Isla Turner was this close to completely losing it. How the hell was it actually Damari Evans standing there?

She thought about darting back in to grab her coat, but that would only make her boss wait longer. Steel ing herself, she tugged her collar tighter and fastened her belt with extra care, making sure not a sliver of skin was showing before she pulled the door open again.

Putting on her most unbothered face, she asked, "Mr. Evans, do you need anything else?"

Her flushed cheeks gave her away instantly. Damari held out her phone to her. "You left this in my car."

"Thank you, Mr. Evans. Sorry for the trouble."

Isla grabbed the phone, keeping her eyes glued to the floor, and was just about to shut the door when his hand shot out to stop it. She had no choice but to look up, and met Damari’s unyielding, serious gaze. "When it’s just the two of us, I’m not your boss."

The door clicked shut behind him, and Isla slid down against it, pressing her palms to her burning cheeks. The word *husband* flashed unbidden through her mind.

She shook her head hard. All he wanted was a wife to please his grandfather. How stupid could she be, daydreaming about actually being his wife?

That night, she slept like crap. She dreamed of Vicente Wood, and another woman. In the dream, they were strolling hand in hand across the bridge at their old college, kissing under blooming apple trees. He baked her that spiced honey cake she used to love, and told her stories just like he used to.

Isla was just a background character, standing off to the side watching it all. Her heart ached so bad tears streamed down her face, and she tried to walk away. But Vicente never turned around. He never even glanced her way.

When she turned away broken-hearted, she spotted a man in a suit reaching for her through the swirling apple blossom petals. "Isla."

She woke up to harsh morning sunlight stabbing right across her bed. She touched her eyes and found leftover tear tracks, the ache from the dream still clinging to her chest.

Isla never was the type to wallow, especially not when it came to dumb boy stuff. She grabbed her fully charged phone and saw a dozen texts from Vicente, all rambling explanations. Just like she suspected, the girl was his mentor’s daughter. He claimed he only felt brotherly toward her, nothing romantic.

If she really was just the mentor’s daughter, why was he the only one stuck taking care of her? Why was 90% of her social media posts all about him? She knew damn well the girl was aware Vicente had a girlfriend. Isla was sick to her stomach over how the girl faked innocence while throwing herself at him nonstop.

She deleted all the texts, opened WhatsApp, and ordered a new work outfit from her go-to retailer, arranging for same-day delivery. Right after she sent over her address, an unknown number popped up on her screen.

She answered, and Vicente’s exhausted voice came through the line. "Babe, you’re finally online. I’ve been blowing up your phone all night."

Isla’s voice was ice-calm. "Don’t call me that. If I wasn’t clear enough before, let me spell it out for you, Vicente. We’re done."

"But Isla, I don’t have anything romantic with her. Ending things over this isn’t fair, is it?"

Isla took a deep breath, staring out at the morning sun. "Vicente, do you get it? Emotional betrayal hurts way worse than just cheating on you physically."

"Isla, where are you? Let’s meet up and talk this through—"

Isla hung up on him, flipped her phone to silent, and ignored every call that came after. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror; her eyes were still a little puffy from crying.

She splashed cold water on her face, trying to wash all the old memories away. Once her new outfit showed up, she changed and headed into work.

The night before, Damari hadn’t gone home. He’d stayed in the suite next door to Isla. Early that morning, his butler brought in breakfast.

Without looking up from adjusting his cufflinks, Damari said, "Bring a plate to Ms. Turner next door too."

"The lady checked out fifteen minutes ago. Oh, by the way—she left a piece of clothing behind. We don’t have her contact info, so we weren’t sure if she wanted it back."

Damari walked into the room next door. When he saw the sheer black nightgown laid out on the tray, his Adam’s apple bobbed hard. "She won’t need it. Throw it out."

Just as the butler reached for it, Damari’s voice stopped him. "Wait. Keep it. Get it cleaned."

He scanned the room; it was spotless, except for the faintly rumpled sheets. On the vanity, two long strands of dark hair sat, the only proof a woman had been there. His gaze landed on the robe Isla had borrowed, and something unreadable flickered in his eyes.

Back at the office, Isla was touching up her lipstick when her mom called.

"Isla, come home for dinner."

