I woke up and I didn't know where I was.

The bed was too big. The sheets were too soft. They smelled like expensive laundry, not like Jason's old apartment that always smelled like pizza and socks.

Then I remembered.

The pool. Sophie kissing him. The little velvet box in my purse. The garden. The cold bench.

Adrian Sterling.

I sat up too fast. I was still in my green dress from last night. My mascara was all over the pillow. And I was wearing a black shirt over my dress. A man's shirt. His shirt.

When did I put that on?

"You were shivering," a voice said.

He was standing by the window. Already dressed. Black suit, white shirt, no tie. Hair combed. Coffee in his hand. He looked like he had been awake for hours. Like billionaires don't sleep.

"You snore, by the way," he said.

"I do not snore!" My voice was hoarse.

"You do. Softly. Like a kitten."

I wanted to die.

He walked to the bed and dropped a thick file on my lap. The title said PRENUPTIAL AND MARRIAGE CONTRACT.

My stomach dropped. So last night was real. I really said okay to marrying my ex-boyfriend's father.

"Read it," he said. "Before you sign."

I opened it. My hands were shaking.

One year. That was the deal. One year of marriage.

Separate bedrooms. No forced intimacy. No dating other people while married. Must attend public events, galas, board meetings as Mr. and Mrs. Sterling.

And at the end? Ten million dollars. And a letter of recommendation to open my own fashion studio. Free and clear.

Ten million. I did the math in my head. That was more than my mother ever made in her life. More than I would make in twenty years designing clothes for other people.

"Rule number one," Adrian said, watching my face. "Don't fall in love with me."

I laughed. It came out sharp. "Trust me, Mr. Sterling. You are not my type at all. I like men my own age."

"Liar."

"What?"

"You are a terrible liar, Ava. Your cheeks turn red."

He was right. My cheeks were burning.

He took the coffee from my hand and put it down. His fingers brushed mine. Just for one second. But it was enough. His hands were warm. Jason's hands were always cold.

"Rule number two," he said, his voice lower now. "Don't let my son touch you again. Ever."

Before I could answer, the bedroom door flew open. No knock. No warning.

Jason.

He was in yesterday's party clothes, eyes red. He probably didn't sleep either. Sophie was right behind him, holding his arm, wearing his jacket. Like she owned him.

Jason froze when he saw me.

In his father's bed. In his father's shirt.

His face went from confusion to shock to pure anger in two seconds.

"What the FUCK is this?!" he shouted.

Sophie gasped. "Oh my God."

The lawyer in the corner - I didn't even see him there before, old man in grey suit - stood up quickly and tried to leave but Adrian stopped him with one look.

"Good morning, Jason," Adrian said. His voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that comes before a storm. "I was wondering when you would come home. Meet your step-mother."

Step-mother.

The word hung in the air like a bomb.

Jason laughed. But it was not a happy laugh. "This is a joke, right? Dad, tell me this is a sick joke. This is Ava! My Ava! My girlfriend!"

"Your ex-girlfriend," Adrian corrected him coldly. "You dumped her last night by the pool, in front of fifty people, for Sophie Lane. Don't you remember? Everyone remembers."

Jason looked at me. Really looked at me. For the first time, he looked guilty. And desperate.

"Ava, baby, listen. Last night was a mistake. I was drunk. Sophie and I... it was nothing. I was going to talk to you today. I love you!"

Sophie let go of his arm like he burned her. "Nothing? You said you loved me!"

"Not now, Sophie!"

I just sat there. In his father's shirt. Watching my ex-boyfriend beg me while my ex-best friend cried.

Three years I waited for Jason to fight for me. Three years I waited for him to choose me. Now he was fighting. But it was too late. And it was disgusting.

"No, Jason," I said. My voice was quiet but clear. "You don't love me. You love the idea that I will always wait."

Adrian's eyes flicked to me. Something like pride flashed there.

"No! Ava, please!" Jason stepped forward, reaching for my hand.

Adrian moved faster.

He stood up. He is 6'2. Jason is 5'11. But standing next to his father, Jason looked like a little boy. Adrian put his body between me and his son.

"Don't touch my wife," Adrian said. Every word was ice.

"I am your son!"

"And she is my wife. As of 6:12 this morning. City Hall. Judge Morrison officiated."

The lawyer quickly held up a paper. A marriage certificate. It had my name. Ava Mitchell. And his. Adrian Sterling. With a gold seal.

It was real. We were really married.

Sophie started crying louder. "You gold digger! You couldn't get the son so you went for the father! You are sick!"

That word. Gold digger. I had heard it my whole life. Because I was poor.

I felt tears come again. But before they could fall, Adrian turned.

"Mrs. Lopez!" he shouted.

An older Mexican woman appeared in the doorway. Housekeeper.

"Escort Miss Lane and Mr. Jason Sterling off my property. They are no longer welcome here."

"Yes, Mr. Sterling."

Jason was being pulled away. "Ava! Ava, don't do this! He doesn't love you! He will throw you away like he threw away my mom!"

The door slammed.

Silence.

It was just me, Adrian, and the contract still on my lap.

My heart was beating so fast I thought it would jump out of my chest.

"Well," I whispered. "That went well."

Adrian actually laughed. A real laugh this time. Short and deep.

"You did good," he said.

"I was terrified."

"I know. But you didn't run."

He sat back down on the edge of the bed. Closer this time. I could see the little grey hairs at his temples. The small scar on his left eyebrow.

"You are Mrs. Sterling now," he said softly. "No one will ever call you a gold digger again. Not in my house."

