Now standing at his hospital bedside with her heart in pieces, Avery has to decide if love is worth the blood, the lies, and the impossible transformation of a man the world says cannot change. Drop a like and comment your city so I can see how far this story travels. Let’s begin. The first thing Avery Lane registered was silk.

Not the cheap kind from discount stores, but real silk, the sort that moved like water against skin and probably cost more than her monthly rent. The second thing was sunlight. Brutal, unforgiving Nevada sun pouring through floor to ceiling windows she definitely did not own. The third thing was the ring.

It sat on her left hand like an accusation. Diamond, massive, unfamiliar. She bolted upright and her skull immediately punished her for it. The hangover hit like a freight train. Nausea, vertigo, a throbbing behind her eyes that made her want to cry. Her mouth tasted like regret and bottom shelf tequila. And when she looked down at herself, she found she was wearing a silk night gown she had never seen before in her life.

Oh no, she whispered. Oh no, no, no. The bedroom was enormous, minimalist, expensive in that understated way that screamed old money. charcoal walls, modern art that probably cost six figures, furniture that looked like it belonged in a magazine spread. This was not her cramped studio apartment in Henderson. This was not anywhere she should be.

Avery swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet sinking into plush carpet, and that was when she heard the voice. You’re awake. She spun around too fast and the room tilted. Standing in the doorway was a man she had never seen before, or at least she didn’t think she had. tall, dark hair, sharp suit despite the early hour.

He had the kind of face that belonged on magazine covers, all clean lines and cold symmetry. But his eyes were what stopped her. Gray, calculating, the eyes of someone who saw too much and revealed nothing. “Who the hell are you?” Avery’s voice came out. “Damian Vascari,” he said it like she should know the name, like it should mean something.

“Your husband.” The word landed like a slap. My what? He stepped into the room with the easy confidence of someone who owned everything around him, including apparently her. From his pocket, he produced a folded piece of paper and held it out. Marriage certificate, Clark County, filed 3 hours ago. Avery stared at the paper like it might bite her.

That’s not possible. Bourbon Street Wedding Chapel. You wore a veil made of cocktail napkins. I’m told you cried during the vows. His tone was flat, almost bored, but there was something underneath it, something sharp. You don’t remember? I don’t remember because it didn’t happen. The state of Nevada disagrees.

She snatched the paper from his hand and there it was, her signature. Sloppy, drunk, but unmistakably hers. Next to it, his Damian Viscari. The date stamp read 2:47 a.m. hours ago, this morning, last night, whatever the hell it was. This is insane. Look. Avery’s hands were shaking. This isn’t real. We can just We’ll get it anulled right now, today.

We could. Damen crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world. Or you could hear me out. Hear you out? She let out a wild, disbelieving laugh. I wake up in a stranger’s house wearing She gestured at the night gown. Did you put this on me? My housekeeper did. You were wearing a dress covered in champagne.

Oh, great. That makes it so much better. Sit down. Excuse me. Sit. It wasn’t a request. His voice didn’t rise, but something in it made her legs stop working. She sank onto the edge of the bed, still clutching the marriage certificate like a lifeline. And Damen moved further into the room. He didn’t sit. He didn’t soften.

He just stood there, hands in his pockets, looking at her like she was a problem to be solved. I’m going to say this once, he began. So, pay attention. Last night, you and I got married legally. Binding, real. I don’t remember it either, but here we are. Now, I have two options. Option one, I file for an anolment.

We pretend this never happened, and you go back to your life. Okay. Yes, let’s do that. Option two, he continued, ignoring her. You stay married to me for 6 months. You play the part. You show up when I need you, smile when I tell you to, and convince my family and my business partners that this marriage is real. In exchange, I pay off every debt you have, give you a place to live, and at the end of 6 months, you walk away with half a million dollars and a clean slate.

Avery stared at him. What? You heard me? You’re insane. I’m pragmatic. He tilted his head slightly, studying her. You’re drowning, Miss Lane. Student loans, credit card debt. Medical bills from your mother’s last hospital stay. You’re 3 months behind on rent and your landlord is filing eviction papers next week.

You work two jobs and still can’t keep your head above water. Her stomach dropped. How do you know that? I know everything. That’s creepy. That’s due diligence. He moved closer and Avery instinctively leaned back. He stopped a few feet away, hands still in his pockets, expression unreadable. I need a wife. You need money. This is a transaction, nothing more.

Why? Her voice came out smaller than she wanted. Why would you need a wife? You’re She gestured vaguely at him, at the room, at everything. You’re clearly rich. You’re clearly powerful. What could you possibly need from me? My family has expectations. The words were clipped tight. My grandfather built an empire and he’s dying.

He wants to see me settled, married, respectable. I don’t have time to court someone. And I sure as hell don’t want to marry someone who will ask questions or expect love. You’re convenient. You’re desperate. And according to the state of Nevada, you’re already mine. I’m not anyone’s. Then walk away. He pulled out his phone, tapped the screen a few times, and turned it toward her.

Here’s what that looks like. She looked. Bank statements, bills, letters from collection agencies. Her entire financial life laid bare on a stranger’s phone screen. It was invasive and humiliating. And worst of all, it was accurate. “You don’t get to do this,” Avery whispered. “I’m not doing anything. I’m offering you a choice.

” “That’s not a choice. That’s coercion. Call it whatever you want. He pocketed the phone. But you’ve got 10 seconds to decide. 10 seconds. I’m a busy man. You’re a monster. 8 seconds. Avery stood, the silk night gown swishing around her legs, and she hated how small she felt, how cornered this man, the stranger, had somehow crawled inside her life and found every weak spot, every crack, every point of pressure.

And now he was squeezing. If I say no, she asked, then you leave. I’ll have a car take you home. The anulment will be filed by end of business today. We’ll never see each other again. And if I say yes, then you become Mrs. Vescari for 6 months. You move into this house. You attend family dinners, business events, and whatever else I need you for.

You don’t ask questions. You don’t complain. You do exactly what I tell you when I tell you. and at the end you walk away rich and free. That’s prostitution. No, Damen said coldly. That’s marriage. Avery wanted to scream. She wanted to throw the marriage certificate in his face and storm out of this ridiculous mansion and never look back.

But her phone was buzzing in her head with notifications she didn’t need to see. Pass due. Final notice. Eviction warning. Her mother’s care facility calling about late payments. the school district threatening to cut her hours because budget cuts always hit the newest teachers first. She thought about her apartment, the water stained ceiling, the broken heater, the neighbor who screamed at his girlfriend every weekend.

She thought about eating ramen for the fourth night in a row because groceries were a luxury. She thought about the look on her mother’s face the last time she visited. Cloudy, confused, not recognizing her own daughter because good memory care costs money. Avery didn’t have. Why me? She asked quietly. Wrong place, wrong time.

We were both drunk. You said yes. That makes you convenient. I hate you. You don’t know me well enough to hate me. I know enough. Damian checked his watch. Time’s up. What’s it going to be? Avery looked down at the ring on her finger. It caught the light, throwing tiny rainbows across the expensive carpet, and she felt something inside her crack.

Not break, just crack. Enough to let the desperation seep through. 6 months, she said. 6 months and then I’m free. Then you’re free. She met his eyes, those cold gray eyes that gave away nothing and nodded once. Fine, I’ll do it. For the first time since she woke up, Damen’s expression shifted.

Not a smile, not relief, just a flicker of something that might have been satisfaction. Good. We start now. The contract arrived 2 hours later. Avery sat in what Damen called the East Sitting Room, which was a pretentious way of saying a room with uncomfortable furniture and too much art, and stared at the stack of papers a lawyer had just placed in front of her.

The lawyer was a woman in her 50s with steel gray hair and an expression that suggested she’d seen everything and been impressed by none of it. Read it carefully, the lawyer said. Sign at the bottom of each page. I don’t have a lawyer. You don’t need one. This contract is very straightforward. Contracts are never straightforward.

The woman’s lips twitched, almost a smile. You’re smarter than you look. Thanks, I think. Avery started reading. The language was dense, full of legal jargon that made her head hurt worse than the hangover, but the terms were clear enough. 6 months public appearances is required. No infidelity. Clause 7B, underlined twice.

No speaking to the press without approval. No contact with Damian’s business associates outside of preapproved events. In exchange, immediate payment of all outstanding debts, a monthly stipen of $10,000, and a lump sum of $500,000 upon successful completion of the contract term. This is insane, Avery muttered. This is ironclad, the lawyer corrected. Mr.

Viscari doesn’t do anything halfway. Yeah, I’m getting that. She kept reading. There were clauses about living arrangements. She’d have her own bedroom, but was expected to share Damen’s bed when family visited. Clauses about appearance. She’d have access to a stylist, personal shopper, and whatever else was needed to maintain appropriate standards. Clauses about termination.

If she violated the terms, she’d owe Damen twice what he’d paid out, plus legal fees. What if he violates the terms? Avery asked. He won’t. But what if he does? The lawyer’s expression didn’t change. He won’t. Avery looked down at the signature line. Her hand was shaking again. This was it. The moment she signed this, she stopped being Avery Lane, high school English teacher, barely scraping by, and became Avery Vascari, wife of a man she didn’t know, trapped in a life she didn’t understand.

She thought about her mother again, about the bills, about the eviction notice, about the crushing, suffocating weight of being broke in a world that punished poverty at every turn. She signed. The lawyer collected the papers without comment, slid them into a briefcase, and stood. Welcome to the family, Mrs. Vescari.

That’s not funny. It wasn’t meant to be. At Damen reappeared at noon, this time without the suit jacket, he looked almost human in just the white dress shirt and slacks, though the cold expression remained firmly in place. “Your things are being moved,” he said without preamble. “My assistant is handling the logistics.

You’ll have access to your old apartment for one more week if you need to collect anything personal. You’re moving me out. You live here now. I didn’t agree to that yet. He raised an eyebrow. You signed the contract. I signed it 5 minutes ago. Then congratulations on your new home. He glanced at his watch again.

Apparently, that was his favorite gesture. We have dinner with my family tonight. Seven sharp. Wear something appropriate. I don’t have anything appropriate for whatever the hell your family dinners look like. You will. The stylist arrives in 20 minutes. Avery stood, her headache roaring back with a vengeance. Can you stop for one second and acknowledge how completely insane this is? No.

Why not? Because acknowledging it won’t change it. You made a choice. I made a choice. Now we both live with it. You didn’t make a choice. She snapped. You made a transaction. same thing. It’s really not. Damian studied her for a moment, and Avery felt the weight of that gaze. It wasn’t unkind, exactly.

It was just empty, like he was looking at a piece of furniture and deciding where it should go. My family is difficult, he said finally. They’ll ask questions. They’ll test you. Do not volunteer information. Do not offer opinions. Smile, nod, and let me handle the conversation. So, I’m a prop. You’re my wife. Same thing.

This time, his mouth did twitch. Not quite a smile, but close. You’re catching on. The stylist turned out to be a tiny woman named Simone, who spoke in rapidfire sentences and had opinions about everything. She took one look at Avery and sighed like she’d been personally offended. “We have work to do,” Simone declared.

“What’s wrong with how I look? How much time do you have?” Avery was dragged through 2 hours of what Simone called emergency triage. Hair, makeup, wardrobe. By the time it was over, Avery barely recognized herself in the mirror. The woman staring back was polished, elegant, expensive. She wore a black cocktail dress that probably cost more than her car, heels that made her calves ache, and subtle jewelry that still managed to scream wealth.

“Better,” Simone said, circling her like a shark. Not perfect, but better. Thanks. You’re welcome. Now, posture. Stand up straight. No slouching. You’re married to Damian Viscari, not a hedge fund manager. What’s the difference? About $40 million and significantly more danger. Avery froze. Danger? Simone waved a hand dismissively.

Not my department. Now walk. Let me see your walk. My walk is fine. Your walk is pedestrian. We need regal. I’m a high school teacher, not royalty. You’re a Viscari now. Same thing. By 7:00 p.m., Avery was standing in the marble foyer of Damian’s mansion, wearing a fortune on her body and feeling like an impostor.

Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Damian appeared at the top of the stairs, now back in a full suit, and descended with the kind of grace that suggested he’d been born in formal wear. “Ready?” he asked. No. Good. Let’s go. The car was a black Mercedes with leather seats and a driver who didn’t speak.

Damen sat beside her in the back, scrolling through his phone, and Avery watched the Vegas strip blur past the tinted windows. The city looked different from inside a car like this, smaller, more distant, like it belonged to someone else’s life. “Where are we going?” she asked. “My grandfather’s estate.” How many estates does your family have? Three in Nevada, two in California, one in Italy.

Of course you do. He glanced at her. Nervous. Terrified. Don’t be. They’re just people. Rich people are never just people. Damen’s mouth twitched again. You might be right about that. The estate turned out to be a sprawling Mediterranean style villa in Summerland. the kind of place that had gates, security, and probably a staff larger than Avery’s entire high school.

The driveway was lined with expensive cars, Bentleys, Maseratis, a Rolls-Royce that looked like it belonged in a museum. Damen’s driver pulled up to the front entrance, and a valet immediately appeared to open Avery’s door. “Sotime,” Damen murmured. He climbed out first, then extended a hand to help her.

His palm was warm, his grip firm, and when her heel caught on the car’s threshold, he steadied her without comment. For just a second, their eyes met, and Avery saw something flicker there. Not warmth exactly, but not coldness either. “Stay close,” he said quietly. “And remember, you love me. I don’t even know you.

They don’t know that.” The front door opened before they reached it, revealing a woman in her 60s with sharp eyes and sharper cheekbones. She wore diamonds like armor and surveyed Avery with the kind of look that could strip paint. Damian, the woman said, “You’re late.” “Tffic? There’s never traffic in Summerland.

” “Then I’m inconsiderate.” The woman’s gaze shifted to Avery. “And this is my wife.” Damen’s hand moved to the small of Avery’s back, a gesture that looked casual but felt like a claim. Avery, this is my aunt, Gabriella Viscari. Charmed, Gabriella said in a tone that suggested she was anything but. How unexpected.

Life is full of surprises, Damen replied smoothly. They stepped inside and Avery’s breath caught. The interior was even more excessive than Damian’s mansion. frescoed ceilings, marble columns, artwork that belonged in museums, and people. Lots of people. All of them turned to stare as Damen led her into what appeared to be a formal dining room.

“Everyone,” Damian announced, his voice carrying easily. “This is Avery, my wife.” The silence was deafening. Then, from the head of the table, an elderly man spoke. “Well,” he said, his voice rough with age and cigarettes. It’s about damn time. Dinner was a masterclass in survival. Avery sat to Damen’s right, acutely aware that every person at the table was watching her, judging her, calculating.

The old man, Damen’s grandfather, Lorenzo, presided over the meal like a king holding court, asking questions that felt like interrogations disguised as small talk. “Where did you two meet?” Lorenzo asked, cutting into his steak with surgical precision. A charity event, Damen lied smoothly. Avery was volunteering.

I was bored. She made me laugh. I didn’t know you could laugh, someone muttered. It sounded like one of Damen’s cousins. A man with sllicked back hair and a smirk that made Avery’s skin crawl. I have hidden depths, Damen said dryly. And you, Avery? Lorenzo’s pale eyes fixed on her.

What do you do? I teach English at a public high school. A teacher? He said it like she’d confessed to being a serial killer. “How quaint.” “I like it,” Avery said, forcing her voice to stay steady. “The kids are good, most of them, anyway. And now you’ll be joining the family business, I assume.” “The family business?” “Construction,” Damian interjected.

“Real estate development, import, export, nothing that requires a teaching degree.” Lorenzo’s eyes gleamed. “Pity! I’m sure you would have brought an interesting perspective. The meal continued course after course, each one more elaborate than the last. Avery barely tasted any of it. She was too busy navigating the minefield of conversation, trying to figure out who was genuinely curious and who was waiting for her to slip up.

Gabriella, the aunt, asked pointed questions about Avery’s family. A cousin named Marco made jokes about Vegas weddings that felt like thinly veiled insults. And through it all, Lorenzo watched, his expression unreadable. “Tell me, Avery,” Lorenzo said as dessert was served. “What made you say yes to what to my grandson?” “Dame is not an easy man.

He’s cold, controlling, and utterly ruthless when it suits him. So, I’m curious. What made you think you could handle being his wife?” The table went silent. Every eye was on her. Damen’s hand found her knee under the table. A warning or reassurance. She couldn’t tell which. Avery looked at Lorenzo, then at Damian, then back to Lorenzo.

“I said yes because he asked,” she said simply. “And because I think people deserve a chance to surprise you.” Lorenzo stared at her for a long moment. Then he laughed, a rough barking sound that seemed to startle everyone. I like her, he announced. She’s got spine. Don’t break her, Damian. I’ll do my best, Damian said.

Later in the car, Avery finally let herself exhale. Her hands were still shaking. Her jaw achd from smiling. Damen sat beside her, staring out the window. And for a long time, neither of them spoke. “You did well,” he said eventually. “I thought I was going to throw up. You hit it well. Is your entire family terrifying?” Yes.

Great. He turned to look at her and in the dim light of the car, his expression was softer, almost human. They liked you. That’s rare. Your grandfather said I had spine. He meant it. Is he always that intense? He’s dying, Damen said flatly. Cancer, stage 4. The doctors give him 6 months, maybe less.

He wants to see me settled before he goes. That’s why the marriage matters. That’s why you’re here. Avery absorbed that. I’m sorry. Don’t be. He’s lived longer than most men in his position do. What position is that? Damen didn’t answer. He just turned back to the window and Avery decided not to push. Not tonight. She was too tired, too overwhelmed, too aware that her entire life had been turned upside down in the span of a single day.

When they pulled into the mansion, Damen walked her to the door of what he called her room. It was across the hall from his, spacious and luxurious and completely impersonal. Sleep, he said. Tomorrow we start preparing you for the next event. What’s the next event? A gallery opening. Very public. Lots of press. You’ll need to be perfect. I’m not perfect.

Then learn to fake it. He turned to leave and Avery surprised herself by speaking. “Damian,” he stopped. “Yes, why did you really marry me last night when we were drunk? What did I say that made you go through with it?” For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he looked back at her and something in his expression cracked just for a second, just enough for her to see that maybe underneath all the ice there was something else.

“You said you wanted to disappear,” he said quietly. You said you were tired of being invisible, so I made you visible. By trapping me by giving you an option. That’s not the same thing. No, Damen agreed. It’s not. He left, and Avery stood in the doorway of her new room, staring at the enormous bed she’d be sleeping in alone.

The ring on her finger felt impossibly heavy. The silk night gown from this morning was draped across the sheets, freshly laundered, waiting for her like a ghost of the morning shock. She pulled out her phone and stared at it. No missed calls, no texts, no one wondering where she’d gone or if she was okay.

Just her alone in a billionaire’s mansion, playing a part she didn’t audition for in a life that didn’t belong to her. Avery Lane had disappeared, and in her place stood Mrs. Vescari, whoever the hell that was supposed to be. The gallery opening was in 3 days, and Avery had no idea what she was doing. She woke that first real morning in the mansion to find a schedule slipped under her door, typed, itemized, color-coded by priority.

8:00 a.m. breakfast with Damian. 9:00 a.m. wardrobe consultation. 11:00 a.m. media training. 100 p.m. lunch, but only 30 minutes because 2:00 p.m. was something called deport coaching, which sounded like a Victorian punishment. She showered in a bathroom bigger than her old bedroom, dried off with towels that probably cost more than her car payment, and dressed in clothes that had appeared in her closet overnight.

Someone had unpacked her things while she slept. Her pathetic collection of clearance rack dresses now hung beside thousands of dollars worth of designer labels, tags still attached. It felt like her life was being erased in real time. Damen was already in the dining room when she arrived, reading something on his tablet and drinking black coffee.

He looked up when she entered, his gaze sweeping over her with the clinical efficiency of someone checking a list. You’re on time, he said. Good. I can tell time. It’s one of my many skills. Sarcasm isn’t going to help you Friday night. Friday night isn’t going to help me either, but here we are.

Avery sat across from him, eyeing the breakfast spread that had been laid out. Fruit, pastries, eggs, bacon, things she couldn’t identify. A woman in a crisp uniform appeared from nowhere and poured her coffee. “Thank you,” Avery murmured. The woman nodded and disappeared just as silently. “You don’t have to thank the staff,” Damen said, not looking up from his screen.

“Why not?” because they’re paid to be here, so they’re still people.” He finally looked at her, one eyebrow raised. “You’re going to have a hard time adjusting to being rude, to being efficient.” He set down the tablet. “The gallery opening is important. My family will be there, business associates, people who matter.

You’ll be photographed, quoted, analyzed. Everything you say and do will reflect on me.” No pressure then. I’m serious, Avery. So am I. I’m a high school English teacher. I don’t know how to do whatever this is. She gestured vaguely at the room, at him, at everything. I don’t know how to be the person you need me to be.

That’s why you have 3 days to learn. The media trainer was a man named Richard who spoke in sound bites and treated every sentence like it might end up on the evening news. He was balding, wore too much cologne, and had the energy of someone who’d consumed their body weight in espresso. “First rule,” Richard announced, pacing in front of where Avery sat on an uncomfortable sofa in what Damen called the library.

“Never say no comment. It makes you look guilty.” Guilty of what? Everything. Anything doesn’t matter. The optics are terrible. What if I actually have no comment? Then you deflect, redirect, pivot to approve talking points. He handed her a laminated card. Memorize these. Avery looked down at the card. It was full of bland, meaningless phrases.

I’m so grateful for this opportunity. Damen and I are very happy together. We’re focused on building our future as a family. This is corporate speak, she said. This is survival, Richard corrected. Now, let’s practice. I’m a reporter. I ask you. He adopted an aggressive posture, shoving an imaginary microphone toward her face. Mrs.

Viscari, how does it feel to marry into one of Vegas’s most powerful families? Avery blinked. Uh, too slow. You hesitated. Hesitation reads as doubt again. How does it feel to marry into one of Vegas’s most powerful families? It feels nice, Richard groaned. Nice. She said nice. We’re all doomed.

They practiced for two hours. By the end, Avery could recite the talking points in her sleep, but she still felt like a fraud. Every word that came out of her mouth sounded hollow, rehearsed, like she was reading lines in a play she had an audition for. Department coaching turned out to be even worse.

A woman named Celeste, rail thin and perpetually disappointed, made Avery walk back and forth across the library with a book on her head. Shoulders back, Celeste barked. Chin up. You’re not a turtle. I’m a teacher. I sit at a desk. Well, now you’re Mrs. Viscari. You stand in heels and smile. The book tumbled off Avery’s head for the fifth time, and Celeste sighed like she’d been personally victimized again.

That evening, Damen found her in the library, surrounded by note cards and half-drunk coffee, trying to memorize names and faces from a family tree that looked more like a crime scene diagram. You’re still working, he observed. Your cousin Marco has three wives. How is that legal? He doesn’t have three wives. He’s been divorced twice.

Your family tree is a nightmare. Damen’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. You’re not wrong. He sat down across from her, loosening his tie. For the first time since she’d met him, he looked tired. Not physically tired, but something deeper. Worn down in a way that money couldn’t fix. “Can I ask you something?” Avery said. “You just did.

” “Can I ask you something real?” He studied her for a moment. “Go ahead.” “Why do you hate them?” “Hate who?” “Your family. You talk about them like they’re a board meeting, not people. like you’re going through the motions. Damian was quiet for a long time, his fingers drumed against the arm of his chair, the first nervous gesture she’d seen from him.

“I don’t hate them,” he said finally. “I just don’t trust them.” “That’s worse.” “Maybe,” he stood, buttoning his jacket. “Get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be harder.” He was right. The next day brought a photographer who spent 3 hours staging candid shots of Avery and Damian around the mansion, laughing in the garden, reading together in the library, cooking in a kitchen.