The word *home* pulled a bitter smile to Isla’s face. In a family that openly played favorites, she’d never once felt what a warm home was supposed to feel like. After Mack got sick, her parents kicked her and Mack out to Grandma’s house just to free up space for their precious youngest son.

She answered coolly, "I have to work late tonight. You guys go without me."

"Your grandma said she misses you. Just come back for a visit."

Her grandma—who’d worked herself to the bone saving up for Mack’s treatment—had fallen and broken her leg.

Isla’s hand slipped mid-stroke, and the lipstick dragged all across her cheek. Her face dropped, and her voice cracked with anger. "Why did you bring her over there? You know she’s not in good shape, she—"

"That’s exactly why she’s here, to recover with us. I picked up your favorite sides, so make sure you come early."

The call cut off abruptly, leaving Isla staring at the screen with a dark look. A cold voice from the doorway pulled her out of it. "Your lipstick’s smudged."

Startled, she looked up into the mirror and met a pair of calm, deep-set eyes, dark and mysterious like fog over still water.

She caught sight of the red streak streaking across her jaw, and Isla’s cheeks flushed bright red.

Was she just cursed today? How come Damari had to witness every single one of her embarrassing moments?

She fumbled, half-ready to greet him, half-ready to scrub the lipstick off, not sure which to do first.

He handed her a soft linen handkerchief. "Clean it up."

"Tell everyone the meeting’s in an hour." With that, he was gone, all business, like he hadn’t married her the night before.

No matter what, Damari was still that meticulous workaholic, completely unfazed by their brand-new status.

Isla wiped the stray lipstick off with the handkerchief. It didn’t smell like cigarette smoke at all, just had a faint, clean, woody scent.

When she realized there were tissues right next to her, she felt a little silly for using his handkerchief. After she cleaned it and blew it dry with the hand dryer, she folded it carefully, planning to give it back to him later.

With a few minutes to spare, Isla ground some coffee beans, filled the filter, and hit brew. Damari always worked late, always needed coffee. It’d been her daily job for a year now.

When Isla knocked on the CEO’s office door holding the mug, her heart was pounding like crazy. Yesterday, he’d just been her untouchable boss. Now he was her husband, even if it was only on paper.

"Mr. Evans, your coffee." She set it down, her long eyelashes fanning out over her cheeks to hide how nervous she was.

"Isla, you brought coffee for Damari, and nothing for me?" a teasing voice cut in.

She spun around to see a man leaning against the window, eyes that dripped with easy charm. A friend once told her those eyes could make even a stray dog feel like it was the most loved thing in the world.

Ambrose Burns threw his arms wide and strolled over. "Shocked, huh? Did my new fit knock you out?"

His outfit screamed old money, that effortless relaxed elegance that made Isla think of a suave mafia boss out of a mob movie.

She pushed the silly thought aside and stood up straight, polite as ever. "Mr. Burns, what would you like to drink?"

Ambrose slung an arm over her shoulder, an amused grin tugging at his lips. "The drink doesn’t matter. What I really want is—"

He leaned in, whispering mischievously right against her ear, "You to be my secretary instead. What d’you say?"

Isla had dealt with this kind of teasing more times than she could count. Normally, she brushed it off without a second thought. But things were different now. She and Damari had picked up their marriage license just last night. This felt like a slap in his face, right under his own nose. She kept her gaze lowered and answered coolly, "Sorry, Mr. Burns. I'm not interested in switching jobs."

"How much is your boss paying you? I'll triple it," Ambrose said, a sly grin tugging at his lips.

Isla met his eyes directly, her tone steady. "Mr. Burns, some things aren't for sale." She gently eased his hand off her shoulder. "Like loyalty."

Ambrose laughed at how dead serious she looked. "Isla, I gotta ask..." he dropped his voice, low and dirty, "Do you walk around looking that serious in the bedroom, too? Can you even let loose?"

Isla's ears burned bright red, and she glared daggers at the shameless man.

"Doesn't look like it. Wanna have your big brother show you how it's done?" Ambrose kept piling on the teasing.

A cold voice cut in sharp, "Show her what? Maybe you should show me too."

Isla stumbled back so fast, instinctively pressing herself to Damari's side. Damari was always strict at work, but he was respectful, never cracked crude jokes like this. Having him as her boss felt like having a solid wall to hide behind.

Ambrose just shrugged, totally unphased. "Just messing around."

