GENESIS

I stood in the courthouse, stunned. I was marrying a total stranger, a man who clearly wanted nothing to do with me. That much was obvious. For starters, he showed up late. And when he finally looked at me, his eyes were cold. Not hateful, just... blank. He sized me up like cheap meat, utterly bored. There was no dirty hunger in his stare like Jimmy always had. Instead, his gaze screamed one thing: disappointment. I wasn't what he wanted.

Well, we were in the same boat. This wasn't my dream come true, either. When Monica dragged me downstairs last night, I figured my goose was cooked. I thought I’d messed up big time. But instead, she dropped the bomb: I was getting hitched. Then came the screaming, the stinging slaps, and the glass smashing against the wall.

"How dare he? How dare he think he can just waltz back into your life?" Monica shrieked, hurling everything within reach. Who was "he"? I hadn't the faintest clue.

And now, less than twenty-four hours later, I was legally bound to a stranger. A massive guy, easily dwarfing my stepbrothers. Whenever he stepped close, my stomach churned, even though I ran on empty. He looked like he could snap me in half with one hand.

Just like that, the vows were said and done, but nothing felt real. My new life had officially kicked off, but I felt totally numb. No joy. No relief. Just a hollow pit gnawing at my gut. I stood frozen, paralyzed by pure dread.

Monica hovered on the sidelines, her face twisted with rage. She glared at me like I was the root of all her problems. Jimmy and Mark, my stepbrothers, flanked her, looking just as bitter.

Their eyes burned into my skin, heavy with judgment. Monica's stare was the worst. She always treated me like a stray dog she could kick around. And now... I was chained to a stranger who wouldn't even give me the time of day. It was suffocating.

My heart hammered against my ribs, deafening in the dead silence. That familiar knot tightened in my throat like a vice, choking the air out of my lungs. I swore I was going to pass out from the sheer weight of it all.

Kier’s dad, Donald, lingered in the back. His face was a blank slate at first, but then I caught it: a flash of guilt. His cold eyes softened for a split second before he offered a weak, apologetic smile.

I stiffened. Looking at him brought a flood of memories of my dad, his best friend. I hadn't seen Donald since the funeral. He used to be so warm, always a steady rock when Dad was tied up with work. But now, watching him stand silently while I married his son, it felt like a sick joke. I didn't know what to think. Was he actually happy about this sham of a wedding? Or was it pity because he knew he was throwing me to the wolves?

Kier didn't spare me another glance. The second the judge dismissed us, he turned on his heel and strode toward the exit.

I trailed behind him like a lost puppy, totally clueless about what came next. My steps were hesitant, dragging across the floor, but I had nowhere else to run. I had to follow his lead.

We hit the parking lot, and he made a beeline for a sleek ride. I assumed it was his. He didn't say a word, didn't even look my way as I caught up. He just yanked the passenger door open, staring straight ahead. The icy gesture made my blood run cold. But beggars couldn't be choosers. I was completely on my own now.

I slid into the leather seat, fighting a full-body shiver. As the heavy door clicked shut, reality slapped me in the face. I was trapped in a metal box with a stranger, and my future looked just as bleak as the suffocating silence between us.

As we hit the road, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. I sat rigidly, my sweaty hands shaking in my lap. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched his knuckles turn white as he gripped the steering wheel, a muscle ticking in his tight jaw. The quiet was deafening.

Suddenly, he yanked a hand off the wheel. Pure instinct took over. I curled into a tight ball, throwing my arms up to block the heavy blow I knew was coming.

"Whoa, what the fuck? I'm not going to hit you," he barked, sounding genuinely shocked.

I didn't drop my arms, keeping my eyes screwed shut. My heart threatened to pound right out of my chest, my breath coming in jagged gasps. Carefully, I peeked through my fingers. That’s when I realized he had killed the engine. We were parked. My pulse skyrocketed.

"Breathe. I'm not going to lay a finger on you, so chill," he muttered. His tone was softer, but his dark eyes scanned me like a puzzle he couldn't crack.

I slowly lowered my arms, still wound up like a tight spring. But I forced myself to sit up straight, desperately trying to scrape together some dignity.

"Good," he grunted, staring out the windshield. But he didn't hit the gas. Instead, he let out a harsh sigh, drumming his long fingers against the leather wheel.

"I don’t know if this bullshit wedding caught you off guard as much as it did me," he started, shooting me a quick side-eye. I kept my mouth shut, totally clueless about his endgame. My brain was still short-circuiting.

"But get one thing straight: this isn't forever. We’re just going to pop out an heir to keep my old man happy, and then we're done. We split," he stated, raising a thick brow to check my reaction.

I nodded vigorously, ready to agree to absolutely anything if it got me out of this nightmare faster.

So he wanted out, too. That was perfect. A massive relief. I just had to survive him for a year. Once I hit twenty-four, I'd get my inheritance out of Monica's greedy claws and hit the road.

"So we're clear. This isn't a real marriage. I don't know you, and you sure as hell aren't my..." he trailed off, swallowing the rest of his sentence with a heavy sigh.

"Fuck, knocking you up is gonna be harder than I thought," he muttered under his breath.

His raw frustration hit me like a physical blow. My cheeks burned hot with shame. I looked down at my own body. I was scrawny. Pathetically thin. My hair was a stringy mess—worlds away from the busty, flawless women a billionaire like him usually dragged into bed.

If I were him, I thought bitterly, I wouldn't want to fuck me either.

To make it easier on him, I figured I could just tell him to kill the lights whenever he needed to slide inside me and get the job done. Maybe the pitch-black darkness would make it bearable for both of us.