Avery was fairly certain Damian had never used. The photographer kept asking them to act natural, which was possibly the least natural thing anyone had ever requested. “Put your hand on his shoulder,” the photographer instructed. “Good. Now look at him like you’re in love.” Avery tried. She really did. But every time she looked at Damian, all she saw was a stranger who’d bought 6 months of her life.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Damen murmured low enough that only she could hear. “I don’t know how to not think.” “Then think about something else. Something that makes you happy.” She tried to summon something, anything. But her mind kept snagging on bills on her mother’s blank stare the last time she visited, on the eviction notice she’d narrowly avoided.

Nothing about her life made her happy. That was the whole problem. “I can’t,” she whispered. Damen’s expression shifted, something almost like sympathy crossing his face. He reached up, his hand covering hers where it rested on his shoulder, and squeezed gently. “Then just hold on,” he said quietly. “That’s all you have to do.” The camera clicked.

“Perfect,” the photographer crowed. “That’s the shot. That’s the one.” That night, Avery lay in her enormous bed and stared at the ceiling. Across the hall, she could hear Damen moving around in his room, the faint sound of a phone conversation, his voice too low to make out the words. Then silence.

She wondered what he was thinking. If he ever regretted this insane arrangement, if he ever looked at her and saw a person instead of a problem he’d solved with money. Her phone buzzed, a text from an unknown number. tomorrow. 10:00 a.m. East sitting room. Come alone. Avery frowned. She almost ignored it. Probably spam or a wrong number, but something made her respond.

Who is this? The reply came immediately. Gabriella. We need to talk. Gabriella Viscari was waiting when Avery arrived, seated in one of the uncomfortable chairs like she owned the place, which Avery supposed she might. The older woman was dressed impeccably, her jewelry catching the morning light, her expression as warm as a winter in Siberia.

Sit, Gabriella said. Avery sat. Coffee? No, thank you. Smart. I don’t trust people who drink too much coffee. Shows poor impulse control. Gabriella set down her own cup. Apparently, the rules didn’t apply to her. And fixed Avery with a look that could crack diamonds. Let’s not waste time. I know this marriage is a sham.

Avery’s stomach dropped. I don’t know what you Please. I’ve been part of this family for 40 years. I know what a real marriage looks like, and this isn’t it. Gabriella leaned forward. The question is, what are you really after? I’m not after anything. Everyone’s after something. Money, status, 15 minutes of fame before you sell your story to the tabloids.

I signed an NDA. NDAs can be broken. Everything can be broken if you push hard enough. Avery’s hands clenched in her lap. I don’t want to break anything. I just want to survive the next 6 months. 6 months? Gabriella’s eyes gleamed. Specific number, so it is a contract. I didn’t say that. You didn’t have to.

The older woman sat back, reassessing. You’re smarter than you look. Good. Damian needs someone with a brain. The last woman he brought home was vapid as a soap bubble. There was a last woman. Several. None of them lasted. Gabriella sipped her coffee. But you’re different. How? You’re terrified. That’s honest. The others pretended to belong.

You know you don’t. And you’re not pretending otherwise. That’s either very brave or very stupid. I’m leaning towards stupid. For the first time, Gabriella smiled. It wasn’t a kind smile, but it was genuine. I like you against my better judgment, but I do. So, let me give you some advice. Survive the first month.

After that, they’ll stop watching so closely. Who’s they? Everyone. Gabriella stood smoothing her skirt. And Avery, whatever you think you know about this family, you’re wrong. We’re not what we seem. None of us are. She left, and Avery sat in the empty room, her heart racing. The warning was clear, even if the details weren’t.

She’d walked into something bigger than a fake marriage. She just didn’t know what yet. The gallery opening arrived faster than Avery was ready for. Simone spent 4 hours turning her into someone who looked like they belonged on a red carpet. The dress was midnight blue, floor length with a slit that made Avery nervous every time she moved.

Her hair was swept up, her makeup dramatic, and when she finally looked in the mirror, she barely recognized herself. You look expensive, Simone said approvingly. That’s the goal. Damen appeared in the doorway and for the first time since she’d met him, he stopped just for a second. His eyes traveled over her and something in his expression shifted.

You look, he stopped. “Expensive,” Avery replied. “I was going to say beautiful, but sure, expensive works.” The gallery was in downtown Vegas, a converted warehouse that had been transformed into a sleek, modern space. By the time they arrived, photographers were already lined up outside, shouting questions, cameras flashing like strobe lights.

“Remember,” Damen murmured as their driver pulled up to the entrance. “Smile, wave, don’t answer questions. Let me handle everything.” “What if someone asks me something directly? Deflect! You spent two hours learning how. The door opened and the noise hit like a wall. Damen stepped out first, then turned to help Avery.

His hand was steady on hers as she emerged into the chaos of flashing lights and shouted questions. Mr. Viscari, over here. Who’s your date? Is it true you got married? Damen’s arm slid around her waist, pulling her close. To anyone watching, it looked protective, affectionate. Avery could feel the tension in his body, the careful control in every movement.

“Smile,” he murmured against her ear. “She did.” She smiled until her face hurt, waved at cameras she couldn’t see past the lights, and let Damen guide her through the gauntlet of press and into the gallery. Inside was only slightly less chaotic. Beautiful people in expensive clothes, servers circulating with champagne and canipes, art on the walls that probably cost more than her yearly salary.

“Stay close,” Damen said, and Avery had no intention of doing anything else. They made it maybe 10 minutes before someone cornered them. A man in his 50s, silver-haired and sharkeyed, approached with the confidence of someone who’d never been told no. “Damian,” the man said warmly. “Too warmly.

I heard congratulations are in order. Victor. Damen’s voice was cooler. This is my wife Avery. Avery. Victor Castiano. He owns half the casinos on the strip. Only half. Victor laughed, but his eyes never left Avery’s face. You’re more beautiful than the photos. Tell me, how did you manage to catch Vegas’s most eligible bachelor? I didn’t catch him, Avery said, remembering Richard’s coaching.

We caught each other. How romantic. Victor’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. And what do you do, Avery? I’m a teacher. How noble. He said it like she’d confessed to being unemployed. I’m sure Damen will find something more suitable for you now. Teaching is suitable, Avery said, and she heard the edge in her own voice.

It’s important work. Of course it is. Victor’s attention shifted back to Damian. We should talk about the Henderson project. Not tonight. It’s urgent. Everything’s urgent with you. Damen’s hand tightened on Avery’s waist. Tomorrow, my office. Victor’s smile thinned. Tomorrow then, he nodded to Avery. Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Vescari.

He walked away and Avery exhaled. I don’t like him. No one does, but he’s useful. For what? Business. Damen steered her toward a quieter corner of the gallery. You did well. I wanted to punch him. So did I. But that’s not how this works. How does it work? Before Damian could answer, Lorenzo appeared. The old man moved slowly, leaning on a cane, but his presence commanded attention.

People stepped aside without being asked. “Grandfather,” Damian said. “You brought her.” Lorenzo’s pale eyes fixed on Avery. “Good, let me look at you properly.” Avery stood still while Lorenzo studied her like she was a painting he was considering buying. It was uncomfortable, invasive. But she didn’t look away.

“You’ll do,” Lorenzo said finally. “You’ve got fire. That’s good. Damian needs someone who won’t roll over.” “I’m not a dog,” Avery said before she could stop herself. Lorenzo laughed. That same rough bark from the family dinner. “No, you’re definitely not. Come walk with me. Let’s leave Damian to his business conversations. It wasn’t a request.

Lorenzo started walking and Avery followed, acutely aware that Damen was watching them go. The old man led her to a quieter section of the gallery where abstract paintings hung in shadowy aloves. “Do you know anything about art?” Lorenzo asked. “A little. I teach English, not art history.” “Good. Most people who claim to know about art are lying.

He stopped in front of a canvas that looked like someone had thrown paint at it in a rage. What do you see? Avery studied it. Chaos, but controlled chaos. Like someone was angry but precise. Exactly. Lorenzo tapped his cane against the floor. That’s my grandson. Controlled chaos. He’s been that way since he was a boy. Do you know why? No.

because his father died when he was 8. Car accident. Except it wasn’t an accident. It was a hit. Rival family. They wanted to send a message. Lorenzo’s voice was a matter of fact, like he was discussing the weather. Damian found the body. Avery’s breath caught. That’s horrible. Yes, but it made him what he is.

Strong, careful, ruthless when he needs to be. Lorenzo turned to face her. I’m telling you this because you need to understand what you’ve married into. This family doesn’t play by normal rules. We can’t afford to. What kind of rules do you play by? Our own? He studied her face. Does that scare you? Should it? Yes, but I don’t think you scare easily.

I saw how you handled Gabriella. She told you about that? She tells me everything. Lorenzo smiled faintly. She likes you. That’s rare. Gabriella doesn’t like anyone. I got that impression. Let me give you some advice, girl. The next 6 months are going to be difficult. My family will test you. They’ll push. They’ll pry. Some of them will try to break you just to see if they can. Don’t let them.

How do I stop them? By remembering you’re a Vescari now. That name means something. Use it. He started walking again, and Avery followed, her mind spinning. Everything Lorenzo had said felt like a warning and a challenge at the same time. When they returned to the main gallery, Damen was deep in conversation with a group of men in expensive suits.

He looked up when they approached and something passed between him and his grandfather. An entire conversation in a single glance. I’m tired, Lorenzo announced. Take me home. I’ll have Marco. Not Marco. You both of you. The drive to Lorenzo’s estate was quiet. The old man sat in the front passenger seat. Damian drove and Avery occupied the back, watching the lights of Vegas blur past the windows.

When they arrived, Lorenzo didn’t immediately get out. “Damn,” he said. “A word, alone.” Avery climbed out without being asked, standing awkwardly by the car while Damen and Lorenzo spoke in low voices. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Lorenzo kept gesturing, emphatic, while Damen listened with that impossible to read expression.

Finally, Lorenzo got out. He paused next to Avery. You’ll be at Sunday dinner. It wasn’t a question. Yes, sir. Good. And Avery, don’t trust anyone, not even him. He nodded toward Damian. Especially not him. He walked into the house and Avery stood there stunned. Damen appeared at her side.

What did he say to you? His voice was tight. Nothing. Just nothing. He’s paranoid. The medication makes him worse. He seemed pretty clear to me. Damen didn’t respond. They got back in the car and the drive home was silent. When they finally arrived at the mansion, Avery headed straight for her room. She was exhausted emotionally, physically, in every possible way.

But as she reached her door, Damen spoke, “You did well tonight.” She turned. He was standing in his own doorway, jacket off, tie loosened. He looked almost human, almost reachable. “Your grandfather told me your father died,” Avery said quietly. Damen’s expression shuddered. “He shouldn’t have. He was trying to help me understand.

” “There’s nothing to understand. It was a long time ago. You were eight. I’m not eight anymore.” He stepped into his room. Good night, Avery. The door closed and Avery was left alone in the hallway. She went into her own room, locked the door, and sat on the edge of the bed. Her phone buzzed, a text from a number she didn’t recognize. Welcome to the family.

Watch your back. She stared at it for a long time, then deleted it, but the words stayed with her, echoing in the dark. The anonymous text haunted Avery for days, but nothing happened. No threats, no follow-up messages, just silence, which somehow felt worse. She fell into a routine that didn’t feel like hers. Morning coffee with Damian, where they sat across from each other like business partners reviewing a contract.

Afternoon spent with Simone, learning how to walk, talk, and exist as Mrs. Viscari. Evenings at events, charity gallas, business dinners, family gatherings where everyone smiled and no one meant it. And through it all, the weight of pretending. pretending she belonged, pretending she loved him, pretending this was anything other than a transaction with an expiration date.

But somewhere in the third week, things started shifting in ways Avery couldn’t name. It started small. Damen began asking her opinion on things that didn’t matter. Which tie to where, whether the caterer should serve salmon or chicken at the next event, if she preferred the Picasso or the Rothco for the east hallway.

Small things, meaningless things. except they didn’t feel meaningless when he actually listened to her answers. Then there was the morning she came downstairs to find her favorite coffee waiting. Not the expensive imported blend Damen drank, but the cheap vanilla creamer kind she’d mentioned once weeks ago that she used to buy at the grocery store when she could afford it.