I looked down at the ring box that was still unopened on the table.

He opened it. Inside was not a big flashy diamond like in movies. It was simple. Elegant. A thin gold band with a small emerald. My favorite color. How did he know?

"May I?" he asked.

I nodded.

He slid it onto my finger. His hand was steady. Mine was not.

It fit perfectly.

"My room is across the hall," he said, standing up. "Your room is this one. Mrs. Lopez will bring your things from Jason's apartment this afternoon. And if you need anything at night..."

"I won't need anything."

"You will," he said again, with that cocky smile. "Goodnight, Mrs. Sterling."

He left.

I was alone. In a mansion bigger than my whole street in Benin. Wearing a ten thousand dollar shirt. With a ten million dollar ring on my finger.

Married to my ex's billionaire father.

And for the first time since last night, I didn't want to cry. I wanted to see what happens next

Mrs. Lopez didn't ask me any questions.

She just walked into the room with two suitcases and said, "Mr. Sterling said you like green."

Inside the suitcases were not my old clothes from Jason's apartment.

They were new. All new. Dresses, shoes, bags, all in my size. All green, black, white. My favorite colors. Tags still on. Chanel, Dior, brands I only saw on Instagram.

"Where did these come from?" I whispered.

"Mr. Sterling ordered them at 5am," she said, hanging them in the giant walk-in closet. "He said his wife cannot wear Zara to a board meeting."

His wife. I was still not used to it.

I touched a silk dress. It was soft like water. "I can't accept this. The contract said ten million after a year, not... this."

Mrs. Lopez smiled. She was maybe 60, kind eyes.

"Mija, I have worked for Mr. Sterling for 15 years. Since his divorce. I have never seen him order clothes for a woman. Not even for his ex-wife."

That made my heart do something weird.

After she left, I sat on the floor of the closet. Surrounded by clothes that cost more than my life. Wearing a ten thousand dollar shirt. Married.

My phone buzzed. 37 missed calls. All from Jason. And 20 from Sophie.

One new message from Jason: Ava please. This is not you. He is using you to punish me. Call me.

He was right about one part. Adrian WAS using me to punish him. But I was also using Adrian.

It was business. Right?

A knock on the door. Not Mrs. Lopez. Three hard knocks.

"Come in," I said.

Adrian. He changed into a grey t-shirt and sweatpants. I had never seen him not in a suit. He looked... younger. And more dangerous.

"You didn't come down for dinner," he said.

"I wasn't hungry."

"Rule number three. You eat."

He said it like an order. Not a suggestion.

"I'm not a child, Mr. Sterling."

"Adrian," he corrected. "When we are alone, you call me Adrian. Mr. Sterling is for the public. And for when you want to annoy me."

"I like annoying you."

"I know."

He walked into the closet and looked at the dresses Mrs. Lopez hung. He touched the green one I was staring at.

"Wear this one tonight."

"Why?"

"Because we have dinner. And because green looks good on my wife."

Wife. Again.

"I don't want to have dinner with you," I said. "This is awkward."

"It's supposed to be awkward. You married a man you met yesterday."

He had a point.

I changed in the bathroom. The green dress fit like it was made for me. It hugged my waist, fell to my knees. I looked... expensive. Like I belonged in this house.

When I came out, Adrian was staring.

He didn't say anything for five seconds. Then he cleared his throat.

"Rule number four. Don't look like that when my son is around."

"Like what?"

"Like you are mine."

My cheeks burned. "I am not yours. It's a contract."

"Tell that to my body," he muttered, so low I almost didn't hear.

Dinner was in a dining room that was bigger than my old entire apartment. One long table, only two plates. At opposite ends.

I sat down. He frowned.

"What?"

"Come here," he said, pointing to the chair next to him.

"The contract said separate rooms."

"It said separate bedrooms. Not separate chairs. Don't be difficult, Ava."

I moved. Now I was sitting so close I could smell his cologne again. He served me pasta himself. No maids.

Why are you being nice to me?" I asked. I couldn't help it.

He was cutting his pasta, not looking at me. "I'm not nice. I'm practical. If you faint from hunger at my board meeting tomorrow, my shareholders will think I starve my wife."

"Board meeting? Tomorrow?"

"Yes. 9am. You are coming as Mrs. Sterling. Wear the black suit Mrs. Lopez left. No green."

I choked on water. "Tomorrow? Adrian, I can't! I don't know anything about your company! I will embarrass you!"

"Good. Then my board will be distracted by you and not ask me hard questions."

He said it like a joke, but his eyes were serious.

"I will be there," he said quietly. "Next to you. If anyone makes you feel small, I will destroy them. Okay?"

Okay.

That word. No one ever asked me if I was okay after making me do something scary.

Jason always just said "you'll be fine" and left.

Adrian looked at me and waited for my answer.

"Okay," I whispered.

He nodded and went back to eating. But his left hand, under the table, found mine. And squeezed.

Just for one second. Warm and strong.

Then he let go.

My phone buzzed again on the table. Jason calling.

Adrian saw the name. His jaw tightened.

"Rule number five," he said, his voice cold again. "You block him. Tonight."

"Why?"

"Because you are my wife now. And I don't share what's mine. Not even with my son."

He stood up, threw his napkin on the table, and walked out.

I sat alone in that huge dining room, in a green dress that wasn't mine, with an emerald ring on my finger, and a phone buzzing with calls from my ex.

And all I could think about was the way Adrian's hand felt in mine.

For a contract husband, he was very, very bad at pretending he didn't care.