"I'm pregnant, Kiero. What are you going to do about my disabled cousin Stephanie?"

I froze in the hallway, my hand gripping the cool metal frame of my wheelchair. My legs, shaky but strong after months of therapy, carried my weight, though they threatened to buckle under me. This was supposed to be the moment I surprised Kiero, the man I had risked everything to save. I had rehearsed it countless times—walking into his office, proud, radiant, showing him that the woman he loved was whole again.

But now, I couldn’t move.

Arielle’s voice—my cousin, the girl I’d once called my sister—cut through the air like a blade.

Kiero responded, “I’ll let her go eventually. Once she’s back on her feet, there’s no reason to stay.”

"But what about the baby?” Arielle pressed, “I’ll soon start to show. Don’t tell me you’re still gonna marry her?”

Kiero sighed heavily. “Of course not, baby. You’re the one I’m gonna marry but we have to wait. Right now, I can’t leave. I owe her my life since she saved me from the accident. It’s the only reason I’ve stayed.”

The weight of their words pressed against my chest, stealing my breath. The man I had loved, the man I had nearly died for, was planning his exit—had already replaced me with my own cousin.

I stumbled back, barely managing to hold my balance. My chest felt tight, as if the air itself had turned to stone. I needed to get away. Now.

Turning, I left my wheelchair behind, my legs trembling. Each step burned, but I kept going. Past the receptionist’s desk, through the glass doors, out into the bustling street.

I didn’t know where I was going. The only thing I knew was that I couldn’t stop. The betrayal was too loud, their voices echoing in my head like a cruel loop.

“Once she’s back on her feet, there’s no reason to stay.”

Tears blurred my vision, but I didn’t care. I ran until my legs gave out and my knees hit the concrete. I caught myself on a streetlamp.

A glowing neon sign caught my eye—Fiery Bar. Without thinking, I pushed open the door and stumbled inside. The dim lighting and the smell of stale liquor wrapped around me like a cocoon. I slid onto the nearest barstool.

"Whiskey. Neat," I croaked, not caring how desperate I sounded.

The bartender set a glass in front of me. I downed it in one gulp. “Another,” I muttered.

The second drink went down slower. The weight of what I’d overheard began to settle like concrete in my stomach. Kiero and Arielle. My cousin. My fiancé. The two people I trusted most in the world had been laughing behind my back, planning a future that didn’t include me.

The third drink blurred the edges of the room, numbing the sharp sting of betrayal. My head swam with questions I didn’t want to answer.

Why did I ever think Kiero loved me?

Why did I save him?

Why wasn’t I enough?

The sound of a deep voice broke through my spiraling thoughts.

"I need a bride, fast," a man said.

I turned my head slightly, my eyes finding the source of the voice. He stood at the end of the bar, tattoos peeking out from under the sleeves of his leather jacket. His dark eyes scanned the room as he spoke to a man beside him, his jaw clenched in frustration.

"A bride?" the other man asked, raising a skeptical brow.

"Yeah," Tattooed Guy replied. "The kind who can sign a marriage certificate and keep her mouth shut. No strings attached."

I stared at him, my whiskey-fueled haze mingling with the remnants of heartbreak and anger. A crazy idea began to form in my mind.

I stood, swaying slightly as I made my way toward him. The bartender shot me a concerned glance, but I ignored it. When I reached the man, I squared my shoulders and looked him straight in the eye.

“I need a groom,” I said. “Do you want to marry me?”

"Do you want to marry me?"

His head tilted slightly, dark eyes narrowing as he studied me. For a moment, I thought he wouldn’t answer, but then a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." My voice was steadier than I expected. Maybe it was the whiskey or maybe the raw anger still burning in my chest, but I felt braver than I had in years.

His smirk faltered, replaced with genuine confusion. "Do you even know who I am?"

"No," I said simply.

"Then why are you offering to be my wife?"

I crossed my arms, lifting my chin. "Because you need a wife. I need a groom. It’s a win-win situation."

He chuckled, a low, rough sound that sent a shiver down my spine. "Why do you need a groom?"

"My fiancé cheated on me," I said, the words tumbling out before I could second-guess them. "I need someone to show him he’s nothing. A revenge marriage, if you will."

The man stared at me. His silence stretched between us, and for a moment, I wondered if I’d crossed a line. Then, he leaned in. "Are you sure you want to be my wife?"

"Yes," I said firmly.

His eyes glinted with something I couldn’t place—amusement, curiosity, maybe both. "If that’s what you want, then I’m Reagan Collins."

I blinked, the name sparking something in my memory. "Collins?" I repeated, my voice wavering slightly.

His brow arched. "Why? Does it ring a bell?"

"It’s familiar, but I’m not sure where I’ve heard it before," I admitted, shaking my head. "Anyway, if you agree, should we talk about the deal? I’m Stephanie Brown.”

His smirk returned. "Sure, we can. But I’d like to show you my conditions first, and we’ll see if you still agree to it."

"I agree," I said quickly, the alcohol dulling any caution I might have had.

Reagan nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper. He motioned to the bartender, who handed him a pen without hesitation. Reagan unfolded the paper, smoothing it out on the bar counter before sliding it toward me.