“Where did this come from?” she asked, staring at the bottle. Damen didn’t look up from his phone. The kitchen. I didn’t ask the kitchen for it. I did. Why? You said you liked it. I mentioned it once. Once was enough. He finally looked at her and something in his expression was different, softer. Stop interrogating the coffee, Avery.

Just drink it. She did. And it tasted like a small piece of her old life back when things were simple and terrible, but at least they were hers. Sunday dinners at Lorenzo’s became a weekly ordeal. Every week, the same cast of characters, the same pointed questions disguised as small talk, the same feeling that she was being tested and never quite passing.

Marco, the cousin with the sllicked hair and the wandering eyes, made a habit of cornering her whenever Damian stepped away. “So,” Marco said one evening, trapping her near the bar while Damen was deep in conversation with an uncle whose name Avery could never remember. “How’s married life treating you?” Fine,” Avery said, keeping her voice neutral.

“Just fine? That’s not very romantic. I’m not very romantic.” “I don’t believe that.” Marco leaned closer, and Avery could smell the expensive cologne that didn’t quite mask the scotch. “I think you’re playing a role. We all are. The question is, what are you really after?” “Nothing. Everyone wants something.

Money, security, a taste of the high life before you cash out. I want you to back up.” Marco laughed, but he didn’t move. You’ve got fire. I like that. Damian always did prefer the difficult ones. What’s that supposed to mean? It means you’re not the first woman who thought she could handle him, but you might be the first one who Marco.

Damen’s voice cut through the conversation like a blade. He’d appeared at Avery’s side without her noticing, and his expression was ice. Leave. We’re just talking. No, you’re crowding my wife. There’s a difference. Marco’s smirk faltered. He raised his hands in mock surrender. Relax, cousin. I was just being friendly. Be friendly somewhere else.

Marco left and Avery exhaled slowly. Damen’s hand found the small of her back, the touch gentle but possessive. You okay? He asked. I can handle Marco. I know you can, but you shouldn’t have to. He steered her away from the bar toward the relative safety of the dining room. He’s an idiot. Ignore him. He said, “I’m not the first.” You’re not.

The bluntness of it stung more than it should have. How many? Does it matter? Maybe. Damian stopped walking. They were in the hallway now, away from the noise of the party, and he turned to face her fully. Three. In the last 5 years, all of them were arrangements. None of them lasted more than a few months. What happened? They wanted more than I could give them. What did they want? Me.

He said it simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. The real version, not the contract, not the performance. They wanted something I didn’t know how to be. Avery studied his face, looking for the lie. But all she saw was honesty. Raw and uncomfortable. And what about me? You’re different. How? You don’t want me.

You want out? That makes you safer. Safer for who? Both of us. Before Avery could respond, Gabriella appeared at the end of the hallway. Dinner’s ready. Stop hiding and come eat. The meal was the usual performance. Lorenzo held court at the head of the table, telling stories about the old days that were probably sanitized versions of something much darker.

Gabriella watched everyone with those sharp eyes. Marco sulked. Damen’s various aunts and uncles made small talk that felt like landmines. And Avery smiled, nodded, and tried not to think about the fact that she was starting to recognize the rhythms of this family, starting to understand the hierarchies and alliances, starting to feel like she knew them, even though she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

After dinner, Lorenzo pulled Damen aside again. It was becoming a pattern. Every Sunday, a private conversation that left Damen tight jawed and quiet on the drive home. Avery never asked what they talked about. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. But that night, as they pulled into the mansion’s driveway, Damen broke the silence.

He wants us to move into the main estate. Avery turned to stare at him. What? My grandfather, he wants us living there. Says it’s tradition for the heir to live on the family property. You’re the heir? I’m the oldest grandson. It’s how it works. And what did you tell him? I told him no. Just like that. Just like that.

Damian killed the engine but didn’t move to get out. I don’t want you living there. It’s hard enough keeping you safe here. The word hung in the air between them. Safe. Not comfortable. Not happy. Safe. Am I in danger? Avery asked quietly. Damian’s jaw tightened. No, you’re lying. I’m being careful.

There’s a difference, Damian. Drop it, Avery. He got out of the car and the conversation was over. But Avery couldn’t drop it. That night, alone in her room, she did something she’d been avoiding for weeks. She Googled Damian Vescari. The results were overwhelming. Pages and pages of articles, photos, speculation. Most of it was standard rich person fair, charity events, business acquisitions, real estate deals.

But buried deeper past the PR friendly coverage, she found other things. Whispers, allegations, an expose from 5 years ago about the Viscari family’s alleged ties to organized crime. The article was careful, full of alleged and rumored, and sources claim, but the picture it painted was damning, money laundering, racketeering, connections to people who had a habit of disappearing when they became inconvenient.

Avery closed her laptop and stared at the ceiling. She’d known on some level that the family wasn’t exactly legitimate. Lorenzo’s warnings, Gabriella’s cryptic comments, the way people looked at Damian with fear disguised as respect. But seeing it laid out in black and white made it real in a way it hadn’t been before.

She was married to a criminal or the son of criminals or whatever variation of the truth existed in the space between allegations and proof. Her phone buzzed. Another text from the unknown number. Still think you’re safe? Avery’s hand shook as she typed back, “Who are you?” No response. She waited 10 minutes, 20, an hour. Nothing.

Just silence and the sick feeling that she’d walked into something far worse than a fake marriage. The next morning, Damen found her in the library, surrounded by her old teaching materials. She’d asked for them to be brought from her apartment, and now they were spread across the desk. lesson plans, graded essays, a coffee stained copy of The Great Gatsby that she’d read so many times the spine had cracked. “You miss it,” Damen said.

It wasn’t a question. “Every day?” “You could go back after.” “Could I?” Avery looked up at him. “I’ve been gone for almost a month. They’ve already replaced me.” I checked. “So, teach somewhere else?” “Where? What school is going to hire me after 6 months as a viscari? They’ll think I’m slumbing or conducting an anthropological study or they’ll think you took time off to get married, which is true.

Is it? Damen pulled out a chair and sat across from her. He looked tired. She realized she was starting to recognize his moods. the set of his shoulders when he was stressed. The way his jaw tightened when he was angry, the small crease between his eyebrows when he was thinking too hard about something he didn’t want to think about.

What did you find? He asked. What? Last night you Googled me. I can see it in your face. Avery’s stomach dropped. How did you? I own the Wi-Fi. I see everything that happens in this house. That’s invasive. That’s security. He leaned forward. What did you find? Articles, allegations, things about your family and organized crime, and and I need to know if they’re true.

Damian was quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was careful, measured. My grandfather built an empire. Some of it was legitimate. Some of it wasn’t. By the time I was old enough to understand what that meant, the lines were already blurred. That’s not an answer. It’s the only answer I have. Are you Avery struggled to find the right words? Are are you involved in whatever he does? I run the legitimate side.

Real estate, construction, investments. I don’t touch the rest, but you know about it. Knowing isn’t the same as participating. It’s close enough. Damian stood abruptly and Avery flinched. He noticed and something in his expression cracked. I’m not going to hurt you. I didn’t say you were. You flinched. You moved fast. I’m not my family, Avery. I don’t.

He stopped, running a hand through his hair. It was the first time she’d seen him visibly frustrated. I’ve spent my entire adult life trying to separate myself from what they are, trying to build something clean, something that won’t blow up in my face when my grandfather finally dies and everyone starts fighting over the scraps.

This marriage, this fake, temporary, ridiculous marriage is part of that. It buys me time. It makes me look stable. It gives me leverage. So, I’m a tool. You’re a solution. There’s a difference. Not to me. They stared at each other across the desk, and Avery felt the anger rising in her chest. Anger at him for dragging her into this.

Anger at herself for agreeing. anger at the universe for making her desperate enough that this seemed like a good idea. I want out,” she said quietly. “No, you don’t.” “Yes, I do.” “Then leave.” Damen’s voice was cold again, controlled. “The door is not locked. You can walk out right now. I’ll have the anulment papers filed by tonight.

” And my debts stay with you. That was the deal. That’s not fair. No, it’s not. But it’s honest. He moved toward the door, then stopped. “You have a choice, Avery. You’ve always had a choice. The question is whether you’re brave enough to make it.” He left, and Avery sat there, shaking with rage and fear and something else she couldn’t name.

She looked down at the copy of The Great Gatsby on the desk, at the green light on the cover, and thought about Gatsby reaching for something he could never have, about the American dream and how it was always just out of reach, about wanting and winning and losing, and whether any of it mattered in the end. She didn’t leave.

That night, she found Damen in his study, bent over paperwork that looked important. He glanced up when she entered. “I’m staying,” Avery said. I know, but I need you to be honest with me about everything. No more surprises. No more secrets. That’s not how this works. Then make it work differently. Damian set down his pen. You’re asking me to trust you.

I’m asking you to treat me like a person instead of a chess piece. He considered that. What do you want to know? Everything. Avery sat down across from him. Start with why someone keeps texting me threats. Damen’s expression darkened. Show me. She pulled out her phone and handed it over. He scrolled through the messages, his face getting harder with each one.

How long has this been going on? 3 weeks since the gallery opening. And you didn’t tell me? I wasn’t sure I could trust you. Jesus, Avery. He stood pacing. This is serious. This is He stopped, pulling out his own phone and making a call. I need you to trace a number. Send me the details as soon as you have them. He rattled off the number from Avery’s text and hung up.

You’re getting a new phone tomorrow. And a security detail. I don’t want a security detail. I don’t care what you want. Someone’s threatening you, which means someone knows about our arrangement, which means he stopped himself. I need to handle this. Handle it? How? That’s not your concern. It absolutely is my concern if I’m the one being threatened. Yah.

Damian crossed to where she sat and crouched down so they were eye level. His gray eyes were intense, almost frightening in their focus. I need you to understand something. This world I live in, it’s not safe. People see weakness. They exploit it. You’re married to me, which makes you a target. I can protect you, but only if you let me.

By keeping me in the dark, by keeping you alive. The weight of that statement settled over them. Avery swallowed hard. Who would want to hurt me? Competitors, rivals, people who think getting to me through you is easier than coming at me directly. He stood. I’ve been careful. I’ve kept our marriage low profile outside of family events, but someone’s paying attention.

Is it one of your family? No. They might not like you, but they wouldn’t threaten you. Family is off limits. Then who? I don’t know yet, but I will. The security detail arrived the next day. Two men, both built like brick walls, who took up positions at the house’s entrance and followed Avery whenever she left.

“It was suffocating, invasive, a constant reminder that her life was no longer her own.” “I feel like I’m in prison,” she complained to Damen over breakfast. “You’re in protection.” Same thing. “Not even close.” The threat stopped after that, but Avery couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

Every car that followed too close on the highway, every stranger who looked at her twice at the grocery store, every shadow that moved wrong. She was jumping at ghosts and she hated it. Two weeks later, Lorenzo collapsed at Sunday dinner. It happened fast. One moment, he was telling a story about a business deal from the 70s.

The next, he was slumped in his chair, his face gray, his breathing shallow. The room erupted into chaos. Gabriella screaming for someone to call an ambulance. Damen at his grandfather’s side checking for a pulse. Marco on his phone yelling at someone. And Avery, frozen, watching the family she’d been forced into fall apart in real time.

The ambulance came. Lorenzo was rushed to the hospital. The family followed in a convoy of expensive cars, and Avery found herself in the waiting room of a private medical facility, surrounded by Vasceris who’d momentarily forgotten to maintain their carefully constructed facades. Gabriella was crying.

Marco was pacing. Damen stood by the window, staring out at nothing, his jaw so tight Avery thought it might crack. She approached him carefully. “Are you okay?” “He’s dying.” They said, “He’s stable. He’s dying. Damen repeated. This is just the beginning. The doctors told us months ago. Heart failure. The cancer treatment weakened everything.

It’s only a matter of time. I’m sorry. Don’t be. He lived longer than most people in his position. He knew the risks, but that doesn’t make it easier. Damian finally looked at her, and for the first time since she’d met him, she saw fear. Real unguarded fear. When he dies, everything changes.

the family, the business, all the alliances he’s held together for 40 years, they’ll fracture. There will be a war over who takes control. And you’re supposed to take control. I’m supposed to try. What happens if you don’t? Someone else will, someone worse. He turned back to the window. I need him to last six more months. Just six more months, and the marriage will have served its purpose.

