The bustling crowd of the shopping mall blurred around me as I made my way through the gleaming marble floors, my head still pounding from the fever that had been clinging to me all morning. Just my luck—the one day I decide to run errands with a fever is the day the universe decides to test me.
I barely noticed the small figure darting across the walkway until it collided with me. A sharp gasp escaped my lips as the impact sent the child sprawling to the floor, his wide, startled eyes blinking up at me.
"Shit—" I muttered under my breath, panic tightening my chest. I crouched down immediately, helping the little boy to sit up. God, if he cried, people would think I shoved him on purpose. But to my surprise, his delicate features remained calm—his soft, pale face free of tears.
Up close, I realized he wasn't just any kid. His skin was porcelain fair, his lips naturally pink, his dark lashes framing large, curious eyes. His nose was straight and defined, his cheeks flushed with perfect, healthy color.
This kid was clearly from money—the kind of polished, private-school wealth you could spot from a mile away.
"Hey, are you okay?" I asked softly, keeping my hands gently on his shoulders as I knelt to meet his height.
He nodded, his eyes unwavering.
I glanced around, frowning. "Where are your parents?"
His small shoulders lifted in a shrug. "I don't know," he admitted, voice light and unaffected—as if getting lost in a busy shopping mall wasn't a big deal.
"Wait… You're lost?" I pressed, my heart racing slightly. His eyes dropped, and he nodded again, this time offering me a faint, innocent smile.
Digging into my pocket, I pulled out a small piece of hard candy I'd been saving for myself. Fever or not, the kid needed comfort more than I did.
"Here, take this," I offered, placing it in his palm. He accepted it quietly but didn't unwrap it, simply holding it in his tiny hand.
Before I could say anything else, footsteps thundered toward us—a group of adults, clearly security or personal staff. One older man in a suit and thick-rimmed glasses led the pack, his expression strained with concern. Behind him trailed three more, one of whom was a sharply dressed woman with sleek dark hair, her tailored designer outfit screaming wealth.
"There he is," the man muttered, his gaze locked onto the boy. But the second the child spotted them, he bolted—straight behind me, clutching the back of my coat like his life depended on it.
The woman approached, her expression cool, composed, and far too polished for someone dealing with a missing child. Her heels clicked sharply on the floor as she called out, "Raven."
I stiffened, standing to my full height, the boy—Raven, apparently—clinging behind me.
"Excuse me," I addressed her cautiously, holding the child protectively. "Is he yours?"
She arched a brow, her crimson lips curling slightly. "Not exactly," she answered smoothly.
Before I could question her, the boy shook his head, his tiny voice breaking through. "No!" he cried, his grip on me tightening.
The woman's eyes flickered with something unreadable before her lips curved into a faint, practiced smile. "I'm… a friend of his father," she clarified, gesturing to her staff behind her. "You can let him go."
I stayed rooted to the spot. "If you were really his dad's friend, he wouldn't be hiding behind me like that," I countered firmly.
The woman exhaled, clearly annoyed, but before she could retort, a new voice cut through the tension.
"Son."
It was low, commanding, laced with authority that made the small hairs on my arms stand on end.
I turned—and holy hell.
The man approaching was tall, easily over six feet, his tailored navy suit hugging broad, powerful shoulders. His sharp, symmetrical features were cut from marble—monolid eyes, an aquiline nose, and lips that tilted down in a permanent, disapproving line. His presence alone turned heads.
No way this man had a kid. He looked… young. And far too dangerous to be a father.
"Raven. Come here." His voice was quiet but firm. Raven hesitated before finally stepping out from behind me. The man swept him into his arms with ease.
His eyes finally landed on me. Dark, unreadable… annoyingly attractive.
"Thank you," he said smoothly, "and sorry for the inconvenience my son caused you." His words were polite, but his gaze… too sharp, too assessing—as if he saw through me entirely.
I narrowed my eyes. "Maybe next time, try keeping a closer eye on your child," I shot back, crossing my arms. "You're lucky nothing happened to him."
His lips twitched, barely restrained irritation flickering across his expression. "I know what I'm doing," he replied coldly, turning on his heel.
What an arrogant prick. Gorgeous, sure, but absolutely insufferable.
I barely had time to process my frustration when dizziness swept over me, the floor tilting under my feet. The woman from earlier appeared beside me, steadying my arm.
"Hey—are you alright?" she asked, concern flashing across her face.
But everything blurred. My fever surged, and the world tilted sideways as my legs buckled.
Darkness closed in.
***
The next thing I knew, I was staring at a crystal chandelier hanging from an ornate white ceiling.
"What the hell…" I muttered under my breath, sitting up quickly. The room was massive—vaulted ceilings, pale walls trimmed with gold, elegant sconce lighting beside a grand headboard.
Definitely not my apartment.
The door creaked open, and he walked in—the arrogant, too-handsome man from earlier.
He approached with measured steps, holding a document in one hand. His expression was unreadable as he took a seat across from me.
"You're Aubrey Elyse Barlowe. Twenty-three years old. Daughter of Marianna and Shannon Barlowe… adopted," he recited coolly, his eyes never leaving mine.
I gaped at him, suspicion curling in my stomach. "How do you know that? Who the hell are you?"
His lips curled faintly, amusement flashing across his otherwise impassive face. "You really don't remember me?"
I squinted at him, realization dawning slowly. Oh—he was the guy from the mall. The intimidating, rich… ridiculously handsome stranger.
Before I could react, he stood, adjusting his jacket with meticulous precision.
"You're my wife."
I choked on air, scrambling off the bed. "Excuse me, what? I think you've got the wrong girl."
He stepped closer, caging me between his arms as he leaned over, his palms flat on either side of my head. His proximity made my pulse stutter, his cologne—rich, dark, intoxicating—wrapping around me.
"Look at your hand," he whispered, his lips brushing dangerously close to my ear.
My gaze snapped to my left hand—where a diamond ring glittered mockingly on my finger.
"What the hell is this?!" I demanded, shoving at his chest.
"Arranged marriage," he stated bluntly. "Your mother brokered the deal. No ceremony, no celebration. Just business. You can walk away—but there's a penalty." His eyes gleamed with warning.
He straightened, turning to leave, his expression unreadable.
"And your kid? You already have a child," I accused, my mind reeling.
"I didn't have a wife before, sweetheart," he corrected. "You're the first."
Confusion swirled in my chest as he disappeared down the hall.
What kind of twisted, billionaire nightmare had I woken up in?
Before I could piece my thoughts together, small arms wrapped around my waist.
"Mommy," a soft voice whispered.
I looked down—Raven, his big eyes staring up at me, innocent and adoring.
Panic bloomed in my chest. "I'm not your mom," I corrected quickly.
But he only smiled, repeating softly, "Mommy."
This couldn't be happening.
I wasn't ready to be anyone's wife—and sure as hell not ready to be someone's mom.
And yet, somehow… I already was.