Chapter Three
1779 Words
I couldn’t sleep a wink last night. Not even half a wink.
Every time I closed my eyes, the memory of his kiss,that kiss,came back like a flash grenade. My lips still tingled as if they’d been branded. My brain kept replaying it, looping it like some sick highlight reel. The nerves of what it meant and the shame of how I melted into it.
And now, the universe decides to bless me with a ringing phone at 7 a.m.
“Hello?” I croak, still half under the blanket, hair everywhere.
“Good morning, ma’am.”
The voice is male, polite, clipped. Too formal for my foggy brain.
“Uh… good morning?”
“I’m here to take you to the courthouse.”
“…Courthouse?” I repeat like an i***t.
“Yes, ma’am. I believe it’s your wedding today.”
My wedding,
“s**t!!” I practically choke on the word, bolting upright so fast I nearly fling my phone across the room. “Please give me five minutes,no, ten,I’ll be right down!”
I hang up before the poor man can respond and fly out of bed like someone lit me on fire. Wedding. Actual wedding. With Knox freaking Greyhound.
Oh God. Oh hell. Oh double hell.
By some miracle, I’m showered and dressed in record time. Perks of being a university all-nighter addict: speed-showers and multitasking are survival skills.
I yank on the simple white gown I thrifted months ago. Off-shoulder, flowy sleeves, ending right above the knee. Not exactly bridal couture, but it screams innocent enough to pass as marriage material. Paired with my brown sandals,it’ll have to do.
Mascara? Check. Fenty lip gloss? Check. (Thanks, Sam, for knowing my broke ass couldn’t buy it on my own).
When I check the mirror, I almost don’t recognize myself. My hair,miracle of miracles,decided not to revolt today. It falls in soft waves around my shoulders. My skin actually glows like I slept, which we both know I didn’t. Maybe panic counts as skincare.
The sleek black car waiting outside looks like it costs more than my apartment building. I stop dead in my tracks.
“Oh my God…” I mutter, openly gawking at its curves.
“Ma’am, shall we?” The driver stands by the open door, perfectly polite, perfectly aware that I’m drooling over the car like it’s chocolate cake.
“Um… yeah. Sorry.” I flush, climbing in as gracefully as possible. (Which means I trip on the edge of the carpet and almost face-plant, but let’s pretend we didn’t see that).
The ceremony itself is a blur.
Walk in. Papers. Pen. Sign. Boom,married.
No vows. No flowers. No awkward uncles making speeches. Just a cold, efficient transaction stamped into existence.
Knox doesn’t look at me once through it. Not once. His signature is bold, his expression unreadable, his silence deafening.
I should feel relieved. Instead, I feel… hollow.
Back in his hotel penthouse (of course it’s a penthouse), I’m seconds from chewing my lip off in silence. He’s at his desk, flipping through papers like nothing life-changing just happened.
Then he strides over, handing me a stack of documents and a pen.
“Read. Mark what you don’t like. Then sign.”
His voice is clipped, businesslike. No warmth, no flirtation, just steel.
“O-okay.” I take the papers, settling on the couch.
As I read, my nerves ease a little. Everything he promised,financial support, alimony, my mother’s treatment,it’s all in there, in black and white. He even added clauses to make sure I wouldn’t be tossed aside like garbage.
I clear my throat. “I… I want one thing added.”
He raises a brow but waits.
“I’d like access to our child. I mean,after the three years. After the contract. I don’t want to just… walk away and never see them again.”
His gaze lingers on me longer than comfortable. Then he nods once. “Done.”
I scribble it into the contract, heart thudding. When I sign my name at the bottom, my hand shakes just a little.
I look up, forcing a smile. “So… now what?”
That’s when he moves.
“We do this.”
He yanks me up from the couch and before I can squeak, his mouth is on mine.
Hard. Hungry. Demanding.
I gasp into him, stunned, but he takes that as permission. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, and I swear I lose brain cells. Every rational thought is drowned out by the raw, electric want that slams through me.
When he pulls back, just a fraction, his voice is husky. “I’ve been wanting to do this all day.”
Oh. Oh God.
He kisses me again, deeper this time, rougher. My knees buckle but he holds me firm, his big hands anchoring me like I’m the only thing in his universe. His fingers trail down my back, slow but deliberate, tugging at my zipper.
The soft whisper of my gown sliding down to the floor is the loudest sound in the world.
“No panties,” he hums against my lips, smirking. “Good girl.”
My face flames, but my body betrays me,heat pooling low, trembling under his touch.