I’ll be legitimate in their eyes, settled, worthy. And if he doesn’t last six more months, Damen didn’t answer. Lorenzo survived the night. He was moved to intensive care, hooked up to machines that beeped and hissed, keeping him alive through chemistry and willpower. The family maintained a vigil, rotating shifts so someone was always there.

Avery found herself sitting with Lorenzo at 3:00 in the morning, listening to the machines breathe for him while Damen slept in a chair nearby. The old man’s eyes opened. For a moment, he seemed confused, disoriented. Then his gaze found her. “You’re still here,” he rasped. “Where else would I be?” “Smart girl.

” His hand moved weakly, and Avery took it. His skin was paper thin, cold. “You love him yet?” “What?” “Damian, do you love him?” Avery opened her mouth to lie, to recite one of the approved responses Richard had drilled into her. But something about the way Lorenzo was looking at her, like he could see straight through every wall she’d built made the truth slip out instead.

I don’t know. Lorenzo smiled. It was a terrible smile, full of pain and satisfaction. That’s the right answer. Love’s not something you know. It’s something you survive. His grip tightened. You’re good for him. You make him human. Don’t let him forget that when I’m gone. You’re not going anywhere.

We’re all going somewhere, girl. Question is whether we leave anything worth remembering. His eyes drifted closed again. Take care of him. He’s going to need it. Lorenzo slipped back into unconsciousness, and Avery sat there holding his hand, feeling the weight of a dying man’s request settle on her shoulders. Across the room, Damen stirred, waking.

He looked at her at his grandfather, and something passed between them. an understanding, an acknowledgement that everything was changing and there was nothing either of them could do to stop it. “Come here,” Damen said quietly. Avery crossed to him and he pulled her down into the chair beside him. His arm went around her shoulders and she let herself lean into him.

Not because she was supposed to, not because anyone was watching, but because for the first time since this nightmare began, she wanted to. They sat like that until morning when the doctors came in and told them Lorenzo was stable enough to be moved to a recovery room. The family filtered back in and the performance resumed.

But something had shifted between Avery and Damian. Something subtle but undeniable. She was starting to forget where the act ended and reality began. Lorenzo came home from the hospital 3 weeks later, diminished but alive. The family threw a quiet dinner to celebrate. If you could call anything the Viscaris did quiet.

Avery had stopped counting the events. They blurred together now, a carousel of forced smiles and careful conversations, and the constant awareness that she was being watched, judged, measured against some standard she’d never be told. But something had changed since the hospital. Damen touched her more.

Not dramatically, not in ways anyone else would notice, but his hand would find hers under the table at dinner. He’d pull her close when they walked through a room, his palms settling at the small of her back like it belonged there. At night, when she couldn’t sleep, she’d hear him moving around across the hall.

And twice she’d found him standing in her doorway, just checking, making sure she was still there. You don’t have to do that, she’d said the second time. Do what? Guard me while I sleep. I’m not guarding you. I’m He stopped, searching for the right word. Making sure you’re okay. I’m fine. You’re never fine.

Neither am I. But we’re both still here. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t even particularly kind. But it was honest. And Avery had started to realize that honesty with Damian was rarer than anything money could buy. The morning everything fell apart started ordinary enough. Avery was reading in the library.

Actually reading, not just pretending for appearances, when Damian burst through the door. His face was pale, his jaw set in that way that meant something had gone catastrophically wrong. We need to leave now. Avery set down her book. What’s happening? I’ll explain in the car. Get your things, Damian. Now, Avery. The urgency in his voice got her moving.

She grabbed her phone and purse and followed him to the garage where one of the security guards was already waiting by a black SUV. Not the Mercedes. Not any of the cars she’d seen before. This one had tinted windows so dark they looked illegal. “Get in the back,” Damen ordered. “Stay down. Stay down. What the hell is going on?” Someone leaked photos of us from before we got married.

Avery’s stomach dropped. What photos? Security footage from the wedding chapel. You drunk, barely standing. Me practically carrying you. It looks He stopped himself. It looks like exactly what it was. How bad? Bad enough that every news outlet in Vegas has it. Bad enough that my family is asking questions I can’t answer.

Bad enough that his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and declined the call. Bad enough that we need to disappear for a few days until I can control the damage. They drove for 2 hours heading northeast into the desert. The security guard, his name was Mason, and he’d been the silent shadow at Avery’s side for weeks, didn’t speak except to take occasional calls that he answered in clipped professional tones.

Damen spent the entire drive on his phone, his voice low and tight as he barked orders at people Avery couldn’t see. I don’t care what they’re offering. No comment, no interviews, nothing. Pause. Then pay them more. Buy the footage. I want every copy destroyed by end of business today. Another pause. Because if you don’t, you’re fired. That’s why.

He hung up and immediately dialed someone else. Where are we going? Avery asked quietly. Safe house off the grid. No one knows about it except me and Mason. What about your family? Especially not my family. They ended up at a cabin in the middle of nowhere. Not rustic. Nothing Damian owned was ever truly rustic, but isolated.

solar panels on the roof, a generator in back, supplies for weeks if necessary. Mason did a sweep of the perimeter while Damen got Avery inside. The cabin was one large room with a kitchenet, a sitting area, and a bedroom visible through an open doorway. Functional, secure, prison-like in its simplicity. “How long do we have to stay here?” Avery asked. “However long it takes.

” Damian was already back on his phone, scrolling through what looked like news articles. His expression got darker with each swipe. Let me see. No, Damian. I said, “No, it’s about me. I have a right to see it.” He stared at her for a long moment, then handed over the phone. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. The headlines were brutal.

Vegas billionaire’s drunken wedding exposed. Vescary marriage a sham. teacher trapped in contract marriage. And the photos, Avery could barely look at them. Her in that ridiculous veil made of napkins, mascara smeared, being held upright by a man she didn’t remember meeting. The photos were grainy, but clear enough.

Clear enough to show the truth. “This is bad,” she whispered. “It’s worse than bad. It’s the one thing I needed to avoid. Questions about legitimacy, about whether this marriage is real. It’s not real. I know that. You know that, but they can’t know that. He took the phone back. The media is running with it.

By tomorrow, there will be think pieces about contract marriages and gold diggers and every other piece of garbage narrative they can spin. My family is going to want answers. Lorenzo is going to He stopped, running both hands through his hair. I worked so hard to make this look legitimate, and now it’s falling apart because some security guard at a 24-hour wedding chapel decided he could make a quick buck.

Can’t you sue them? I’m trying, but the damage is done. The photos are out there. You can’t unring that bell. Avery sank onto the couch. Her hands were shaking. What happens now? We wait. We let my lawyers do their job. And we hope that in a week or two, some other scandal will eclipse this one. And if it doesn’t, Damen sat down beside her.

For the first time since the chaos started, he looked at her. Really looked at her. Then we figure it out together. I thought this was just a transaction. It was. It is. But um he stopped himself. It’s more complicated now. How? Because somewhere in the last 3 months, you stopped being convenient and started being he seemed to struggle with the word important. Avery’s breath caught.

Damian, don’t read into it. I’m not declaring love. I’m stating a fact. You’re important to me, which means I protect you. That’s all this is. Is it? He didn’t answer. Instead, he stood and walked to the window, staring out at the desert landscape that stretched endlessly in all directions. Mason’s going to stay outside.

We’re secure here. No one’s getting in without us knowing. You think someone might try? I think people are unpredictable when money’s involved, and there’s a lot of money attached to our marriage staying intact. They spent the rest of the day in tense silence. Damen made calls. Avery tried to read, but couldn’t focus.

The words kept swimming together, her mind replaying those photos over and over. The humiliation of it, the exposure. Everyone now knew what she’d tried so hard to pretend, that this marriage was born from desperation and alcohol, not love. Night fell and the desert turned cold. Damen started a fire in the stone fireplace and Avery found herself gravitating toward the warmth.

He joined her on the couch, two glasses of whiskey in hand. “I don’t drink,” Avery said. “You did once. Look where it got you.” “That’s not funny.” “It’s a little funny.” He handed her the glass anyway. You don’t have to drink it, but it’s there if you want it. She took it, stared at the amber liquid. I don’t remember that night. Any of it.

I don’t remember meeting you or saying yes or She stopped. I don’t remember becoming this person. What person? Mrs. Vescari, the woman in those photos who can barely stand. The woman who was so desperate that marrying a stranger seemed like a good idea. You weren’t desperate. You were drowning.

There’s a difference, is there? Damen took a long drink. I’ve made a lot of questionable decisions in my life. Marrying you wasn’t one of them. Even now, with everything falling apart. Even now, he set down his glass. You want to know why I really went through with it that night? You said I wanted to disappear.

That’s what you said, but that’s not why I did it. He turned to face her. I did it because for the first time in my life, someone looked at me and didn’t see the family, didn’t see the money, didn’t see anything except a guy in a chapel at 3:00 in the morning who was just as lost as they were. You looked at me like I was human.

And I He stopped, the words catching. I wanted to keep that, even if it was fake, even if it was temporary. I wanted someone to look at me like that for just a little while. Avery’s chest tightened. Damian, I’m not asking for anything. I’m just telling you the truth. You wanted honesty. That’s honest. They sat in silence, the fire crackling between them.

Avery felt something shifting. Some wall she’d been carefully maintaining starting to crumble. This man, this cold, controlled, impossible man, had just handed her something real, something vulnerable, and she didn’t know what to do with it. “I’m scared,” she said finally. “Of what?” “Of this? of you, of what happens when the six months are up and I have to go back to being nobody. You’re not nobody. I was.

Before you, I was invisible. I taught kids who didn’t care, paid bills I couldn’t afford, and watched my mother forget my name a little more every week. I was drowning like you said, and now I’m She gestured helplessly. I don’t know what I am. You’re Avery. That hasn’t changed. Everything’s changed.

Damian reached out slowly, giving her time to pull away. When she didn’t, his hand cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheekbone. Not everything. She should have moved, should have reminded him this was fake, temporary, a business arrangement with an expiration date, but she didn’t. Instead, she leaned into his touch. And when he kissed her soft and careful like she might break, she kissed him back.

It wasn’t like the movies. It wasn’t explosive or life-changing. It was just two people who’d been pretending for so long that they’d forgotten what real felt like, trying to find it in each other. When they pulled apart, Damen rested his forehead against hers. “This is a bad idea.” “Probably the worst. We should stop. We should.

” Neither of them moved. “I can’t promise you anything,” Damen said quietly. “I can’t promise this ends well. I can’t promise I won’t hurt you. I can’t. Then don’t promise. Just Avery searched for the right words. Just be here right now. That’s enough. They stayed on the couch until the fire burned down to embers.

Damian’s arm around her shoulders, her head on his chest, not talking, not planning, just existing in the same space without the weight of performance or expectation. Eventually, exhaustion won. Avery fell asleep there, and when she woke hours later, she was in the bed covered with a blanket.

Damen was on the couch, his jacket serving as a pillow, one arm thrown over his eyes, still protecting her, still keeping distance, still trying to maintain control over something that was rapidly spinning out of his grasp. The next 3 days passed in a strange bubble of isolation. No family, no events, no performance. Just Avery and Damian in the middle of nowhere learning how to be real with each other.

They talked about things that didn’t matter. Favorite books, childhood embarrassments, the small mundane details that built a life. Damen told her about his father, really told her this time. About finding the body, about the funeral where he didn’t cry because 8-year-olds weren’t supposed to cry. Especially not Vascari heirs.

About the nightmares that lasted years. Avery told him about her mother, about the diagnosis that came too late, about watching someone you love forget you piece by piece, about the guilt of not visiting as much as she should because every visit hurt more than the last. “You’re a good daughter,” Damen said one evening while they were cooking, or rather while Avery cooked, and Damen provided unhelpful commentary.

