I wake up with my head throbbing, sunlight slicing through sheer curtains, and a weight on my left hand I don’t recognize. I lift it slowly—the light catches the platinum band, the diamond catching fire like a warning.

Next to me, the sheets are rumpled. Empty.

Then I see the photo on the nightstand: us, in front of a neon-lit wedding chapel, me in a borrowed white dress, him in a crumpled tux, our hands raised, rings gleaming. Julian Blackwood. The name alone makes my stomach twist.

His father ruined my family. Destroyed my father’s company, called him a fraud on national TV, watched him walk into the river with stones in his pockets.

And now I’m married to the heir.

The door opens. Julian stands there, freshly showered, shirt unbuttoned, eyes dark with something I can’t read.

'We didn’t…' I start.

'No,' he says quietly. 'We passed out before the honeymoon suite even opened.'

He steps closer. 'But we’re still married. And my father wants it gone by noon.'

I stare at him. 'So what do we do?'

He doesn’t answer right away. Then: 'That depends. Do you want to erase it? Pretend it’s real? Or… see where it takes us?'