The CEO's Accidental Bride (Contract Marriage)

Ivy's POV "Are you cheating on me?" The question ripped out of me before I could stop it. Daniel froze with one hand on the conference room door, the other still around the brunette from marketing's wrist. The brunette yanked her hand away first. "It's not what it looks like," Daniel said instantly. I laughed once, sharp and ugly. "That line should be retired globally." The brunette muttered something about leaving. "Please do," I said. Daniel stepped forward, lowering his voice. "Can we not do this here?" "It happened once," he added. I studied his face. "Then you're either a liar or a coward, and I genuinely don't know which option is better for me." His jaw tightened. "Ivy, come on. We've been off for months." There it was. The pivot. The slide from I'm sorry to this is partly your fault. I pulled the key to his apartment off my ring. I set it on the windowsill beside him. "I'm being done." I made it to the elevator before the first tear fell. By the time I got outside, I was crying in earnest, standing on the sidewalk like a woman who had just been publicly fired from her own life. My phone buzzed. Zoe: Did u survive the Daniel dinner thing? I typed with vicious speed. He's cheating. I hope the brown blazer burns in hell. Zoe called immediately. "I'm outside. Don't move." --- For three days I existed in a state that was part grief, part humiliation, part insomnia. I worked, answered emails and pretended I had a stomach bug so no one asked why I looked like I wanted to set things on fire. The worst part wasn't even missing Daniel. It was knowing that I had been the last person in my own relationship to know it was dying. On the fourth night, Zoe showed up with Thai takeout and the expression of a woman about to perform an intervention. "You need a rebound," she said. "I set up a blind date." "I would rather chew glass," I told her. "He's vetted," she countered. "One man being trash does not mean all men are trash." Two hours later, despite every instinct I possessed, I agreed to one drink at the Lark Hotel. "If he wears loafers with no socks," I warned, "I'm leaving." Zoe grinned. "Fair." --- The Lark Hotel lobby glowed gold and amber. A piano murmured in the corner. I crossed the room with my pulse pounding. Near the piano sat a man alone in a navy suit. Zoe had said green tie, but in the lighting, maybe she got the color wrong. He looked like a man waiting for something. Tall, broad-shouldered, with black hair brushed back from a face so controlled it was almost severe. He looked expensive. Dangerous. Absolutely not my type. I slid onto the stool beside him. He turned, and his eyes landed on my face. "Hi," I said. He set down his glass. "Hello." That voice did something unfair to the air between us. "You're here for the blind date," I said. One of his eyebrows moved a fraction. "Am I?" Something reckless surged through me. Daniel's face. The lipstick on his collar, the last four sleepless nights, the anger. "Actually," I said, "I don't want to do this the normal way." He watched me as if I had become interesting. "The normal way is we make strained conversation and pretend to enjoy ourselves." "That does sound inefficient," he said. I leaned in. "Exactly. So let me save us both time." He glanced briefly at my mouth. "Please." "My ex-boyfriend cheated on me four days ago." He blinked once. "So I'm not in the mood for hobbies or love languages or where you see yourself in five years." A sane woman would have stopped. I hadn't felt sane since Tuesday. "So I have a proposal," I said. He looked amused now, just barely. "What kind of proposal?" I took a breath. "The insane kind." "Go on." "Marry me." Silence. The piano kept playing and I heard blood roaring in my ears. "Not a real marriage," I said quickly. "A fake one. Strategic. You get tax benefits or family peace, and I get to stop feeling like the woman men waste time with." He was still looking at me with terrifying concentration. I laughed, brittle. "See? This is why Zoe told me not to drink before arriving." "I didn't say no," he said. I stared at him. He turned slightly toward me, one arm on the bar. "How long?" "Six months?" "Public or private?" "Public enough to be useful." "No emotional obligations?" "Definitely not." He studied my face for one endless second. "All right." "All right what?" "I'll do it." The world tilted. I actually checked over my shoulder for hidden cameras. "You cannot possibly be serious." "I am," he said. "Neither was the question." I should have been alarmed. Instead, I almost laughed. Because he was still calm while my nervous system did cartwheels. "Who are you?" I asked. "Adrian." "Adrian what?" "Vale." The name meant nothing to me. Later, I would realize it should. Right then, all I knew was that a stranger with a devastating face had just agreed to my absurd, grief-fueled proposal. He signaled to the bartender. "What are you doing?" I asked. "Ordering food," he said. "You look like you haven't eaten." I looked at him over the menu he handed me. He looked back. And for the first time all week, through the ruin Daniel had left behind, I felt something that wasn't grief. It was worse. It was possibility.