“I’m a terrible daughter. I haven’t been to see her in weeks.” “Because you’re busy living a life you didn’t ask for. That’s not your fault. It feels like my fault. Most things do. Doesn’t make them true. He handed her a knife. Here, take your guilt out on the vegetables. On the fourth day, Mason knocked on the door with news.

The lawyers had done their job. The chapel had been paid off, the footage pulled, and a carefully crafted story planted about how the photos were taken out of context. Young couple, spontaneous wedding, champagnefueled celebration that looked worse than it was. Nothing to see here. Move along. It won’t kill the story completely, Mason said. But it’ll die down.

Give it a week, maybe two. And my family, Damen asked. Gabriela’s handled it. Told everyone it was paparazzi nonsense. Lorenzo believes her. Lorenzo’s dying. He’d believe anything that doesn’t disrupt his succession plans. Still worked. Mason glanced at Avery. You’re clear to go home, both of you. Home. The word felt strange.

The mansion wasn’t home. It was a stage. But going back meant returning to the performance, and Avery wasn’t sure she remembered how anymore. They drove back to Vegas in silence. The city appeared on the horizon like a mirage, all glass and lights and impossible promises. Avery watched it grow closer and felt something inside her titan.

She didn’t want to go back. Didn’t want to resume the careful dance of Mrs. Viscari. For 4 days, she’d been Avery. Just Avery, and she’d forgotten how much she missed herself. “We need to talk about what happened,” Damen said as they pulled into the mansion’s driveway. “Do we?” “Yes.” “What if I don’t want to?” “Then we don’t.

But eventually, eventually what? We acknowledge that this stopped being fake. That we crossed a line we can’t uncross.” Avery turned to face him. What’s the plan here, Damian? We have 2 months left on the contract. Then what? I don’t know. That’s not good enough. It’s all I have. He killed the engine. I don’t know how to do this.

I don’t know how to be what you need. But I He stopped, the words catching. I don’t want you to leave. The contract says get screw the contract. I’m asking you as me, not as your husband, not as the person paying your bills, just as me. Do you want to stay? Aver’s heart was hammering. This was the moment, the choice.

Stay and risk everything falling apart. Leave and go back to drowning. There was no safe option. I don’t know, she said finally. Damian nodded. He looked disappointed but not surprised. Fair enough. They went inside and the mansion felt different, colder, more artificial. Or maybe Avery was different. Maybe four days of truth had ruined her for a performance.

That night, she couldn’t sleep. She lay in her bed, her separate bed in her separate room, and stared at the ceiling. Across the hall, she could hear Damen moving around, pacing probably. He did that when he was stressed. Her phone buzzed. A text from the unknown number she’d almost forgotten about. Time’s up. Tomorrow, midnight.

Come alone or people die. Avery’s blood went cold. She was out of bed and across the hall before she could think. She burst into Damen’s room without knocking. He spun around instantly alert. What’s wrong? She showed him the phone. The expression that crossed his face was something Avery had never seen before. Pure rage. Lethal and focused.

When did this come in? Just now. Did you respond? No. Good. Don’t. He was already on his own phone calling someone. I need a trace now. Yes, the same number. I don’t care what it takes. Find them. He hung up. You’re not going. They said people will die. Uh, it’s a bluff. You don’t know that. Yes, I do. This is a tactic.

Someone’s trying to isolate you. Get you alone. I’m not letting that happen. What if they’re serious? Then I’ll handle it. Damen crossed to her, gripping her shoulders. Listen to me. You’re not leaving this house tomorrow. You’re not going anywhere without me or Mason. Understand? Damian.

Understand? She nodded and he pulled her into his chest. His heart was racing as fast as hers. I won’t let anything happen to you, he said quietly. Whatever this is, whoever’s behind it, I’ll end it. How? By being exactly what everyone thinks I am. The next day passed in agonizing slowness. Mason doubled security. Three more guards appeared, stationed around the property like centuries.

Damen spent the day making calls, his voice cold and clipped as he issued orders Avery couldn’t fully hear. By midnight, the mansion was locked down tighter than a fortress. And nothing happened. No attack, no call, no follow-up message, just silence. It was a bluff, Damen said at 1:00 a.m. They wanted to scare you, that’s all.

Who? I don’t know yet, but I will. Two days later, the answer came from an unexpected source. Gabriella showed up unannounced, her expression grim. “We need to talk,” she said. “All of us.” They gathered in Damian’s study. Him, Avery, and Gabriella. The older woman looked older than usual, tired in a way Avery hadn’t seen before.

“It was Marco,” Gabriella said without preamble. Damian’s jaw tightened. What? He hired someone to harass Avery, scare her, make her run. He thought if she left, you’d lose credibility with Lorenzo. That the succession would be up for grabs. How do you know this? Because he got drunk at my house last night and confessed.

Thought it was funny. Thought he was being clever. Gabriella’s expression hardened. He wasn’t. He was being stupid. And now he’s a problem. Where is he? Contained. I have people watching him. But Damian, she looked between him and Avery. This isn’t over. Marco’s desperate. Desperate people do desperate things.

And when Lorenzo dies, the real fight begins. You need to be ready. I am ready. No, you’re not. Because you’ve started to care about her, and that makes you vulnerable. Damian stood abruptly. Get out, Damian. I said, “Get out.” Gabriella left and the room fell into heavy silence. Avery watched Damen pace, watched him fight for control, and saw the exact moment he lost it.

He slammed his hand against the desk, the sound sharp and violent. “This is my fault,” he said. “How is any of this your fault?” “Because I brought you into this. I made you a target. I He stopped, turning to face her. You should leave while you still can. Take the money. Disappear. Forget this ever happened.

Is that what you want? What I want doesn’t matter. It matters to me. Why? The word came out raw. Why does it matter? I’m a criminal’s grandson. I’m cold. I’m controlling. I’ve turned your life upside down and put you in danger. What about any of that is worth staying for? Avery crossed the room and stood in front of him. Close enough to touch.

close enough to see the fear behind the anger because you’re also the person who remembered I like cheap vanilla creamer. You’re the person who checks on me at night to make sure I’m okay. You’re the person who kissed me like I mattered. And maybe, her voice caught, maybe I’m tired of running.

Maybe I want to stay and see what happens next, even if it’s terrifying. Even if it falls apart. Maybe you’re worth the risk. Damen stared at her like she’d spoken a foreign language. You’re insane. probably. But I’m here. For how long? I don’t know. Stop asking me questions I can’t answer. She grabbed his shirt, pulling him down to her level.

I’m here right now. Can that be enough? He kissed her. Not soft this time, desperate, like she was oxygen and he’d been drowning. And Avery kissed him back with everything she’d been holding back for months. All the fear and confusion and impossible want she’d been trying to ignore. When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Damen pressed his forehead to hers.

I don’t know how to do this. Neither do I. We’re going to fail. Maybe, but we’re going to fail together. Failing together turned out to be more complicated than either of them anticipated. Marco disappeared 3 days after Gabriella’s revelation. Not dead, Damen made that clear when Avery asked, her voice shaking. Just gone.

relocated to one of the family’s properties in Italy with explicit instructions never to come back. Lorenzo had made the call himself from his hospital bed, his voice weak, but his judgment final. “Family didn’t threaten family.” “Marco had crossed that line, and now he was paying for it. “Is he safe there?” Avery asked.

“Safer than he’d be here,” Damen said. “My grandfather’s mercy has limits, but exile isn’t death. Marco will live. He just won’t live here.” and the person he hired also handled. Avery didn’t ask what handled meant. She was learning that some questions were better left unasked. The mansion felt different after that.

The security remained, but the tension shifted. Instead of feeling like a prisoner, Avery started to feel like someone worth protecting. It was a subtle difference, but it mattered. Damen stopped treating her like a fragile thing that might break and started treating her like a partner who could handle the truth. He told her about business deals that were going sideways, about family members positioning themselves for Lorenzo’s death, about the constant chess game of maintaining power in a world that respected nothing except strength. “You

don’t have to tell me all this,” Avery said one night while they were having dinner. Real dinner, not the formal affairs with staff hovering. Just the two of them in the kitchen eating takeout Chinese food straight from the containers. Yes, I do. You’re in this now. really in it. You deserve to know what you’re up against.

What we’re up against. He looked at her and something in his expression softened. Yeah, we they’d moved past pretending. Avery slept in his room now, though they spent most nights just talking, learning each other in the dark. Damen told her about the nightmares he still had about finding his father.

Avery told him about the day her mother forgot her name completely, looked at her like a stranger, and asked when her daughter was coming to visit. They traded trauma like currency, building something real in the wreckage of everything that had brought them together. I need to tell you something, Damen said one morning. They were in bed, the sun streaming through windows that overlooked the desert beyond the city.

Lorenzo’s dying faster than anyone expected. The doctors are saying weeks now, not months. Avery’s chest tightened. I’m sorry. Don’t be. He’s ready. He told me yesterday that he’s tired of fighting. Damen’s hand found hers under the sheets, but it means everything’s going to accelerate. The family is going to start making moves, and I need to know, are you with me? Really with me? Because once he’s gone, there’s no neutral ground.

You’re either on my side or you’re a liability. That’s romantic. I’m being honest. I know. Avery turned to face him. I’m with you, but I need something from you, too. What? After this is over, after the succession is settled and the dust clears, I need you to get out. Damian frowned. Get out of what? The family business. The parts that aren’t legitimate.

The things that could get you killed or arrested or worse? She held his gaze. I can’t watch you destroy yourself for an empire built on blood. I won’t. That’s not how it works. You can’t just walk away from this life. Then make it work differently. You’re smart. You’re ruthless when you need to be. Find a way. Her voice cracked.

Because I love you, and I’m not going to lose you to something you never wanted in the first place. The words hung between them. It was the first time either of them had said it out loud, and Avery watched Damian’s face go through a dozen emotions before settling on something that looked like wonder. “Say that again,” he said quietly.

Which part? The part where you love me. I love you even though you’re controlling and secretive and you make terrible decisions about Chinese food. There’s nothing wrong with my Chinese food choices. You ordered sweet and sour pork. That’s not even real Chinese food. I love you, too. He said it like a confession, like something he’d been holding back for so long that finally letting it out physically hurt.

I don’t know when it happened. Maybe at the wedding chapel when you were drunk and ridiculous and looked at me like I was a person instead of a name. Maybe in the hospital when you sat with my grandfather and didn’t run. Maybe yesterday when you told me my tie was ugly and I needed to fire my stylist. But it happened and I He stopped, his jaw working.

I don’t know how to do this without breaking it. Then we’ll break it together and figure out how to fix it. Avery kissed him softly. But you have to promise me you’ll try to get out to build something that won’t destroy you. I promise, but not yet. First, I have to survive what’s coming. What was coming arrived faster than either of them expected. Lorenzo died on a Tuesday.

Avery was at the hospital when it happened. She’d been visiting more often, sitting with the old man while Damen handled business. Lorenzo liked having her there. He’d tell stories, sanitized versions of his life, but stories nonetheless. About building the family from nothing, about the choices he’d made and the ones he regretted, about watching his grandson grow up too fast and too hard.

“You’re good for him,” Lorenzo said one afternoon. His voice was barely a whisper now, his body failing faster than his mind. “You make him want to be better. He’s already good. He just doesn’t see it. No, he’s what I made him. efficient, cold, useful. Lorenzo’s pale eyes found hers. But you’re making him something else, something human.

Don’t let him lose that when I’m gone. I won’t. Promise me on whatever you believe in. Promise me you’ll keep him human. I promise. Lorenzo smiled. Good girl. Then his eyes drifted closed and Avery thought he was just sleeping. But the machine started making different sounds, urgent sounds, and nurses flooded into the room. Someone pulled her out into the hallway.

Damian appeared from wherever he’d been, his face pale, and they stood together while doctors worked and failed, and finally stopped trying. The family gathered within hours. Gabriella arrived first, her face a mask. Marco’s parents flew in from California. cousins and uncles and people Avery had never met materialized like ghosts.

All of them dressed in black. All of them watching each other with predatory calculation. The grief was real, but so was the hunger. Lorenzo’s death meant opportunity, and everyone knew it. The funeral was enormous. Hundreds of people Avery didn’t recognize. Politicians, business owners, people who looked dangerous and people who looked respectable and probably weren’t.

