Billionaire's Accidental Bride

Natasha's POV I stared at the man in front of me like he had completely lost his mind. Marry him? As if. I’d rather set my own hair on fire than be shipped off to marry a stranger like some mail-order bride. I had always dreamed of a fairytale wedding—the kind with flowers, music, and a love story like my parents had. Not… whatever this insane proposal was. It was a sunny Tuesday afternoon in Manhattan, the streets alive with honking cars and hurried footsteps. The breeze had grown cooler, a warning that the weather might turn before the day was done. And there I stood on the sidewalk, frozen in place, eyes locked on the man before me. He was tall, at least six feet, dressed in a navy-blue suit with a crisp white shirt, two buttons undone to reveal a flash of silver chain. His black hair was swept to the side, shadowing one eye, and those gray eyes of his were fixed on me with unsettling amusement. Worse, his cologne—woody, musky, maddeningly addictive—wrapped around me until I had to swallow hard. My traitorous brain chose that moment to remind me he smelled incredible. Great job, Natasha. Practically drooling over the man you’re supposed to be furious with. I sized him up quickly, my gaze catching on his glossy Versace shoes. He smirked, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. “Well,” his deep voice carried with effortless command, “how do you intend to fix this mess, Miss…?” “Natasha,” I snapped before he could finish. “Miss Na-ta-sha…” he repeated slowly, rolling my name across his tongue like it was something forbidden. I narrowed my eyes. “I’ll pay you. That’s all. Why on earth would you suggest marriage?” He chuckled darkly and turned toward the man standing beside him. “All right, Alfred. Tell her the cost of the damage.” The older man stepped forward. He looked around fifty-five, his gray hair slicked neatly back, his black shirt tucked perfectly beneath a gray waistcoat. In contrast to Mr. Smirking Asshole, Alfred’s demeanor was composed, professional—even kind. “Miss,” Alfred said evenly, “the damage costs one hundred thousand dollars.” My heart plummeted. My jaw dropped. “One hundred thousand? For a side mirror?” “That’s impossible!” I stammered. “You’re trying to rob me!” Alfred handed me an iPad. “Take a look for yourself.” I skimmed the numbers and felt my world tilt. Sweet Lord. Even my entire year’s salary wouldn’t come close. I risked a glance at the stranger, only to find his smirk firmly in place. No mercy there. He had me cornered and he knew it. “Miss Natasha,” he said smoothly, closing the distance between us until his cologne invaded every breath I took. “Do you need me to help you read the numbers?” I stumbled back, heat rushing to my cheeks. “No, thanks. I can read just fine.” Handing the iPad back to Alfred, I nervously smoothed down the hem of my pink floral dress a habit I always fell into when I was panicked. “So, Mr…?” I prompted. “Devin,” he supplied without missing a beat. His eyes never left mine. “I can pay in installments,” I blurted out. “Six months. Just… give me six months.” A laugh, low and disbelieving, slipped from his lips. Before I knew it, I was backed against his sleek car, the cold metal pressing into my spine. My pulse thundered as he leaned closer, his warm breath grazing my ear. “You don’t get six months, darling,” he whispered, voice laced with danger. “You marry me… or I call the police and sue you for intentional property damage.” My knees nearly buckled. I wasn’t sure if it was from the threat or the way his breath ghosted over my skin. When I looked up, his smirk had vanished. His eyes were colder now. Unyielding. “So,” he murmured, “what will it be?” The bell above the jewelry store chimed as we walked inside. “Welcome, Mr. Tate,” the saleswoman greeted warmly, her smile wide directed only at him, of course. He gave her a polite nod, then turned his attention back to his phone. Her smile grew coy as she smoothed her blouse, angling herself in his line of sight. “What can we help you with today?” “I need an engagement ring,” he replied flatly. His gaze flicked to me. “For her.” Her eyes followed his to me, her face falling in an instant. “Oh.” The disappointment in her tone stung, though I didn’t know why I cared. “This way, Mr. Tate,” she said, leading us to a lounge area. Moments later, a blonde assistant appeared with a tray of glittering rings. She slid them onto my finger one by one. Each time, Devin barely glanced up before motioning for her to try another. His detachment made it feel rehearsed, like he’d done this before with other women. A knot twisted in my stomach. Why should it matter if he had? I didn’t even like him. Then she placed a ring on my finger—a diamond, delicate petals of silver encircling the stone like a flower in bloom. I gasped softly. It was stunning. Breathtaking. My slip of emotion must have caught his attention, because when I looked up, he was staring at me. And for the first time, the ice in his expression had melted. “We’ll take this one,” he said firmly, rising to his feet. “Charge it to my account.” Without waiting for me, he strode toward the door. I scrambled after him, tripping over my own feet in my haste. When I finally caught up, he held the door open, leaning close enough that his lips brushed my ear like an accident. “Enjoy the ring, Natasha,” he murmured darkly. “Soon enough, you’ll learn exactly what it means to belong to me.”