"I agreed to pretend, but what happens when the lines blur?"
– Ava Carter
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Ava's Point of View
I opened my eyes to a blinding light. My head throbbed, my mind racing. Where was I?
The bed beneath me was softer than anything I'd ever slept on, the marble tiles gleamed, and the room was enormous, complete with a walk-in wardrobe that made mine look like a wooden box crying for mercy. I sat up slowly, clutching my bag, and the sharp sting of last night came rushing back.
The gala. Dylan. His anger. The humiliation.
I slipped out of bed, tightening my grip on my bag like it was armor, and hurried out into the hallway. The place was so big I could have gotten lost, but instinct carried me forward until I reached what looked like a living room. Someone was seated there, elbows on his knees, hands covering his face.
Dylan.
I froze. My first instinct was to turn back, but in my haste, I smacked into the table. The sound tore through the silence, sharp and embarrassing. I groaned softly.
"You're awake," he said, his voice calm, almost too calm. He looked up, eyes unreadable, before standing to his feet.
"I'm sorry about yesterday." His sigh was deep, like he'd been holding it in all night. Running a hand through his hair, he added, "I'm really sorry. About everything. I shouldn't have left you by yourself at the ball. It was wrong to raise my voice at you, and it was certainly wrong to bring you here against your will."
The words disarmed me. I wanted to yell, to curse him, to spit out all the bitterness clawing at my chest. But his tone was too sincere, too raw to ignore. My anger melted into exhaustion.
A glance at the digital clock startled me, 2 a.m. "Oh my gosh," I muttered. How long have I been here?
He must have caught the panic in my eyes. "I sent a message to your sisters," he said quickly. "Told them you wouldn't be home tonight."
Relief loosened my shoulders. For once, he wasn't all steel and cruelty. Then, with a teasing curve of his lips, he added, "They weren't thrilled, but they calmed down once I told them you were with me."
My cheeks burned. He looked far too satisfied with himself.
I sank onto the couch opposite him, stealing a closer look. He looked exhausted. Why wasn't he in his room? Why was he sitting here like a man waiting for judgment?
"Fine then," I said, gathering my nerve. "Since I didn't read the contract, I have no idea what it entails. Tell me now. I'm assuming there are rules and lines I shouldn't cross."
His eyes sharpened. "Yes. The first rule, you cannot tell anyone this is a contract marriage. Not even family."
I nodded slowly. "You texted me that."
"Second, we act like a real couple in public. No one should even suspect this is fake."
Obvious enough. "Alright. What else?"
"You'll move in here after the wedding announcement."
I swallowed hard. The thought of leaving my sisters, of living under the same roof as him, frightened me more than I wanted to admit. "We're staying in separate rooms, right?"
His brow arched. "Of course. What were you expecting?"
"Nothing!" I snapped, too quickly. "I wasn't expecting anything other than that."
His lips twitched, like he wanted to smile. "For every month, you'll be paid five million dollars."
My eyes widened. My breath caught. Five million? For him, he said it like pocket change, but for me, it was a lifetime.
"What? Too small?" he asked.
I shook my head quickly, my voice caught in my throat.
"And one more thing," he continued. "You have to quit your odd jobs. The future Mrs. Reed can't be seen scrubbing tables or serving coffee."
"I can't just sit at home," I argued. "I need something to keep me busy."
He tilted his head, studying me like a puzzle he couldn't solve. "Fine. I'll think of something. But the odd jobs end."
I muttered a reluctant, "Fine."
"That's the major part. If I've forgotten anything, I'll let you know."
A yawn slipped out before I could stop it. His gaze softened. "You should go back to bed. Can you find your way back to your room?"
I nodded and stood, making my way toward the hallway. Relief washed over me, this was ending on a calmer note. But just before I reached the corner, his voice cut through the silence.
"One more thing…"
I turned back. His expression was unreadable, but his tone carried weight.
"We're going to hold an actual wedding. That means…" He paused. "We're getting married for real."
The floor seemed to drop beneath me. My chest tightened.
What the hell was he talking about? Who in their right mind turns a contract marriage into a real one?