Freya's POV

"Ready to get married, sweetheart?"

The words hung in the air like a challenge. Or a promise. Or both.

My brain short-circuited.

Just nod. Smile. Don't let them see you sweating like a whore in church.

"Born ready," I managed, my voice steadier than my racing heart.

His smile widened. Wicked. Knowing. Like he could see right through my carefully constructed bullshit and found the hot mess underneath entertaining.

He offered his arm. I took it. His forearm was solid muscle beneath that expensive fabric, and my fingers tingled where they touched him.

Down, girl. He's paid help. Gorgeous, expensive, professionally trained paid help.

The Elder cleared his throat, looking between us with obvious suspicion.

"We... we ren't introduced." His eyes raked over the stranger with barely concealed disdain. "And I don't recognize you from any Pack."

"I'm not from any Pack." The stranger's voice was smooth. Unbothered. "I'm Asher. Freya's fated mate. And her future husband."

Gasps. Whispers. The sound of two hundred people simultaneously losing their fucking minds.

Asher stepped closer to me. His hand found the small of my back, fingers splaying possessively over the exposed skin above my dress's plunging back.

Electricity. Pure, undeniable electricity.

I bit back a gasp.

What the actual fuck?

"We met three months ago," Asher continued, voice carrying through the hall with practiced ease. "At a charity gala. Wasn't love at first sight or any of that mystical bullshit. Just... chemistry. The kind that makes you stupid."

His thumb traced a slow circle on my lower back.

I shivered. Couldn't help it.

"Course, she was married." Asher's expression darkened, eyes hardening. "And I'm not the kind of man who breaks up a home. So I waited. Stayed away. Told myself the connection wasn't real."

He turned slightly, positioning us so everyone could see his face. See the calculated anger there.

"Then I hear her husband found his fated mate. That he threw away five years of marriage for some two-day bond." His lip curled. "And that same husband had the nerve to keep pursuing Freya afterward. Sending messages. Showing up at her friend's apartment. Begging for forgiveness while still fucking his new mate."

What?

I kept my face neutral, but inside, my mind raced.

Caleb had been pursuing me? I'd blocked his number the night of the anniversary party. Changed the locks on the apartment. Refused every call.

Asher was improvising. Adding details I'd never given him.

And holy shit, was it working.

Caleb's face went white. Then red. Then an ugly shade of purple.

"I never—" he started.

"Save it." Asher cut him off with a dismissive wave. "We both know what you are. A man who couldn't keep his dick in his pants. A man who threw away a woman who made him better, stronger, smarter. A man too fucking stupid to see what he had until it was gone."

The crowd murmured. Someone whispered, "He's got a point."

Mia, standing behind Caleb, looked ready to explode. Her perfectly innocent face had twisted into something ugly.

"This is ridiculous!" she sputtered. "He's lying! There's no way this random man is her fated mate!"

Asher turned to her slowly. Those piercing gray-blue eyes traveled over her form with the kind of assessment that made people feel small.

"And you are?"

"Mia! His fated mate!"

"Ah." Asher nodded. "The home wrecker."

More gasps.

"I'm not a home wrecker! The bond is sacred!"

"Sure." Asher shrugged. "And I'm the fucking Easter Bunny. Bonds are sacred. Actions aren't. You saw a married man and decided you wanted him. The bond gave you an excuse."

Mia's mouth opened and closed. No words came out.

Caleb stepped forward, fists clenched. "You don't get to come in here and—"

"I get to do whatever the fuck I want." Asher's voice dropped. Cold. Dangerous. "This is my woman now. My future wife. And you're going to stand there and watch me claim her."

He turned to me.

Those eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made my knees weak.

"May I?"

What?

Before I could process, his hand cupped my jaw. Gentle. Firm. Absolutely possessive.

His thumb brushed my lower lip.

"Going to kiss you now," he murmured, loud enough for the front row to hear. "Going to make it clear who you belong to."

I don't belong to anyone.

But I didn't say that.

Because his mouth was already descending.

His lips met mine.

Soft at first. A question.

Then his other hand slid up my back, fingers tangling in my hair, and the kiss changed. Deepened. Became something hungry and demanding and absolutely fucking devastating.

His tongue swept past my lips. Tasting. Claiming. Staking territory like a goddamn explorer planting flags.

I forgot the audience. Forgot Caleb and Mia. Forgot everything except the way Asher's mouth moved against mine.

His body pressed closer. I felt every hard plane of his chest against my softened curves. Felt the heat radiating off him like a furnace.

Mother of God.

A whimper escaped my throat. Embarrassing. Uncontrollable.

He swallowed it.

His grip tightened in my hair. Pulling my head back slightly, angling for better access.

I melted into him. Actually fucking melted. My body turned to liquid while my brain turned to static.

When he finally pulled back, I was dizzy. Breathless. Wet in places I refused to acknowledge.

His lips brushed my ear.

"Was that convincing enough, sweetheart?"

My eyes flew open.

That knowing smirk. Those glinting eyes.

The bastard enjoyed that.

I cleared my throat, fighting to regain composure.

