If there was ever a morning I wanted to fake my own death and flee to Iceland, it was this one.
I woke up in a stranger's bed—technically mine now—with a legally married status and an emotional hangover worse than any tequila blackout. The room was still laced with floral centerpieces, my half-eaten wedding cake slice sat mocking me on the vanity, and the diamond ring on my finger sparkled like it hadn't committed fraud.
I rolled over.
The other side of the bed was untouched.
Good. I wasn't ready for twin-invasion part two.
I shuffled into the living room, expecting maybe an awkward silence or a mutual let's-never-speak-of-this-again glare. But instead?
Adrian was already dressed. In a sharp gray suit. Tie immaculate. Hair perfectly combed. Like he hadn't destroyed my life less than 24 hours ago.
"Morning," he said without looking up from the newspaper. An actual newspaper. Who even reads those anymore? Is he a CEO or a time traveler?
"Morning?" I repeated. "That's it? You crash my wedding, marry me by proxy, ruin my dignity in front of 200 people and all I get is 'morning'?"
He folded the paper slowly. "Would you prefer coffee?"
"I'd prefer an annulment."
He smiled. Not like ha-ha funny. More like I-know-something-you-don't smug.
I narrowed my eyes. "What?"
He turned, plucked a gold-rimmed envelope off the marble counter, and handed it to me.
Oh no. Not another letter.
This one had the Thorne family crest. Sealed. Heavy. Intimidating. Like it might bite.
I broke it open with a dramatic sigh and started reading.
And then… I choked on air.
⸻
THE THORNE-MCKENNA MARRIAGE CONTRACT
Clause 12.3 – Duration & Legality:
In the event of marital dissolution within six (6) months, all business partnerships, joint ventures, and financial trust transitions between the McKenna family and Thorne Corp. shall be rendered null and void, resulting in a breach penalty of $10 million to be paid in full by the McKenna party.
My mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. No words. Just full-on fish mode.
I read it again.
Nope. Still there.
"Ten million dollars?!" I finally screeched. "Is this a marriage or a hostage situation?"
Adrian leaned back in the chair, cool as a snowstorm. "It was always in the agreement."
"The agreement I signed thinking I was marrying AIDEN!"
He didn't blink. "Still counts."
"Still counts?!" I waved the paper like a torch. "This is legally, morally, and emotionally insane."
"Callie—"
"No. Don't Callie me right now." I took a deep breath, then two more because one just wasn't enough. "Let me get this straight. If we divorce before six months, my family gets slammed with a ten-million-dollar penalty?"
He nodded.
I sat down hard on the velvet stool. "Grandma Evelyn is a psychopath."
"She prefers the term visionary."
"She's a villain in pearls."
"I'm not arguing."
I tossed the contract onto the coffee table. "So what do we do?"
Adrian hesitated. "We stick to the terms."
I stared at him.
"You mean…"
"We stay married."
Oh. No.
No no no no no.
"I can't live with you," I said instantly. "We'll kill each other."
"I already set boundaries," he replied calmly. "There are two bedrooms in the penthouse. Separate bathrooms. We divide the kitchen, and I've already ordered a second coffee machine because I refuse to drink whatever disaster you brew."
I gawked at him. "You're just… okay with this?"
"It's six months. We pretend. We survive. And at the end, we walk away richer."
He said it like it was a business merger, not a full-blown fake marriage crisis.
And that's when it hit me.
Adrian wasn't nervous. He wasn't shaken. He wasn't even upset.
Because this wasn't emotional for him.
It was strategic.
Like I was just another dotted line he had to sign on.
⸻
But unfortunately for him, I am not the "stay silent and sip my latte" type.
"If we're doing this," I said, "we're doing it my way."
He raised a brow. "Meaning?"
"Rules. Ground rules. House rules. Marriage rules."
He leaned back. "I'm listening."
"Rule one: no touching. No kissing. No emotional manipulation or soft eyes at 2 AM."
He blinked. "Okay…"
"Rule two: separate living quarters. You don't walk in on me brushing my teeth, and I won't walk in on you ironing your soul."
"Understood."
"Rule three: if anyone asks, we're madly in love."
He smirked. "Fake public affection is fine, but real private emotion is off-limits?"
"Exactly."
There was a pause.
Then he nodded.
"Deal."
⸻
We stood there, staring at each other like two generals signing a treaty.
Six months.
That's all we had to survive.
Just six months of pretending.
Of faking smiles.
Of living with the one Thorne twin I didn't want.
So why did my heart feel like it was already trying to rewrite the rules?
⸻
Later that night, I found a note on my bedroom door.
In neat, precise handwriting.
Don't worry. I'll keep the rules. But you should know… I don't lose.
I crumpled it.
Tossed it in the trash.
And still lay awake for hours, wondering what losing meant to a man like Adrian Thorne…
…and what winning might cost me.