My Ex's Billionaire Father Is Now My Husband

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.