"Very professional," I managed.

His low laugh sent fresh shivers down my spine.

"Glad you're satisfied with the service."

He straightened, arm sliding around my waist again. Possessive. Proprietary.

Like I was his.

The crowd stared. Open-mouthed. Shocked into silence.

Caleb looked like someone had punched him in the gut. Repeatedly.

Mia's face was a mask of barely contained fury.

Good.

Asher turned us toward the exit.

"If anyone needs us, we'll be celebrating. Somewhere with better company and top-shelf whiskey."

He guided me forward. I let him.

We made it three steps before Caleb's voice cracked out.

"Freya, wait!"

I didn't stop.

"Freya, please! We need to talk!"

"Talk to your mate, Caleb." I threw over my shoulder. "She's your problem now."

We swept through the doors and into the sunlight.

The moment we cleared the Pack House entrance, I exhaled.

"Holy shit," I breathed. "That was..."

"Incredible?" Asher supplied.

"I was going to say insane."

He guided me toward a sleek black car waiting at the curb.

"Same thing, sweetheart."

We slid into the backseat. Tinted windows. Leather interior. The scent of his cologne filling the enclosed space.

I turned to face him.

Okay. He was even more devastating up close. The sharp jaw. Those impossible eyes. The slight smile playing at his lips.

"For the record," I said, "I didn't expect you to go that hard on the backstory."

"You hired me to be convincing."

"I hired you to stand there and look pretty."

His smile widened.

"Can do both." He paused. "Also, your ex-husband has a small dick?"

A laugh burst out of me. Genuine. Surprised.

"That's what he gets for cheating."

"Fair." Asher settled back against the seat. "So. Hotel bar? You mentioned celebrating."

I studied him.

This beautiful stranger who'd just performed a one-man takedown of my ex-husband in front of two hundred witnesses.

Who'd kissed me like his life depended on it.

Who was currently looking at me like I was a puzzle he wanted to solve.

"Yeah," I said slowly. "Hotel bar. My treat."

His eyes darkened with something I couldn't name.

"Looking forward to it."

Freya's POV

The hotel suite was ridiculous.

Marble everything. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. A sitting room bigger than my entire apartment. The kind of space that screamed money so loud it practically echoed.

I kicked off my heels the moment we entered, leaving them abandoned near the door. My feet screamed in relief. Those fuckers had been torturing me since noon.

"Drink?" Asher moved toward the mini bar with the confidence of a man who owned every room he entered.

"Whiskey. Neat. Make it a double."

He raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. Smart man.

I sank into the plush cream sofa, tucking my legs beneath me. The black dress bunched around my thighs, riding up in a way I should probably care about. I didn't. The day had been long enough that propriety could go fuck itself.

Asher returned with two glasses. He handed me one, then settled into the chair across from me. His jacket was already gone, discarded somewhere between the door and the bar. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a hint of dark hair and defined muscle underneath.

Don't stare. He's paid help. Expensive, gorgeous, paid help.

I took a long sip. The whiskey burned pleasantly down my throat, warming me from the inside out.

"So." I set my glass on the coffee table. "Let's talk business."

"Business." His lips curved. Those gray-blue eyes glittered with amusement. "You want to discuss my fee now?"

"I want to settle accounts. You delivered." I gestured vaguely at the suite. "Hence the upgrade from hotel barto hotel suite. Consider it a tip."

"A tip." He swirled his whiskey. "Generous."

"I'm a generous woman." When I'm not being publicly humiliated by my cheating ex-husband. "So. How much do I owe you for today's performance?"

Asher studied me over the rim of his glass. The silence stretched. Uncomfortable. Electric.

"Ten thousand."

My eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"

"Standard rate for a gig like that. Public appearances, emotional labor, kissing you in front of two hundred judgmental werewolves." He shrugged. "Hazard pay."

A laugh escaped me. Genuine. Surprised.

"You're charging me hazard pay for kissing me?"

"Best kiss of my life, sweetheart." His voice dropped. "But I'm a professional. Can't let personal enjoyment interfere with billing."

My face flushed. Heat crept up my neck.

He's flirting. He's a gigolo. Flirting is literally his job.

"Fine." I reached for my clutch, abandoned on the side table. "I'll write you a check—"

"Hold on." Asher leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "There's another option."

I paused. "Which is?"

"Monthly retainer."

"... What?"

"Think about it." His eyes locked onto mine. "Your ex isn't going to give up. I saw his face today. That man's obsessed. He'll keep coming back, trying to win you over, making your life miserable."

My stomach twisted. Because he was right. Caleb didn't let go easily. Never had.

"And?" I asked carefully.

"And having a fake fated mate on retainer would solve that problem." Asher's voice was smooth. Reasonable. "Public appearances. Social events. Sending the message that you're unavailable. Taken. His loss."

I stared at him.

"You're suggesting I hire you... long-term?"

"I'm suggesting you invest in your freedom." He swirled his whiskey again. "Twenty thousand a month. I'll be your plus-one for any event. Your pretend mate whenever Caleb gets ideas. Your verbal attack dog when his new girlfriend gets mouthy."

