Chapter 2 Married By Accident

Sloane had experienced a lot of bad mornings in her life.

The morning her mom left without warning.

The morning her landlord threatened eviction.

The morning she accidentally wore mismatched heels to a job interview at a luxury firm.

But none of them compared to waking up next to her billionaire boss in a Vegas hotel suite wearing a diamond ring on her left hand and a marriage certificate stamped and framed on the mini bar.

She sat up, heart pounding.

The silk sheets slid around her waist. The massive penthouse suite the one Jordan Vega had jokingly dubbed "The Palace of Bad Decisions" was quiet except for the hum of central air and her own shallow breathing.

"Okay," she whispered to herself, throat dry. "This is fine. This is reversible. Annulments exist for a reason."

Then she turned to the man sleeping beside her.

Grayson Astor.

As composed in sleep as he was at board meetings. One hand beneath the pillow, the other resting across his toned stomach. The sheet had slipped slightly below his hip bone.

And Sloane?

Sloane was dying.

She scrambled out of bed, clutching the sheet around her chest. Her heels were on the floor. Her clutch bag was tipped over. And a bottle of champagne nearly empty sat next to two gold-trimmed flutes on the balcony table.

A piece of white tulle caught her eye. The hem of a cheap veil.

She looked down at her hand.

The ring was real.

The inscription inside?

"To Reckless Beginnings – G.A."

Grayson stirred.

"Are you pacing or plotting my murder?"

She froze.

"Neither," she said stiffly. "I'm panicking."

He sat up, rubbing his eyes. His voice was raspy. "Right. That makes more sense."

Sloane crossed her arms, the sheet wrapped around her like armor. "Tell me this didn't happen."

Grayson reached for his phone. "Give me a second to confirm whether this is an elaborate hangover dream."

"Nope," she snapped, holding up the framed certificate. "Marriage license. Witnessed. Signed. Stamped. There's even a decorative border."

He stared at it, then scrubbed a hand down his face.

"Jordan."

Sloane blinked. "Wait he did this?"

Grayson stood, completely unbothered by his shirtless state. "He dared us. You laughed. I said something flippant. Then you kissed me and said, and I quote, 'Let's make bad decisions that confuse the tabloids.'"

She gasped. "I kissed you?"

"Twice. Once at the altar. Once after. The first one was televised Instagram Live. Courtesy of Jordan."

"Oh my God." She sank onto the chaise lounge. "So we're really married?"

Grayson nodded, pulling on a crisp black shirt. "Legally, yes. Technically, by Nevada law, you're now Mrs. Astor."

Sloane stared at the certificate in horror.

"This is a nightmare."

Grayson buttoned his cuffs. "It's fixable."

She looked up, hopeful. "Annulment?"

"I have a legal team on retainer. They'll file the paperwork before lunch."

Relief flooded her. "Good. Perfect. Great."

"But"

Her stomach sank. "There's a but?"

He sat across from her now, serious.

"The merger."

She blinked. "What does our fake accidental wedding have to do with your merger?"

"The investors behind the Madison-Klein expansion care about image. Stability. Legacy. The merger hinges on more than numbers it hinges on trust. They want a personal stake in Astor Enterprises. A commitment that goes beyond profit."

He looked at her carefully.

"And suddenly, I have one."

Sloane laughed nervously. "Wait. You want to keep the marriage? For business?"

"Temporarily. Just until the merger is finalized. One year. Clean and professional."

"Professional? We just accidentally got married in Vegas, Grayson. That's the opposite of professional."

"You'd be compensated," he added. "Handsomely."

Sloane stood, clutching the sheet tighter. "You're proposing I stay married to you for a year for money?"

"For partnership. And discretion," he replied calmly. "You'd have full legal protection. A prenup. A personal allowance. A flexible schedule. No physical expectations."

Her cheeks flamed. "Wow. Romantic."

"This isn't romance," he said simply. "This is strategy."

Sloane turned to the window. The view of the Strip was dazzling. Bright. Empty.

She thought of Liam, her seventeen-year-old brother back in New York, his rent due, his private tutor payments stacking up. She thought of the three jobs she'd juggled before Astor Enterprises. The loans. The sacrifices.

And then she looked at Grayson Astor.

Unflinching. Calculated. But for the first time I was honest.

She took a breath. "One year?"

He nodded. "No more. No less."

"And after that?"

"We file. Quietly. Amicably. You get a settlement. I get a successful merger."

Sloane gave him a dry look. "That's not a marriage. That's a business contract with a marital tax bracket."

"Exactly."

She shook her head.

"You're insane."

He didn't blink. "I'm offering a solution that benefits us both."

"And if I say no?"

Grayson stood. "Then we file for annulment today. This never happened. And I'll find another way to secure the merger."

She studied him. The way he held himself confident, yes. But also guarded.

Like he didn't want this, but he didn't want it either.

And that terrified her more than the idea itself.

Hours later, back in New York, Sloane sat in her apartment, sipping tea and re-reading the prenup Grayson's lawyers had sent.

It was ironclad.

Strictly business.

No cohabitation required.

No intimacy expected.

Just appearances, joint events, shared public narrative. In exchange? A monthly stipend that would solve every problem she and Liam had for the foreseeable future.

She looked across the small hallway where Liam was asleep with textbooks stacked beside him. He'd just gotten into a music program he'd dreamed about for years.

Sloane could make it happen.

She just had to marry her boss.

Stay married to her boss.

Pretend she was in love with her boss.

Simple. Right?

The next morning, she walked into Astor Enterprises in a beige blazer and new heels. Her posture was straighter. Her heart steadier.

Grayson was waiting inside his office, looking like sin in another three-piece suit.

"You've decided," he said.

"I have."

He watched her with that stillness that always unnerved her.

"And?"

"One year," she said. "But I want some conditions."

"Of course."

"I want weekends to myself. No cameras at home. No private questions from the press. And if we're doing this, I want full protection for my brother. Financial and otherwise."

Grayson nodded. "Done."

She took a breath. "And when we're alone off duty I don't want to pretend."

He blinked. "Meaning?"

"I don't want to play happy couple behind closed doors. I want honesty. No games. No flirtation."

He gave her the faintest hint of a smile.

"I wasn't aware I'd been flirting."

"You weren't," she said. "That's the problem."

He extended a hand.

"Deal?"

She looked at it.

Then she shook it.

"Deal".

Neither of them noticed the woman standing across the street that morning, watching them through the tinted glass of a parked car.

She clutched a worn photograph of Grayson Astor. Her hands shook.

Alyssa hadn't been seen in nearly five years.

Until now.

And she had no intention of staying silent.