"Read it carefully," he said. "This isn’t your average marriage contract."

I barely glanced at the document. My vision swam slightly, and my head felt light, but I didn’t care. All I knew was that I wanted this—needed this. Without hesitation, I grabbed the pen and scrawled my name across the bottom.

"There," I said, pushing it back to him. "Done."

Reagan’s smirk widened, but I barely noticed. The edges of the room began to blur, and my head grew heavier by the second. I vaguely registered him folding the paper and slipping it into his jacket before everything went black.

When I woke, the world felt too bright and too loud. My head pounded, and my mouth was dry as sandpaper. I squinted against the sunlight streaming through the large windows of an unfamiliar hotel room.

Groaning, I sat up, clutching my head. The events of the previous night were a hazy blur—Kiero, Arielle, the bar, Reagan...

My gaze landed on the table near the window. A folded piece of paper sat neatly on top, along with a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin. I grabbed the paper first, my heart pounding as I unfolded it.

It was the contract. My signature stared back at me, bold and final. I skimmed the text, my eyes catching on one particular clause near the bottom.

"The undersigned agrees to produce an heir within one year of marriage."

I stared at the words, my stomach twisting. An heir? What kind of deal had I signed?

Before I could process further, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. I reached for it, my hand shaking slightly. The screen lit up with Kiero’s name.

Taking a deep breath, I answered.

"Baby," Kiero’s voice came through, smooth and familiar. "Did you come by my office yesterday?"

"Baby, did you go to my office yesterday?"

Kiero’s voice sounded calm, almost casual, but I caught the faint edge in his tone. My grip tightened on the phone. I forced myself to sound equally nonchalant. "Why do you ask?"

"There was a wheelchair left in the hallway outside my office," he said. "It looked just like yours."

I let out a soft laugh, feigning innocence. "Why would I leave my wheelchair when I’m using it?"

There was a pause, and I could almost hear him piecing things together. Finally, he said, "Right. Makes sense."

"Is there something else you wanted?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

"How’s your condition?" he asked, his tone shifting to one of concern.

I hesitated. For a brief moment, I considered telling him the truth—that I could walk now, that I no longer needed the wheelchair. But the memory of him with Arielle, their whispered betrayal, stopped me.

"No change," I said, the lie rolling off my tongue with ease. "Still the same."

He sighed softly. "I’m sorry, baby. I know how hard it’s been for you."

"Yeah," I murmured. "It has."

There was a pause, then I asked, "Can we spend some time together today? Maybe dinner or a movie?"

"I wish I could," he said, sounding genuinely regretful. "But I’ll be busy all day. Let’s move it to another time, okay?"

I swallowed my bitterness and forced a smile he couldn’t see. "Sure, Kiero. Another time."

The call ended, leaving me alone with the weight of my thoughts.

But I couldn’t let it rest. Not anymore.

Hours later, I found myself inside the hospital for my daily check-up. As I made my way toward the hallways, I heard familiar voices.

“Oh, gosh. I’m so excited for our baby.”

Arielle.

“Yes, me too!” Kiero responded.

So this is the reason why he was busy. I was too naive. I thought all those busy nights of Kiero were really about his business, only realizing it was because of Arielle.

At first, I tried to ignore the signs, thinking that it was because Arielle is family and they are close that’s why Arielle is present in our events. Not knowing I was actually the thirdwheel in their relationship.

The sight of them walking toward the OBGYN clinic made my stomach churn. Arielle placed a protective hand over her stomach, and Kiero’s hand brushed against hers in a way that felt far too familiar.

The betrayal burned hotter than ever.

I couldn’t do this anymore.

Back in my apartment, I paced the floor, my mind racing. My gaze fell on the contract still sitting on the table. Reagan Collins. Giving him son? I think that’s better than living with lies.

I grabbed my phone, and dialed his number.

He answered on the second ring. "Stephanie."

"We need to get married," I said. "As soon as possible."

There was a brief pause. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," I said, my jaw tightening. "I’m sure."

"Alright," Reagan said. "I’ll make the arrangements. Be ready."

The following morning, I was up early, pacing my small apartment. A knock on the door jolted me out of my thoughts. I peered through the peephole and saw a man in a crisp black suit standing outside.

“Miss Brown?” he asked as I opened the door.

“Yes.”

“I’m here to take you to Mr. Collins.”

I hesitated for a moment, then grabbed my bag and stepped outside. As I followed the man, I expected to see a standard car waiting for me. Instead, parked at the curb was a sleek black limousine, polished to a mirror-like shine.

A limousine.

My breath caught as I stared at it. The door was already open, and I caught a glimpse of the luxurious interior—leather seats, crystal glasses, and a small bar built into the side. I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of man would send a limousine for a deal like this.

As I settled into the plush seat, the realization hit me. Reagan Collins wasn’t just rich. He was really rich.

The name Collins rang in my head, tugging at a distant memory. Where had I heard it before?

The answer came in a rush. Kiero had mentioned it once during one of his drunken ramblings. Collins. Not just a businessman. Not just a powerful figure.

A mafia boss. And I got myself a deal with him?