Twenty thousand. A month.

That was insane. That was ridiculous. That was—

"Deal."

Wait. What?

My mouth had apparently disconnected from my brain. Asher's eyebrows rose.

"Deal?" he repeated.

"I—" I cleared my throat. "I mean. That's reasonable. For the services described."

You're drunk. You're definitely drunk.

"Perfect." He raised his glass. "To our new arrangement."

I clinked mine against it. The whiskey sloshed. I drank it anyway.

The alcohol was hitting harder now. Warm and fuzzy around the edges. Making me say things I shouldn't.

"You know what the worst part is?" I slouched deeper into the sofa. "Not the cheating. Not the public humiliation. It's the small shit. The shit I put up with for five years."

Asher set his glass down. Gave me his full attention.

"Tell me."

So I did.

"He couldn't cook. Couldn't clean. His mother still did his laundry. I found that out year three." I let out a bitter laugh. "His fucking underwear. His mom washed his underwear. A grown-ass Alpha werewolf."

"Jesus."

"And he'd leave dishes everywhere. Everywhere. I'd find crusty cereal bowls in the bedroom. In the bathroom. Once found one in his office, growing something that looked sentient."

Asher's nose wrinkled. "That's horrifying."

"He never remembered anniversaries. Or birthdays. I planned every date, every vacation, every dinner reservation." My voice cracked slightly. "I wanted to feel wanted. Just once. Just fucking once."

The words kept spilling out. Whiskey-loosened and raw.

"And the sex—" I stopped. Laughed humorlessly. "God. The sex. Five years of faking it because he couldn't find my clit with a map and a flashlight."

Asher went very still.

"He'd just... jackhammer away. Two minutes, tops. Then roll over and snore." I drained my glass. "Small dick. Mediocre tongue. Zero interest in actually pleasing me."

"Freya."

Something in his tone made me look up. His eyes had darkened. Intense. Unreadable.

"What?"

"Any man who makes you feel like an afterthought is a fucking idiot." His voice was low. Rough. "You deserve to be worshipped. Every inch of you. Every thought. Every breath."

The air between us shifted. Charged.

"You're a client," he continued, leaning forward. "So I shouldn't say this—"

"Say what?"

"That if you were mine, I'd spend hours learning your body. Every sound you make when you're turned on. Every spot that makes you shiver."

My throat went dry.

"That I'd never let you feel unwanted. Or unappreciated." His gaze dropped to my lips. "That I'd make you come so many times you forgot any man existed before me."

Shit.

This is a bad idea.

This is such a bad idea.

Then he kissed me.

I couldn't say who moved first. Maybe we both did. But suddenly his mouth was on mine, hot and demanding, and every thought in my head evaporated.

His hand slid into my hair. Tilting my head back. Deepening the kiss.

I opened for him. Let his tongue sweep inside, tasting whiskey and something darker. Something addictive.

A moan escaped my throat. Embarrassing. Needy. I didn't care.

He pulled me onto his lap. I went willingly, straddling him, knees sinking into the plush cushion on either side of his thighs. My dress rode up dangerously.

His hands found my waist. Then my hips. Then lower, cupping my ass through the silk.

"Fuck," he growled against my mouth.

Yes. Fuck. Please.

My fingers worked at his buttons. One. Two. Three. Until his shirt hung open and I could feel the hard planes of his chest beneath my palms. Dark hair. Defined muscle. Warm skin.

He yanked my dress down over my shoulders. The silk pooled at my waist, leaving my chest bare except for the thin lace of my bra.

His mouth trailed down my jaw. My neck. My collarbone.

I arched into him. Lost. Desperate. Wanting.

"Asher—"

"Tell me to stop." His breath was hot against my skin. "Tell me to stop and I will."

I didn't.

I kissed him instead.

Hard.

Everything blurred after that.

---

Sunlight hit my face like a personal attack.

I groaned, rolling over. My head pounded. My mouth tasted like whiskey and regret.

The bed was empty.

I blinked, forcing my eyes open. White sheets. White pillows. White everything.

Where the fuck—

Memory crashed back.

The suite. The whiskey. Asher. His hands. His mouth. His—

Oh God.

I sat up too fast. The room spun.

The other side of the bed was cold. No warmth left in the sheets. No sign anyone had been there at all except for the faint indent in the pillow.

I grabbed my phone. 9:47 AM. Six missed calls from Darren.

Darren.

I hit call.

"Finally!" he shrieked before the first ring finished. "I've been calling all morning! Did you hire the guy? Didhe show up? The Velvet Room owner won't tell me anything because of their stupid confidentiality policy!"

My stomach dropped.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the owner said no one checked out any of their employees yesterday! She has no record of you taking anyone from The Velvet Room!"

The room tilted.

"What?"

"Freya, did you hire a male model yesterday or not?"

I stared at the empty bed. The cold sheets. The indent in the pillow.

The man who'd known exactly how to play the crowd. Exactly what to say. Exactly how to kiss.

Asher.

Holy shit.

Who the fuck did I sleep with last night?