Desired by you

CHAPTER 2 – THE WAR IS DECLARED

Jaxon’s POV

I storm into my father’s mansion like a man walking into war.

The place reeks of old money, power, and the kind of ruthless authority that has shaped me since birth. Dark mahogany paneling, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with first-edition classics, and a grand chandelier dripping with wealth—it’s all designed to intimidate.

But I’ve long since outgrown being afraid of Victor Wolfe.

The butler barely has time to announce me before I push open the heavy double doors of his office. He’s there, exactly where I expect him to be—seated behind that monstrous oak desk, a half-empty glass of whiskey in one hand, the other resting on an open ledger. His silver-streaked hair is slicked back, blue eyes sharp as a blade as they settle on me.

And then, that smirk. The one that says he’s already won the battle before I’ve even drawn my sword.

“I assume you’re here to beg for a way out of this marriage.”

I laugh, sharp and humorless, and drop into the leather chair across from him. “Begging isn’t really my thing, but let’s get one thing straight—I’m not marrying Celeste Laurent.”

His smirk doesn’t falter. “Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes. You are.”

I grit my teeth, gripping the armrests. “Not happening.”

Victor sighs like I’m an unruly child refusing to eat his vegetables. “Jaxon, this isn’t a request. This is your future.”

“My future doesn’t involve being shackled to an ice-cold princess with a superiority complex.”

His whiskey glass clinks softly against the desk as he leans forward. “Then your future also doesn’t involve Wolfe Enterprises.”

A cold, heavy silence settles between us.

I stare at him, my muscles coiled tight. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he says smoothly, “if you don’t marry Celeste, you’re out. No inheritance. No CEO position. No control over the empire you were born to run. I’ll hand everything over to Ethan.”

Ethan. My snake of a cousin. The spineless bastard wouldn’t last a month running Wolfe Enterprises, but Victor doesn’t care about competence—only obedience.

Anger thrums hot in my veins, but I don’t let it show. Losing my temper in front of Victor Wolfe is like handing him a loaded gun.

“So that’s how you’re playing this?” My voice is cold, measured. “Marry her or lose everything?”

“That’s exactly how I’m playing it.”

I exhale through my nose, then rise to my feet. “Noted.”

As I turn to leave, his voice follows me. “You have one week to make a decision.”

I don’t bother looking back. The decision’s already been made.

I just need to make Celeste agree to my terms.

The idea of seeing Celeste Laurent again makes my blood boil, but there’s no avoiding this. If I’m going to be forced into marriage, it’s going to be on my terms.

I grab my phone and type out a message.

Jaxon: Meet me. Now. We need to talk.

A moment later, my phone buzzes.

Celeste: And here I was hoping you died overnight. Where?

I smirk. She’s as sharp-tongued as ever.

Jaxon: My place. Unless you’re afraid you won’t be able to resist me in private.

Celeste: Please. I’d rather set myself on fire.

Jaxon: That makes two of us, princess. See you in an hour.

After an hour. I hear her heels before I see her. Sharp, purposeful clicks against the marble floor.

Then she appears—Celeste Laurent, walking into my penthouse like she owns the place.

And f**k me, she looks good.

A tight black dress hugs every inch of her body, her golden-blonde hair pulled back in a sleek bun, leaving her neck and shoulders bare. She’s polished, elegant, utterly untouchable—except for the heat in her ice-blue eyes.

She’s pissed.

Good.

“You have five minutes, Wolfe.” She stops in front of me, arms crossed, voice like silk wrapped around steel. “That’s all the time I’m wasting on you.”

I smirk, leaning lazily against the counter. “Oh, sweetheart, you’ll be wasting way more than five minutes on me. A whole year, actually.”

Her eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”

I gesture to the couch. “Sit.”

She doesn’t move. Of course, she doesn’t. Stubborn as hell.

I sigh. “Fine. Stand there looking pissed while I make this easy for you. We’re f****d, Celeste. Our parents have us cornered. We both know there’s no way out unless we create one.”

She tilts her head. “I’m listening.”

I pour myself a drink, taking my time. Letting the tension stretch. Then I turn, swirling the glass in my hand. “One year.”

She blinks. “What?”

“We get married. Fake it for twelve months. Then we divorce.” I sip my whiskey, letting it burn down my throat. “Simple.”

She stares at me like I’ve grown two heads. “You want me to fake a marriage with you?”

I grin. “Oh, come on, princess. We’d make a killer power couple. Imagine the headlines—‘Billionaire Enemies Unite: A Love Story Built on Hate.’”

She scoffs. “You wish I’d ever love you.”

I step closer, invading her space. “I don’t need your love, Celeste. Just your last name on my contract.”

She doesn’t back away. Her chin lifts, her jaw tightening. “There have to be rules.”

I smirk. “Oh, definitely.”

She crosses her arms. “No sex.”

I chuckle, slow and dark. “Afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands off me?”

She glares. “More like afraid of catching an STD.”

I laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself. I wouldn’t touch you if you begged.”

Her eyes flash. “And no falling in love.”

I snort. “As if.”

She purses her lips. “And no unnecessary touching.”

I smirk, deliberately trailing a finger down her bare arm. “Define ‘unnecessary.’”

She slaps my hand away. “Anything that makes my skin crawl.”

I grin. “Sweetheart, if I ever touch you, crawling will be the last thing your skin does.”

She exhales sharply, looking away. Interesting.

I lean against the counter, watching her like a hunter watching his prey. “So? Do we have a deal?”

She hesitates, and for the first time tonight, she looks uncertain.

I raise a brow. “Scared?”

Her gaze snaps back to mine, full of fire. “Of you? Never.”

Then she reaches for the contract on the table, grabs the pen—

And signs.

I watch the ink dry on the paper, something dark curling in my chest.

She thinks this is just a contract. That this will be easy. That we’ll hate each other just the same a year from now.

She has no idea what she’s just signed up for.

I smirk, leaning in close, my voice a whisper against her ear.

“Buckle up, Mrs. Wolfe.”

Because this war?

It’s only just begun.

END OF CHAPTER 2