sip champagne and pretend this isn’t the most absurd sham of a wedding they’ve ever witnessed.
Jaxon leans against the bar like he owns the place, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other swirling a glass of whiskey. He looks infuriatingly at ease, like we aren’t about to sign our souls away to this farce of a marriage.
Like he’s actually enjoying this.
The bastard.
I, on the other hand, am two seconds away from stabbing him with my hairpin.
“I’m setting some rules,” I snap, crossing my arms over the corseted bodice of my gown.l
Jaxon’s lips curve in a slow, knowing smirk as he takes a sip of his drink. “Rules, princess? That’s adorable.”
The way he says princess like it’s some kind of insult makes my blood boil.
I take a deep breath, leveling him with a glare. “We live in separate rooms.”
He hums like he’s considering it, his gaze dragging over me lazily. “Separate rooms, huh?” He swirls his whiskey again, watching me over the rim of the glass. “Afraid you won’t be able to resist me?"
I bark out a laugh. “You are delusional.”
Jaxon grins, sharp and cocky, his tongue flicking across his bottom lip as he takes another slow sip. “Yeah? Then why does it sound like you’re trying to convince yourself?”
I roll my eyes so hard I see another dimension. “No physical contact.”
His smirk deepens. “No touching at all? Not even if you beg?”
I step closer, pointing a perfectly manicured finger in his face. “Oh, sweetheart, if I ever beg for you, it’ll be when hell freezes over and Satan starts selling ice pops.”
Jaxon exhales dramatically, placing a hand over his chest like I’ve wounded him. “You wound me, darling.”
I glare harder. “Zero emotional involvement. This is a business deal. Nothing more.”
His expression shifts—just for a second. A flicker of something unreadable in those dark, unreadable eyes. Then, he tilts his head, extending a hand. “Deal.”
I hesitate.
Because this is Jaxon Wolfe.
A walking red flag. A six-foot-two, tattooed, panty-dropping disaster with a mouth made for sin and a personality crafted to piss me off.
But I take his hand anyway.
Big mistake.
The second our palms meet, something flares. A spark. A pulse. A charge that sizzles up my arm and settles deep in my stomach.
Fuck.
His grip tightens, just slightly, and I swear to God, his thumb brushes my wrist—deliberately.
A test. A warning.
I snatch my hand back like I’ve been burned.
Jaxon grins like he’s just won a game I didn’t know we were playing.
Asshole.
The ceremony is flawless.
On the outside, at least.
Inside? I’m seething.
Jaxon plays his role too well—offering me his arm like a perfect gentleman, flashing that signature grin for the cameras, murmuring things under his breath that look sweet but are really just ways to piss me off.
“You’re enjoying this,” I murmur through clenched teeth as we stand at the altar, facing the officiant.
Jaxon smirks. “Immensely.”
I dig my nails into his palm as the vows begin.
He doesn’t even flinch.
Bastard.
The officiant drones on about love and commitment—words that feel like a joke between us.
Commitment? Please. Jaxon is allergic to the concept.
And love? Yeah. Not in this lifetime.
I can feel the weight of the guests’ eyes on us. My father, stiff and unreadable. My mother, clutching her pearls like this is a real wedding. Jaxon’s parents, watching with thinly veiled amusement, like they’re waiting for the first explosion.
I should be focused on the officiant.
On this charade.
But all I can feel is Jaxon’s palm, warm and solid against mine.
His thumb moves. A slow, lazy stroke.
Barely there.
But deliberate.
I jerk my head toward him, eyes flashing a warning.
His lips twitch.
Oh, he lives for this.
When the officiant finally reaches the inevitable, my stomach knots.
“You may now kiss the bride.”
Oh, hell no.
I barely have time to react before Jaxon moves, his grip tightening just enough to stop me from bolting.
Then he lowers his head.
Slowly.
Milking every single second of this for the cameras, for our audience, for me.
His lips brush mine—light, teasing, dangerous.
It’s not a kiss. Not really.
It’s a promise.
A threat.
A warning wrapped in sin.
I freeze.
And for half a second—just half—I swear I feel… something.
A flicker of heat. A pull. A rush of something electric and sharp and wrong.
Then I snap out of it.
I yank back, my eyes burning into his smug, victorious face.
Jaxon’s smirk is pure devil.
This war has only just begun.
END OF CHAPTER 5
- Writer