Damian stood at the front, his expression carved from stone, and delivered a eulogy that was perfect and empty. When it was over, he shook hands and accepted condolences and played the role of the grieving grandson, and Avery watched him disappear into the performance until she could barely see the man she loved underneath.

That night, back at the mansion, Damian finally broke. He didn’t cry. She wasn’t sure he knew how, but he sat on the edge of their bed with his head in his hands, and his shoulders shook with something that looked like grief and exhaustion and fear all mixed together. “I’m not ready,” he said. Avery sat beside him. “No one’s ever ready. He was supposed to last longer.

I was supposed to have more time.” “You had enough time. He made sure of that.” “Did he?” Damen looked at her and his eyes were raw. because I don’t feel ready. I feel like a kid pretending to know what he’s doing. And everyone’s about to figure out I’m faking it. Then fake it until it’s real. That’s what I’ve been doing since the day I woke up in this house.

And look how well that’s worked out. It worked out fine. We’re still here. We’re still together. That’s more than most people get. He pulled her close. And they stayed like that for a long time. No talking, no planning, just holding each other while the weight of everything settled around them. After the funeral came the reading of the will. Avery wasn’t invited.

She was family by marriage, but not by blood. So, she waited at the mansion with Mason, trying not to think about all the ways this could go wrong. The longer Damian was gone, the more her anxiety ratcheted up. When he finally called 6 hours after he’d left, his voice was strange, flat in a way that scared her. Can you come here? I need you.

She drove over with the mason, her stomach in knots. The estate was chaos. Raised voices echoed from Lorenzo’s study. Someone was crying. Someone else was shouting about lawyers and challenges and fraud. Mason escorted her through the crowd to where Damen stood with Gabriella. Both of them looking like they’d been through a war.

“What happened?” Avery asked. “Lorenzo left everything to Damian,” Gabriella said. “The businesses, the properties, all of it, with one condition.” What condition? Damian’s jaw tightened. That I stay married to you for real. No anulment, no divorce. If I end the marriage within the next 10 years, everything goes to a trust controlled by a board of family members.

After 10 years, the marriage clause expires, but the damage would already be done. The family would have control and I’d be out. Avery felt the ground shift under her feet. He knew. Of course he knew. He was dying, not stupid. Gabriella’s expression was unreadable. He also left explicit instructions that you’re to have full access to the family finances and equal say in all major decisions regarding the legitimate businesses.

He made you an heir, Avery, whether you wanted to be or not. I don’t want the money. Too bad. It’s yours. Or rather, it’s yours and Damian’s provided you stay married for at least a decade. Gabriella looked between them. The rest of the family is furious, as you might imagine. They’re going to fight this. Contest the will.

Make both your lives difficult for the foreseeable future. But legally, it’s airtight. Lorenzo spent the last 6 months of his life making sure of that. I need air, Avery said. And before anyone could stop her, she was pushing through the crowd and out into the garden. The night was cold, the desert air biting, and she wrapped her arms around herself and tried to breathe.

10 years. Lorenzo had locked them together for 10 years. Part of her wanted to scream at the manipulation of it, but another part, the part that had fallen in love with Damian somewhere between the contracts and the chaos, felt something else. Relief maybe or permission. Lorenzo had given them a reason to stop pretending this was temporary.

Damen found her 20 minutes later. He didn’t say anything, just stood beside her. And they stared at the lights of Vegas in the distance. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “For what?” “For all of it. For the contract? For dragging you into this family? For,” he stopped. “For the fact that even my grandfather’s love came with strings attached.

Maybe he was trying to protect you, protect us by forcing us to stay together. We were going to stay together anyway.” Avery turned to face him. Weren’t we? Damen’s expression cracked. I don’t know how to answer that without sounding like I’m only saying it because of the will. Then answer it like the will doesn’t exist.

If Lorenzo had left everything to you with no conditions, would you still want me to stay? Yes. No hesitation, no calculation, just truth. Yes, I’d want you to stay. I’d beg you to stay if I thought it would work. But I can’t promise you safety. I can’t promise you peace. All I can promise is that I’ll try to be better than what I came from.

And that I’ll love you while I’m trying. That’s enough. She reached for him and he pulled her close, his arms tight around her. But you still have to get out. You promised. I know. I’m holding you to that. I know. The next few months were brutal. The family fractured along predictable lines.

Some of Lorenzo’s generation retired, content to collect their share and fade into obscurity. The younger generation split between those who supported Damian and those who wanted him gone. Gabriella became an unexpected ally, using her influence to smooth over conflicts and shut down the worst of the rebellion.

But there were still threats, still people who thought violence was the answer to their problems. still nights when Damian came home looking haunted and wouldn’t talk about what he’d had to do to maintain control. “I’m losing you,” Avery said. One night, “They were lying in bed, but Damen was somewhere else entirely, staring at the ceiling with that expression that meant he was running calculations she couldn’t see.

I’m right here.” “No, you’re not. You’re in your head, planning something you won’t tell me about, and I’m watching you disappear into the person you said you didn’t want to be.” He turned to look at her. There’s a situation with the Castillanos. Victor’s family. His nephew thinks he should have gotten a larger share of the business we jointly operate.

He’s making noise about taking what’s his by force if necessary. Can’t you just give him a larger share? If I do that, every other family we work with will see it as weakness. They’ll all start demanding more. I have to draw a line. What kind of line? Damian’s jaw tightened. The kind that might get ugly. No. Avery sat up. No.

You promised me you were getting out, not deeper in. I am getting out, but I have to stabilize things first. If I walk away while everything’s in chaos, people will die. Good people. People who are loyal to me. And if you stay, what then? You become exactly what Lorenzo was. You build the same empire, make the same compromises, and 20 years from now, you’re dying in a hospital bed telling our kids to make better choices.

That’s not fair. Life’s not fair. But you have a choice here. You can be the person who breaks the cycle or the person who perpetuates it. You don’t get to do both. They fought about it for weeks, careful, controlled fights where neither of them raised their voices, but the words cut deep anyway. Damian insisted he needed to secure his position first.

Avery insisted that there would always be one more crisis, one more threat, one more reason to delay. They were at an impass and both of them knew it. Then someone took a shot at Damian. It happened outside a business meeting in downtown Vegas. One moment, Damen was walking to his car. The next, Mason was tackling him to the ground while bullets shattered the windows behind them.

Avery got the call while she was at her new teaching job. And by the time she made it to the hospital, Damian was already being treated. “I’m fine,” he said when she burst into the examination room. He had a gash on his forehead from where he’d hit the pavement, but otherwise looked intact.

The bullets didn’t even come close. Mason moved faster. “You’re not fine. Someone just tried to kill you.” Avery’s hands were shaking so badly, she had to clasp them together. This is what I was afraid of. This is exactly what I I know. Damian pulled her into his arms even though the doctor was trying to check his vitals. I know.

And you’re right. It’s time to get out. You mean that? I mean it. I’m done. Whatever it takes, whatever it costs, I’m out. Just like that. Just like that. Because losing you, really losing you, not just fighting with you, that’s not something I can survive. It took another year to make it happen.

A year of negotiations and deals and careful maneuvering. Damen sold off the questionable parts of the business to people who could handle them kept the legitimate operations and created enough distance between himself and the family’s criminal enterprises that the FBI finally stopped making inquiries. It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t perfect.

There were still connections, still obligations, still ties to people who operated in the shadows. But it was enough. Enough that Damen could sleep at night. Enough that Avery stopped checking the news every morning to see if his name had appeared in an arrest warrant or an obituary. The family pushed back hard. There were threats, attempts at blackmail.

one memorable Thanksgiving dinner where Damen’s uncle threw a glass of wine at his head and accused him of destroying everything Lorenzo had built. But Gabriella stood firm and the older generation backed her and eventually the opposition crumbled. By the time Damen’s second anniversary of running the family business came around, the transformation was mostly complete.

The Viscaris were legitimate, boring, respectable in a way that would have made Lorenzo either proud or furious depending on his mood. How does it feel?” Avery asked one night. They were in their bedroom, actually theirs now, not his. With her visiting, they’d renovated the mansion, made it feel less like a museum and more like a home.

Pictures on the walls, books everywhere, evidence of life instead of just wealth. Weird. Quiet. I keep waiting for something to blow up. Nothing’s going to blow up. Something always blows up. Not this time. She kissed him. We survived, both of us. Against all odds and common sense, we actually survived. You make it sound like it’s over, isn’t it? Damian pulled her closer.

I don’t think it’s ever really over, but maybe maybe that’s okay. Maybe survival is just choosing to stay when leaving would be easier. Very philosophical. I’m a changed man. You’re really not. I’m trying to be a changed man. That’s better. They got married again 18 months later. Not the drunk Vegas chapel version.

Not the version with contracts and lawyers and expiration dates. A real wedding, small, intimate, just family and friends in a garden that didn’t belong to Lorenzo’s estate. Gabriella cried, which shocked everyone. Avery wore a simple dress that cost less than the shoes she’d worn to her first family dinner, and Damen wore a suit that wasn’t meant to intimidate anyone.

I can’t believe we’re doing this again, Avery said as they stood under an arch covered in flowers. Third time’s the charm. We’ve only done it twice. I’m counting the legal ceremony after the drunk one. So, technically, this is number three. That’s not how math works. The officient cleared his throat. If you two are done, they spoke their vows, real ones this time, written by them, full of promises they intended to keep to love each other even when it was hard.

to choose each other every day, to build something worth staying for. When the officient pronounced them married, Damian kissed her like it was the first time and the last time all at once. “Still worth it?” he murmured against her lips. “Ask me in 50 years.” “I will.” Life settled into something resembling normal after that. Avery went back to teaching full-time, but at a private school where the budget wasn’t held together with wishes and hope.

Damian ran his businesses from home more often than not, trading power lunches for dinner with his wife. They fought. They made up. They figured out how to be married without the pretense and discovered it was harder and better than either of them expected. “I want kids,” Avery said one night out of nowhere.

Damen looked up from his laptop. “What kids? Children? Small humans. I want them. When did you decide this? About 3 months ago. But I wasn’t sure how you’d react. Why wouldn’t I? He stopped. You thought I’d say no. You’re not exactly the paternal type. I’m not exactly a lot of things. Didn’t stop me from becoming them.

He closed his laptop. You really want kids with me? With you? Not with anyone else. With you. We’re going to be terrible at it, probably. I don’t know the first thing about being a father. Neither did yours, probably. But you’ll figure it out. We’re going to fail. We’re good at failing. We’ve had practice. 2 years later, Avery got pregnant.

It wasn’t planned. Nothing about their relationship had ever been planned. But when she told Damian, he looked at her like she had handed him the world. Are you sure? I took four tests, all positive. Four tests. I’m thorough. He crossed the room and pulled her into his arms. And for the first time since she’d known him, his hands were shaking.

We’re having a baby. We’re having a baby. I’m going to screw this up probably, but I’ll be there to fix it. She kissed him. We’ll screw it up together. Their daughter was born on a Tuesday, screaming her way into the world with her father’s determination and her mother’s timing. They named her Elena after Avery’s mother.

And when the nurse placed her in Damian’s arms for the first time, he cried. Actual tears streaming down his face while he stared at this tiny person like she was the most terrifying thing he’d ever seen. She’s so small, Damen whispered. All babies are small. What if I drop her? You’re not going to drop her. What if I break her? You’re not going to break her.

You’re going to love her and protect her and probably be insanely overprotective until she’s 30. 40. Compromise at 35. Damen looked at Avery then back at Elena. I don’t know how to do this. Neither do I. But we’ll figure it out like we figure out everything else. They did figure it out, though. It was messier and harder than either of them expected.

Elena was colicky and stubborn and refused to sleep through the night until she was almost a year old. Avery went back to teaching part-time and spent the rest of her time covered in spitup and wondering if she’d ever sleep again. Damen threw himself into fatherhood with the same intensity he’d once reserved for business deals, reading every parenting book he could find and driving Avery crazy with statistics about developmental milestones.