Damari set down his pen, closed his folder, and pressed the intercom button, his voice even. "Send all the assistants in."

Madison led the other assistants in a minute later. Isla had no clue what Damari planned to do, but that quiet commanding energy of his had her stomach twisting in knots.

Ambrose was still clueless as to what was coming. "Got a meeting going on? Should I head out?"

Damari nodded at Madison, who stepped back and held the door open. The assistants clustered just inside, shifting awkwardly, none of them knowing what to expect.

Damari spoke in that same calm, even tone that sent a chill down Isla's spine. "Mr. Burns here thinks my assistants aren't up to par, and he's graciously offered to share his expertise with all of you. You should all take notes."

The assistants were confused, but when the CEO says jump, you don't ask how high. They nodded earnestly in unison. "Please, Mr. Burns. Enlighten us."

Ambrose's smile dropped right off his face. "Damari, c'mon, I was just joking."

Damari leaned back in his leather chair, hands clasped under his chin, and pinned Ambrose with that cold, sharp leader's glare. "Now that everyone's here, go ahead. Put on a show. Start yelling—you seemed so amused by this a minute ago."

The guy who'd spent all this time teasing Isla just got turned into the office clown. Even Ambrose could tell Damari wasn't playing around this time. He swallowed his pride, jaw tight. "You're really gonna do this over a junior assistant?"

Damari scoffed, dark and dangerous. "Recruiting my people right to my face? You really think I'm blind?"

Ambrose met that blazing glare, shocked how seriously Damari was taking this today. He huffed, reluctant as hell, and let out a weak, half-hearted yell: "Ah!"

Damari turned to the room of assistants. "What did you all think of that?"

Everyone got it now—Damari was defending Isla. But Ambrose was old money, powerful, none of them dared say what they really thought. Only Madison spoke up, blunt as ever: "Lacked emotion."

Damari nodded once. "Try again."

"C'mon Damari, this is going way too far, right?" Ambrose protested.

"This is too far?" Damari chuckled darkly, low and menacing. "If you think the audience is too small, I can round up the whole company to watch..."

"Alright, alright! I'm yelling!" Ambrose cut him off fast.

Finally Damari waved the other assistants out, then flicked his hand at Ambrose to dismiss him. "Go to the main conference room and keep shouting until you hit a thousand times. Then you can leave."

"I'm sorry, Damari, I messed up, okay?"

"Make it two thousand."

Ambrose had nothing to say to that.

Isla had run into Ambrose a handful of times before. He was a carefree playboy who never filtered a damn thing he said. This was the first time anyone had ever put him in his place like this, all because of her.

After everyone cleared out, Isla stood off to the side, worry written all over her face. Damari lifted his head and looked right at her. "Spit it out. What's on your mind?"

Isla furrowed her brow just a little. "Mr. Burns comes from one of the most powerful families in the city. It's not worth throwing away a good relationship over me."

Damari built this company from nothing, clawed his way up from the bottom. Even though he'd become a billionaire faster than anyone saw coming, he didn't have the generations of backing those old-money clans did. Isla didn't come from money or influence either, and she knew better than anyone how hard he'd fought to get where he was. She didn't want to ruin everything he'd built over her.

She dropped her gaze to the floor. "I've heard garbage like that my whole life. It doesn't get to me. I just... I don't want to be a burden..."

Before she could even finish her sentence, a large hand wrapped around her wrist and hauled her right down onto Damari's lap.

Back in high school, Isla had dated Vicente before he moved abroad, and that was it—a long-distance thing that fizzled out. Even when they were together in person, he never did anything this bold with her.

One thought blazed through her dizzy mind: how could anyone's thighs be this firm? The man worked out regularly, his well-honed physique hidden under that sharp tailored suit, and it felt like a rock against her soft curves.

Damari's perfect dark eyes held her startled reflection, his voice low and steady. "Isla, I don't know what kind of life you had before me, or how much you've had to carry. But starting now? You're mine. No one is going to disrespect you, not while I'm here."

Isla's eyes went wide. When she was dating Vicente, she'd always hidden how vulnerable she was, put on a brave face and acted like she didn't need anyone. When she joined Damari's company, her messy, poor background had come out anyway.

She'd spent her whole life learning that the world kisses up to the powerful and kicks the weak when they're down. Damari's words hit her like a stone dropped into a still pond, sending warm ripples spreading through her chest.