Don’t think about how wet you are. Don’t think about,oh God, he’s touching me there. Oh God.
His palms roam, mapping every inch of me, worship and possession mixed into every stroke. He lifts me effortlessly, carrying me to the bed. My legs wrap around his waist before I can stop them.
Clothes scatter. Buttons pop. Skin meets skin.
I’m drowning. Drowning in him. In the weight of his body pressing mine into the mattress, in the raw dominance in every kiss, every nip, every whispered curse against my skin.
And I want it. God help me, I want all of it.
“Look at me,” he growls against my throat, and my eyes snap open. His gaze burns into me,hungry, dangerous, possessive.
“You’re mine, Florentia.” His thrust punctuates the words, ripping a cry from my lips.
I arch beneath him, nails digging into his shoulders, half pleasure, half desperation. My mind is a storm,he’s too much, too good, too consuming,but my body betrays me, trembling closer to the edge with every movement.
When it hits, it’s not a wave. It’s an earthquake. My world shatters, explodes, reforms around him.
His name leaves my lips like a prayer.
Later, when we’re both sprawled across tangled sheets, my head on his chest, his fingers lazily tracing my back, I can barely breathe.
“What now?” I mumble, still dazed. “Do we… go on a honeymoon? Or is that too much to ask for a contract bride?”
His lips twitch, almost a smile. “Ever been to Greece?”
“…Greece?”
“Pack a bag,” he murmurs, already drifting toward sleep.
And just like that, the
next morning, I’m on a private jet to Greece with a man I barely know.
My husband.
And all I can think is: God, what have I gotten myself into?
The plane hums beneath us, but the silence is deafening. Knox is buried in some folder, like we didn’t just get married hours ago.
I fold my arms, staring at him. “So… this is normal for you?”
He doesn’t look up. “Define normal.”
“Whisking women off to Greece like it’s a Starbucks run.”
A faint smirk. “You’re not women. You’re my wife.”
“Right. That word again.” I groan. “Do you ever get tired of sounding like you swallowed a contract lawyer?”
“I like precision.”
“Yeah, well, precision makes me want to scream. Couldn’t you at least fake romance? Flowers? A toast? Something?”
Knox finally lifts his eyes, gray and steady. “Do you want flowers?”
I blink. “…That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
“The point is,” I throw my hands up “,we don’t know each other. Like at all. What’s your middle name?”
“Adrian.”
“Favorite color?”
“Black.”
“Do you like pineapple on pizza?”
A pause. “No.”
I gasp. “Monster.”
One brow arches. “Do you?”
“Obviously. It’s the superior topping. Sweet, savory, everything in balance.”
He studies me like I just revealed a state secret. “We’ll have to agree to disagree.”
“Wow. A marriage doomed already,” I mutter.
His lips twitch. “You sound nervous.”
“I’m not nervous. I’m… highly suspicious.”
“Of what?”
“That you’re going to wake up tomorrow and regret all this. That maybe you’ll decide your shiny new wife isn’t worth the trouble.”
He leans forward, closing the folder with deliberate calm. “I don’t regret things. Ever.”
I snort. “Nobody’s that perfect.”
“Watch me.”
God, the arrogance. My brain says slap him, my hormones say kiss him.
I tilt my head, refusing to give in. “You bulldozed me into this, you know.”
“You said yes.”
“Because you left me no choice.”
His gaze sharpens. “Because you wanted to.”
My mouth opens, then shuts. Damn him. He’s right, and I hate it.
“I should’ve said no,” I mutter.
“But you didn’t.” His voice is soft, dangerous. “Why do you think that is?”
“I… I don’t know. Maybe I’m insane.”
He smirks. “Or maybe you know this will work.”
I laugh sharply. “Define work. Because I don’t think your definition and mine match up.”
“You’ll learn.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re insufferable.”
“You’ll learn to like that too.”
“Over my dead body.”
He leans back, smirk deepening. “Challenge accepted.”
The air shifts,thick, hot, charged. I look away, pretending to fiddle with my seatbelt. My reflection in the window betrays me: cheeks flushed red, lips swollen from biting too hard, eyes wide in alarm or excitement.
“Get some rest, Tia,” Knox says, calm again. “Tomorrow, your life changes.”
I stiffen. “What does that mean?”
He doesn’t answer. Just closes his eyes like the conversation’s over.
But I know it isn’t.
Because I can feel it,the weight of his gaze, even behind his lids.
And in my gut, one thought burns:
Tomorrow, I
might not recognize myself.
Maybe I just sold myself to the devil. And somehow I'm excited for it.
- Writer
