Borrowed groom reborn bride

The gates of Hudson Lane’s mansion opened without a sound.

Freya’s car drove in slowly, stopping in front of the grand entrance. Staff lined up almost immediately.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Lane,” one of the maids said respectfully.

Freya paused for a second at the title. Then she stepped out.

“Thank you,” she replied calmly.

The mansion was exactly what she expected—huge, polished, expensive. Marble floors, tall columns, fountains glistening under the sun. Everything screamed power.

And then she saw him.

Hudson Lane.

He stood at the entrance like he owned the world—which he practically did. Tailored suit. Hands in his pockets. Dark hair neatly combed back. That faint, knowing smile on his lips.

Like he’d been waiting.

“Freya,” he said smoothly. “You’re finally here.”

“Hudson.”

She kept her voice neutral.

His eyes scanned her slowly, not in a disrespectful way—just observant. Assessing.

“You look better than you did this morning,” he said lightly. “Marriage suits you.”

Freya ignored that. “I just want to settle in. Show me to my room.”

He raised a brow. “Your room?”

“Yes.”

“No,” he said simply. “You’ll be staying with me.”

Freya’s fingers tightened slightly around her bag. “That wasn’t part of—”

“It was,” he cut in smoothly. “You just didn’t think it through.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Three wishes, remember?”

Her jaw tightened. “I remember.”

“This is the first.”

She stared at him. Calm outside. Irritated inside.

“You move fast,” she said coldly.

He smiled faintly. “I don’t like wasting time.”

There was a brief silence between them.

“Fine,” she said at last. “I’ll stay.”

His eyes warmed with amusement. “That wasn’t so hard.”

He reached for her waist casually—not possessive, just confident—and guided her inside.

Freya didn’t resist. But she didn’t soften either.

The mansion interior was even more overwhelming. Crystal chandeliers. Rare artwork. Polished floors that reflected every step.

Hudson walked beside her like he was giving a private tour.

“You’re very quiet,” he commented. “Most women would be impressed.”

“I’m not most women.”

“I noticed.”

They stopped in front of a large double door.

Freya looked at it. “Guest room?”

He opened it.

“No. Our room.”

She stepped inside—and paused.

It was massive. A king-sized bed. A private lounge area. A balcony overlooking the gardens. Everything carefully designed.

She turned to him. “This is unnecessary.”

“Marriage usually is,” he replied casually.

She crossed her arms. “We’re married on paper. Don’t mistake this for anything else.”

Hudson leaned lightly against the wall, studying her.

“You’re very defensive.”

“I’m being clear.”

“I like clarity,” he said. “But don’t worry. I’m not forcing you into anything.”

His gaze lowered slightly, teasing. “Unless you forget our deal.”

Freya’s eyes hardened.

“I won’t.”

He walked closer, slow and deliberate. Not touching her. Just close enough to make his presence known.

“You’re colder than I expected,” he said quietly. “Most women would at least pretend to be nervous.”

“I don’t pretend.”

“That’s what makes this interesting.”

She met his gaze without blinking. “Don’t misunderstand. I’m here because of an agreement. Nothing more.”

He smiled again—wider this time.

“You keep saying that like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

Freya didn’t react.

Hudson stepped past her, opening the walk-in closet. “Left side is yours. I had clothes prepared in case you came unprepared.”

She stiffened slightly. “You’re very confident I would come.”

“I knew you would.”

“And if I didn’t?”

He looked over his shoulder. “You’re not the type to run.”

For the first time, something flickered in her eyes.

He noticed.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” he added softly.

Freya turned away instead of answering. “I’ll follow the rules of the deal. But don’t test my patience.”

Hudson chuckled under his breath.

“There it is.”

“What?”

“That fire.”

She faced him again. “Don’t mistake composure for weakness.”

“Oh, I won’t.” His voice lowered slightly. “I married you because you’re not weak.”

The room went quiet for a moment.

Freya looked away first.

“Is that all?” she asked coolly.

“For now,” he said. Then, after a pause: “Try not to look so miserable. You live in a mansion now.”

“I didn’t marry you for comfort.”

“I know.”

His expression shifted just slightly—less teasing, more calculating.

“You married me for war.”

She didn’t deny it.

He walked toward the door.

“Unpack,” he said casually. “Dinner is at eight. Sit beside me.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“It is,” he replied calmly. “If we’re playing this game, we play it properly.”

She exhaled quietly. “Fine.”

He smirked.

“And Freya?”

She looked at him.

“You can be cold to everyone else.”

His gaze sharpened slightly.

“But don’t be surprised if I enjoy melting that ice.”

She didn’t respond.

Didn’t blush.

Didn’t flinch.

“Goodnight, Hudson.”

He laughed softly.

“I didn’t say I was leaving for the night.”

Her expression didn’t change. “Then don’t linger.”

That made him smile wider.

Now this, he thought, is going to be interesting.

He finally stepped out.

Freya closed the door and stood still for a moment.

Her new home.

Her new battlefield.

Hudson Lane wasn’t simple.

But neither was she.

And she had not come here to lose.