"Marrying you is never a burden. As for the Burns family..." he paused, holding her gaze, unblinking. "They're nothing."

He said it so casually, like one of the most prominent families in the country was just a fly to swat away. Even though their marriage started as a deal of convenience, this quiet, unshakable protection warmed her to her core. She mumbled a shy, "Thank you."

Damari stared at the girl in his arms, her pale skin flushed pink that crept all the way up to her ears and down her neck, like someone had dusted her with rouge. She was always so polite, so distant around him. This soft, obedient version of Isla was something he'd never gotten to see before.

He leaned closer, the warm, clean scent of his cologne wrapping around Isla. He asked, curious, "Why do you blush so easily?"

He kept his face cool, but his question was totally sincere. He'd dated more than his fair share of women, so he figured a girl his age would be pretty experienced—he had no idea Isla was as innocent as they came.

Flustered, Isla rushed to explain. "I've never done this before."

"What do you mean by that?" The second the question left his mouth, the air between them went thick with tension, crackling like static.

Her tight pencil skirt inched up her thighs as she sat, her sheer pantyhose hugging her long legs that dangled freely, brushing against his trousers every so often.

When she shifted nervously, she accidentally grazed his hard calf with her knee.

Isla bit her soft lip, her voice barely a whisper. "I've never sat on a guy's lap before. It's... new. I don't really know what to do."

Right after the words left her mouth, Damari's grip on her hand tightened just a little.

She winced, breathing out soft, "Mr. Evans... You're hurting me..."

Damari finally caught on to what he’d done and let go of her hand. "Sorry."

"No, it’s okay. I gotta get back to work."

Isla’s cheeks flushed bright pink as she hurried off in her heels. It was the first time she’d ever been that flustered on the job.

Damari rubbed his fingertips together slowly, like he could still feel the soft, silky warmth of Isla’s skin under his touch.

An hour later, he stood up and headed for the conference room.

Ambrose was leaning over the table, voice rough and gravelly. Damari glanced down at him. "You can go. Don’t make that mistake again."

"Damari, why are you so protective of that little assistant of yours? Got your eye on her, don’t you?"

Damari didn’t bother explaining, just tossed off a lazy reply. "She’s taken."

"So what if she’s taken? You convince her hard enough, any relationship can go up in smoke."

Ambrose chugged the last of his coffee and stretched out slow, casual. "Hey, by the way—isn’t it kind of tempting? She’s all prim and proper up here at work. Wonder what she’s like behind closed doors, huh?"

Ambrose just shrugged. "You’re gonna make yourself miserable bottling everything up like this. Skip the overtime tonight, come out with us."

After seeing Ambrose out, Damari wandered down the hall for a cigarette, and glanced through the open doorway of the secretaries’ office.

There she was: Isla standing by the printer, sunlight spilling over her. Her tailored work fit fit her like it was made just for her.

Her tiny waist, those long legs, the soft rise and fall of her chest—enough to make any man’s head turn.

Damari’s mind wandered, unbidden, to the thought of Isla in bed with Vicente. What noises would she make?

He caught himself, realizing Ambrose’s stupid comment had gotten under his skin, and shoved those thoughts right out of his head fast.

In this day and age, Isla and Vicente had been together for years. Of course they weren’t waiting for marriage. That kind of thing didn’t happen anymore.

The tight black dress she’d worn last night just proved it.

They were a couple. Intimacy was normal. That was how it worked.

Damari turned to leave just as Isla glanced toward the door. She didn’t see anyone there, but she couldn’t shake the feeling—like someone had been watching her. Had she just imagined it?

Her phone buzzed with a text just as she pulled the printed documents off the tray. It was a deposit alert.

Her eyes locked on the $200,000. The papers slipped right out of her hands and hit the floor with a loud thud.

Suddenly every pair of eyes in the room was on her. Madison spoke up first. "Everything okay?"

Isla, always so cool and collected, masked her shock in a heartbeat. "Nothing. I’m fine."

She walked back to her desk, still reeling over the unexpected money, when Rayna leaned in, voice bright with curiosity. "How’d it go last night? That dress I picked out for you could charm the pants off an angel."

Isla answered steady as anything. "Not great. We broke up."

Rayna’s face went completely slack with disbelief. "What? You broke up? After all these years? You just walked away like that?"

