Chapter 4

DREXON

As I watched my new bride stride toward our suite—chin high, that ridiculous wedding dress trailing behind her—I caught myself admiring the way she owned every damn step.

Luneth wasn’t just brave; she was a goddamn force of nature.

I’d shown up today out of familial obligation, expecting nothing more than an open bar and the satisfaction of watching my fool nephew tie himself to that social-climbing stepsister of hers.

Instead, I got a wife who looked at me like I was the answer to a question she hadn’t even asked aloud.

The door to our suite stood ajar when I arrived. Melissa’s shrill voice carried into the hallway, and my protective instincts flared—until I heard Luneth’s response.

"Aunt Luneth," she corrected, her voice dripping with the kind of condescension that would make a nun reconsider her life choices.

A smirk tugged at my lips. Christ, she was magnificent.

I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. The contrast between the rooms wasn’t lost on me—while Kellan’s suite looked like a fucking florist’s wet dream, ours was… functional.

My jaw tightened. She deserved better than last-minute arrangements.

"You think you’ve won?" Melissa’s whisper was all venom. "Kellan might not be the heir, but—"

"But nothing." The clink of crystal as Luneth set down her champagne flute. "While you’re playing housemaid to Kellan’s ego, I’ll be running the empire. Tell me, sweetheart—who’s really coming out ahead here?"

I should’ve intervened. But watching Luneth eviscerate her stepsister with nothing but words and a raised eyebrow? That was a privilege.

When Melissa finally slunk away, I stepped inside. Luneth stood at the window, the city lights painting her in gold and shadow. She didn’t turn, but her reflection showed me that smirk—the one that made my blood run hot.

"Enjoying the show, husband?" The way she rolled that last word around her tongue should’ve been illegal.

I closed the distance between us in three strides.

"You’re terrifying," I murmured, catching a strand of her hair between my fingers. "I like it."

She turned then, her back against the glass, and met my gaze without flinching.

"Good. Because I don’t do meek."

"Neither do I." I braced a hand beside her head. "And I do keep my promises. I hope you do too."

She arched a brow, then stretched like a cat, deliberately slow, before scooting back on the sofa. "By all means."

I took the armchair across from her, close enough to catch the faint scent of her perfume—something floral with an edge, like roses dipped in whiskey.

"You know I’m a public figure," I began, watching her closely. "This marriage will be scrutinized. I’ll file the paperwork tomorrow, but if you want out—"

"I don’t." The words were flat, final. No hesitation. Just that steel in her voice again, the same one she’d used when she pointed at me in front of everyone and declared, "Him."

A smirk threatened, and I fought it down—but not fast enough. Her lips twitched. Caught me.

"Well," she said, rising in a rustle of satin, "since we’re stuck with each other, do you mind if I steal a shower before the interrogation continues?"

She gestured to her dress, the fabric wrinkled from the day’s chaos. "Unless you’d like to help me out of this first."

A challenge. A tease.

I leaned back in the chair, fingers steepled.

"By all means," I said, echoing her earlier words. "But don’t take too long. We’ve got terms to negotiate."

Her laugh trailed behind her as she disappeared into the bathroom. "Promises, promises."