“She smiled at me today,” he announced one evening, bursting into the bedroom where Avery was trying to nap. “That’s Gas. She’s 3 weeks old.” It was a real smile. I saw it. It was gas. It was a smile. And she was smiling at me because she knows I’m her father and she loves me. You’re delusional. I’m a father. It’s the same thing.

Elena was followed by a son. 2 years later, Marco, named after Damian’s cousin, as an olive branch that surprised everyone. The family softened after that. It was hard to maintain old grudges when there were grandchildren to spoil. Even Marco senior, back from exile and significantly humbled, showed up to family dinners without causing chaos.

He’d met someone in Italy, he told them, a woman with three kids of her own. He was different now, calmer. He apologized to Avery for what he’d done, and she believed him because people could change. She and Damian were proof of that. Avery’s mother died when Elena was three.

She went peacefully in her sleep, finally free from the disease that had stolen her mind, piece by piece. At the funeral, Damen held Avery while she cried and didn’t try to fix it or make it better, just held her. That night, he told Elena stories about the grandmother she’d barely known. And Avery realized that this this messy, complicated, hard one life was what she’d been fighting for all along.

“Do you ever regret it?” she asked him one night. They were in bed exhausted from a day of parenting two kids under five, and Damen was half asleep. Regret what? all of it. The marriage, the choices, leaving the family business. He was quiet for so long she thought he’d fallen asleep. Then he said, “I regret that night in Vegas.

” Her heart dropped. What? I regret that we were both so drunk we can’t remember it. I regret that we don’t have that story, but everything after. He rolled over to face her. No, I don’t regret any of it. You’re the best mistake I ever made. That’s the worst compliment I’ve ever received. You married me three times.

Your judgment is clearly questionable. Yours is worse. You married me first. Best decision of my life. They fell asleep like that, tangled together. And Avery dreamed about wedding chapels and terrible decisions. And how the worst night of her life had somehow turned into the best thing that ever happened to her. Years passed.

Elena grew into a fierce, brilliant girl who inherited her father’s steel and her mother’s heart. She was seven when she announced she wanted to be a lawyer. Not just any lawyer, but the kind who helped people who couldn’t help themselves. Marco became the charming troublemaker who could talk his way out of anything. But his mischief was gentle, kind.

He got that from Avery, Damen said. The ability to see the best in people even when they didn’t deserve it. The mansion filled with noise and life and the kind of chaos you couldn’t buy. Birthday parties with too much cake. Halloween costumes that took weeks to make. Christmas mornings where wrapping paper covered every surface and the kids were up at 5:00 a.m. demanding presents.

Damen’s hair started going gray at the temples. Avery found laugh lines around her eyes that hadn’t been there before. And she liked them. They were proof she’d lived. They built a foundation in Lorenzo’s name, one that funded education and medical care for families who were drowning the way Avery once had. Damen threw himself into it with the same intensity he’d once reserved for business deals.

And Avery watched him become the man Lorenzo had hoped he could be, the man she’d always known he was underneath the ice. They funded scholarships for kids whose parents couldn’t afford college. They paid off medical debt for families crushed by hospital bills. They did it quietly without press releases or photo opportunities because it wasn’t about recognition.

It was about making sure no one else had to wake up in a stranger’s mansion because desperation left them no other choice. On their 10th anniversary, the real one, not the Vegas one they didn’t remember. They went back to the cabin in the desert where they’d hidden from the world all those years ago. The kids were with Gabriella, who spoiled them rotten and sent them home hyped up on sugar and stories about the old days that were probably sanitized for young ears.

“Do you remember what you said to me here?” Avery asked. They were sitting by the fire like they had years ago, and it felt like time had folded in on itself. “I said a lot of things. You said I was important. You are important. You also said you couldn’t promise me anything. I remember you were wrong. You promised me everything that matters.

She moved closer, settling against his side. You promised to try and you did. You’re still trying. That’s more than I ever expected from a drunk wedding in Vegas. Damen kissed the top of her head. You want to know a secret? Always. I lied that night. When I said I didn’t remember the wedding, I remembered enough.

I remembered you laughing at something the Elvis impersonator said. I remembered you asking if I was sure about this. I remembered saying yes and meaning it even though I was drunk and stupid and had no idea what I was doing. I remembered thinking you were the most real thing I’d encountered in years. Why didn’t you tell me? Because I didn’t want you to feel trapped.

I wanted you to choose me every day. Not because of a contract or a will or because you were drunk and desperate. Just because. I do choose you every single day, even when you’re insufferable. Especially when I’m insufferable. Especially then. They stayed at the cabin for 3 days, and it felt like the reset button they didn’t know they needed.

When they drove back to Vegas, the city looked different, smaller, less intimidating. Or maybe they were just bigger now, strong enough to face whatever came next. Elena graduated high school at 17, brilliant and terrifying in equal measure. She announced she was going to law school to help people who couldn’t help themselves.

And Avery saw herself in her daughter, the same fire, the same determination to matter. She got accepted to Harvard. And Damen pretended not to cry when he dropped her off freshman year. She’s going to change the world, he said on the drive home. She gets that from you. She gets it from both of us. Marco went into business, but he chose environmental sustainability, building something clean and new that had nothing to do with the family’s past.

He was 23 when he landed his first major contract. And he called Damen in tears because he couldn’t believe it was real. Damen talked him through it. And later that night, he told Avery it was the proudest moment of his life. Better than becoming the heir? Not even close. This watching him build something good. That’s what matters.

The years kept passing. Gabriella died at 89, sharp and sarcastic until the end. She went peacefully in her sleep, and at her funeral, half of Vegas showed up to pay respects. The other half stayed away out of fear or respect, or both. Damen gave the eulogy, and this time when he spoke about family and loss and love, every word was real.

The family scattered after that. Some staying in Vegas, others moving away to build their own empires. The mansion got quieter. Damian and Avery found themselves alone more often than not and discovered they liked it, liked having each other without the noise and chaos. “We did it,” Avery said one evening. They were sitting on the back patio watching the sunset paint the desert in Impossible Colors.

They were in their 50s now, and sometimes Avery’s back hurt, and Damen’s knees weren’t what they used to be, but they were here together, still choosing each other. We did. It wasn’t supposed to work. No, it really wasn’t. But here we are. Here we are. Damian reached for her hand and she laced her fingers through his.

They fit together perfectly now, worn smooth by years of holding on. Still falling, still failing, still choosing each other. Every day. Every single day. Elena called that night. She had just won her first major case, a class action lawsuit against a pharmaceutical company that had been price gouging insulin. Hundreds of families would get compensation.

Thousands more would benefit from the policy changes she’d forced through. She was crying and laughing at the same time. And Avery cried, too, because her daughter had become exactly the person she was meant to be. “You did good, kid.” Damen told her. “I learned from the best,” Elena said. “Both of you.

” After they hung up, Avery and Damian sat in the quiet of their home, surrounded by 20 years of memories, pictures on every wall, kids’ artwork still hanging in the hallway. A life built from nothing. Do you think Lorenzo knew? Avery asked that it would work out like this. I think he hoped. That’s the best any of us can do.

Hope and survive. Hope and survive, Damen agreed. And choose love when it’s easier to walk away. In the distance, Vegas glittered with promises it would never keep. The same city that had witnessed their drunken wedding in a cheap chapel. The same city that had almost destroyed them.

The same city where they’d built something impossible. The ring on Avery’s finger, the massive diamond she’d woken up wearing that first morning caught the fading light. She twisted it absently, the symbol of a marriage that had started as a lie and become the most honest thing in her life. Beside it was the simple gold band from their real wedding.

Two rings, two marriages, one love. We should renew our vows, Damen said suddenly. We just did that 10 years ago. I know, but I want to do it again every 10 years. Keep reminding ourselves why we chose this. That’s ridiculous. So is marrying a stranger in Vegas didn’t stop us then. Avery laughed. Fine, but this time I’m picking the location. Deal.

They renewed their vows 6 months later, standing in the same garden where they’d gotten married the second time. Elena and Marco were there along with their partners. A few close friends, Gabriella’s children and grandchildren, the family that remained. 20 years ago, Damen said, holding Avery’s hands, I made a terrible decision in a wedding chapel at 3:00 in the morning.

I married a woman I didn’t know because I was drunk and lost and looking for something I couldn’t name. And somehow, against all logic and reason, it turned into this, into love, into family, into a life worth living. 20 years ago, Avery said, her voice steady, I woke up in a stranger’s house with a ring on my finger and terror in my heart.

I thought I’d made the worst mistake of my life. I was wrong. It was the best mistake because it led me here, to you, to us, to everything that matters. They kissed and their kids cheered and the sun set over the desert and for a moment everything was perfect. Not smooth, not easy, but real, present, whole.

That night, lying in bed, Avery turned to Damian. Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we’d gotten the anulment? If I’d walked away that first day? Every day. Really? Really? And every day I’m grateful you stayed. Even when I’m annoying, especially when you’re annoying, it means you’re still here, still choosing me. Always. The years continued.

Elena got married at 32 to a woman who made her laugh and challenged her and loved her fiercely. Marco followed at 35, marrying his college sweetheart in a ceremony that made everyone cry. Grandchildren arrived, three of them in 5 years, and suddenly the quiet mansion was loud again on weekends and holidays. Damian retired at 65, handing over the legitimate businesses to trusted managers and spending his days with Avery.

They traveled, they read, they sat on their patio and watched sunsets and talked about everything and nothing. Sometimes Avery would catch him looking at her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. What? She’d ask. Nothing. Just I’m glad you’re here. Where else would I be? I don’t know. Anywhere. Everywhere. You could have been anywhere, but you’re here with me.

There’s nowhere else I want to be. On their 30th anniversary, Damian surprised her with a trip back to the wedding chapel. The same one where it had all started. It looked smaller than Avery remembered, dingier. The Elvis impersonator was still there, older now, but still performing. “Why are we here?” Avery asked.

because I wanted to remember what it felt like that night before everything got complicated. Everything was already complicated. Fair point. Damen took her hand. But I wanted to stand here with you sober this time and tell you that if I had to do it all over again, the contract, the performance, the fear, the fighting, I would every time.

Because it led me to you. You’re sentimental in your old age. I’m not old. We’re 70. That’s not old. that’s experienced. Avery laughed and pulled him close. I’d do it again, too. All of it. Even the terrible parts, especially the terrible parts, because they made us who we are. They stood in that cheap wedding chapel surrounded by neon lights and tourists and the ghost of who they used to be and renewed their vows one more time.

No officient, no witnesses, just two people who’d survived everything the world threw at them and come out the other side together. I love you, Damen said. I know. Still, always, even when I’m old and annoying, especially then. They walked out of the chapel hand in hand into the Vegas night that sparkled with impossible dreams.

The city hadn’t changed, but they had. They’d become something neither of them expected. Partners, lovers, best friends, parents, grandparents. They’d become home for each other. And in the end, that was the story. Not the drunk wedding or the contract or the empire built on blood. Not the threats or the violence or the impossible odds.

Just two people who made a terrible decision in a Vegas wedding chapel and somehow against all logic and reason turned it into a love that lasted. They lived. They fought. They forgave. They chose each other every single day. Even when it was hard, especially when it was hard. And 30 years after that first morning, when Avery woke up wearing silk and terror, she woke up wearing comfortable pajamas and peace.

Damen was beside her, his hair white now, his face lined with years of laughter and worry and love. He was still checking on her, still making sure she was okay, still choosing her. “Good morning,” he said. “Good morning.” “Coffee always.” They got up together like they had for three decades and walked downstairs to start another day.

Another chance to choose each other. Another opportunity to prove that sometimes the worst decisions lead to the best lives. The ring on Avery’s finger caught the morning light throwing tiny rainbows across the kitchen counter. The same ring from that first morning. The same promise transformed by time into something real.

She’d woken up married to a stranger once. Now she woke up married to the person who knew her better than anyone. The person who’d seen her at her worst and chosen to stay. The person who’d built a life with her from nothing but desperation and hope and a drunken yes in a Vegas chapel. It wasn’t perfect. It was never perfect. But it was theirs.

And that was enough. More than enough. It was everything.