"I did. He cheated," Isla said, not offering anything else before she headed for the CEO’s office, leaving Rayna stunned in her wake.

Isla knocked on the door. She went in and out of this office a dozen times a day normally, but today this was only the second time—and it felt weird, awkward even.

She pushed the door open and found Damari on a call. She usually avoided interrupting moments like this, scared she’d overhear something confidential.

She set the documents down and was already turning to leave when his hand wrapped around her wrist, halting her in place.

Since last night, they’d touched way more than they ever had before. It felt wrong, too much.

Isla didn’t dare daydream about being Mrs. Evans. If she had to label what they had, it was nothing more than a business arrangement.

Even with his phone pressed to his ear, his sharp, focused gaze never left her.

This man was normally glued to his work, barely glanced at anyone else. This sudden shift left her completely off-balance.

Isla’s eyes drifted to the small red birthmark peeking out above the collar of his white dress shirt.

She realized she was staring, and it was rude. She looked away fast.

To Damari, Isla standing there with her head bowed looked just like an obedient kid waiting her turn in line. Cute.

He finally ended the call. "Is there something you wanted to say?"

Isla’s voice was soft, quiet. "Mr. Evans, did you mishear me? Last night I said you only needed to send $30,000. I just got a transfer for $200,000."

He answered like it was no big deal. "Thirty thousand only covers the surgery and the hospital bill. Even if the operation goes well, there’s post-op meds and physical therapy to pay for."

"A hundred thousand is more than enough. I’ll transfer the rest back right away."

"Isla, that $200,000 isn’t for your brother’s treatment."

Her heart stopped for a beat. "Mr. Evans, I don’t understand."

"Let me put it another way. This $200,000 is your monthly allowance—from a husband to his wife. Spend it however you want."

"H-husband…" Isla almost bit her own tongue, she was that shocked.

He emphasized the word slow, like he wanted to make sure she got it. "Yes. Husband. Or partner, spouse—whatever you prefer."

This wasn’t going anything like she’d planned.

Weren’t they only supposed to have a contractual marriage? Right. The contract.

Isla reminded him gentle, quiet. "Mr. Evans, we haven’t signed any agreement yet."

"No need for one. If you have any demands, just tell me. We can work it out."

This whole arrangement was Damari’s idea in the first place. Her only request was money to save her brother’s life. That was it.

Seeing how confused she was, Damari pressed the point. "You can tell me what you expect from me. What days I need to come home, how much I give you each month, how many nights a week we… share a bed."

Isla slammed her palm over his mouth fast, cutting him off. "Mr. Evans, don’t say another word."

He glanced at her flushed cheeks, amused. How could someone who’d dated a man for years still blush just from hearing the words share a bed?

His warm breath fanned her fingers, sending a tiny, tingling jolt up her arm. She yanked her hand away like she’d been burned.

Isla could feel something was off. She’d always thought this was just mutual need—she’d satisfy his grandfather’s last wish, he’d pay for her brother’s surgery. That was all.

Beyond that, they wouldn’t have anything to do with each other. But he was talking like they were actually a real married couple.

She met his gaze, and her ears burned hot. "I don’t need that much money, I…"

He cut her right off. "Do whatever you want with it. Save it, donate it, I don’t care—it’s your freedom to do as you like. Transferring money to you every month is my freedom."

Isla’s brain was still spinning trying to process all this when she asked, "Then what do I have to do for it?"

"I’ll let you know when the time comes."

Isla nodded, already planning to save the money and pay him back every cent once the arrangement ended.

"Tonight I have to go visit my parents. If we were going to see your grandfather, we’ll have to reschedule," she told him seriously, like she was reporting any other work task.

He let go of her wrist. "That’s fine."

"Mr. Evans, I won’t disturb you any longer."

Isla hurried out. Even though he’d let go, the spot on her wrist where his hand had been was still burning—like someone had lit a tiny flame there that spread all the way to her heart.

Glancing at the balance on her bank app, the heavy weight that had been sitting in her chest for months finally lifted.

She didn’t want to go home, but tonight was the regular family dinner, and Mack would be there. She couldn’t wait to tell her brother the good news.

After the surgery, he’d be healthy again. He’d get to start a whole new life.

When Isla knocked and walked into the living room, she found Vicente sitting there, in his crisp business suit. Her face dropped instantly.