"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?

The limousine slowed to a stop in front of an estate that looked like something out of a dream. Grand iron gates towered over the entrance, flanked by tall, shadowy trees. Beyond them, the sprawling mansion loomed, every window glowing with soft golden light.

The driver opened my door, and I stepped out, my heels crunching on the gravel driveway. Reagan stood waiting at the entrance.

I didn’t waste a second to confirm. “Are you a mafia boss?”

Reagan’s lips quirked, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “Yes.”

I stared at him, my mind spinning. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would it have made a difference?”

I opened my mouth to respond but stopped. Would it? I’d already signed the agreement, already thrown myself headfirst into a deal I barely understood. My life was entangled with his now, no matter who he was.

Still, the weight of his answer hung heavy in the air. I had heard the rumors about the mafia in this city—about their ruthlessness, their control over the underground. In public, they were invisible, shunned by a society that claimed to reject them. But the truth was, they ran the city in the shadows. I just never thought I’d meet one of them, much less agree to marry one.

“And now,” Reagan said, “you know the truth. But to the rest of the world, I’m just Reagan Collins, a businessman.”

I narrowed my eyes. “So, your… hiding your identity as a mafia boss?"

I clarified. I wouldn't even know that he was a mafia boss if it weren't for Kiero. In one of his drunken state, he had mentioned how he joined an underground organization to help his business grow and he had transacted with Reagan, hoping he'd become a member of their group.

“It’s an open secret but it doesn’t matter. In our city, people are not fond of mafias and the Federal has their eyes on me. I'd like to be discreet. So, let’s just talk about my legal business, my company is hosting an event soon. It’s a gathering for all the prominent businessmen in the city.”

“Kiero Davis will be there,” he added. “If you want, you can announce our marriage then. It’s up to you. "Unless you're scared of me being a mafia boss now."

My breath hitched. The thought of seeing Kiero’s face—of watching his world crumble the way he had shattered mine—was tempting, almost intoxicating.

“I’ll do it,” I said. Reagan is the one person Kiero wanted for his business, so it was really destiny that I had met him.

Reagan nodded. “Then it’s settled.”

The day of the event arrived faster than I expected. Dressed in an elegant navy-blue gown Reagan had sent over, I sat in my wheelchair.

The venue was breathtaking—crystal chandeliers, polished marble floors, and the low hum of conversations between the city’s most powerful figures. It didn’t take long to spot Kiero and Arielle near the front.

When Arielle saw me, her face froze. She stood abruptly, her hand resting on her stomach for balance.

“Stephanie,” she said, walking toward me with a strained smile. Her eyes flicked to my wheelchair, then back to my face. “I… How did you get in here? I thought…” Her words faltered before her lips pressed into a thin line. “I mean, Kiero told me this was an exclusive event. You’d need an invitation.”

Her tone was sharp, but she tried to hide it beneath a veil of politeness.

“Plus, I’m Kiero’s plus one,” she added, a faint trace of smugness in her voice. “Did someone sneak you in?”

I kept my expression calm. “I’m here on a personal invitation.”

Her eyes narrowed, her confusion turning into suspicion. “Personal invitation? By who? And why? I thought you didn’t like events like these that is why I always accompany Kiero.”

“It’s for a change,” I said smoothly.

Arielle opened her mouth to press further, but before she could speak, Kiero joined us. His expression was guarded, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of guilt as he glanced at me.

“Stephanie,” he said cautiously. “I didn’t expect to see you here. I was supposed to invite you but I know you don’t like these events so I asked Arielle.”

“It’s okay, someone already invited me. I don’t need you,” I responded.

Kiero stiffened at my words, his mouth opening and closing as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

Before either of them could respond, the hall fell silent. All eyes turned toward the stage as Reagan stepped up, a glass of champagne in hand.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began. “Tonight isn’t just about business. It’s also about celebration.”

A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd, curiosity lighting up the faces around me.

“I’ve found my bride,” Reagan announced.

Gasps erupted around the room, the whispers growing louder. Reagan descended the stage. His gaze locked on me, and for a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. When he reached my side, he extended his hand.

Without hesitation, I placed my hand in his and stood up.

“Wait, Stephanie?” Kiero blinked as he stared at us. “What is the meaning of this? You can now walk?”