Chapter 2: The Honeymoon Games

Luke Anderson’s mind might be broken, but his body was absolutely flawless—a living, breathing Calvin Klein billboard. The man was all broad shoulders and a lean, athletic waist, the definition of every muscle visible even beneath a basic Hanes tee. You could picture him tossing a football at a college tailgate or rowing crew at Princeton, every movement confident, effortless.

Broad shoulders, a lean, athletic waist—his muscles were sculpted to perfection. I’d seen him at family pool parties, sunlight catching on those abs, making even the lifeguard do a double take.

One look and you could tell he was more than capable of handling anything—or anyone. In any other life, he’d be the guy every girl at the country club tried to flirt with, the one all the dads trusted to drive their daughters home.

He definitely had what it took to drive a woman wild. Just standing there, he radiated this understated confidence, the kind that makes people lean in just to be noticed.

But now, this gorgeous body was being controlled by a damaged brain. It was almost a cruel joke, seeing so much promise turned inward—his mind somewhere else, lost in the static.

All he cared about was playing with Captain America. The way he clutched that toy, you’d think it was the Hope Diamond. I almost wanted to laugh, except it just made me ache inside.

I tugged at the deep red lace nightdress clinging to me—the neckline plunged daringly, and my pale skin almost glowed in the warm lamplight. The old Anderson estate, with its expensive art and silent halls, suddenly felt like the world’s most luxurious dollhouse. I half expected the ghost of Gatsby to step out from behind the velvet curtains.

Still, he didn’t spare me a single glance. Not even a flicker. I could’ve been a lamp.

Me, Madison Walker—blessed with beauty and a killer figure—never once lacked male attention wherever I went. I’d been the homecoming queen, the girl who always got the last word at brunch, the one who left guys stuttering at the bar.

When had I ever been so thoroughly ignored? It stung, deep in a way I didn’t want to admit. My ego wasn’t used to bruises.

I’d spent hours picking out this stupid lingerie, convinced it would make me feel powerful. Now, I just felt invisible.

I snatched the Captain America from his hand and stuffed it right down my cleavage. The move was so out of character, I almost surprised myself, but desperate times and all that.

The fabric was thin, and the hard toy pressed uncomfortably against my skin. For a split second, I wondered if this would end up as some viral TikTok story: "Bride seduces groom with action figure."

"Want it?" I hooked my finger at him, flashing a mischievous smile I’d perfected in countless bathroom selfies. "If you want some, you gotta play by my rules."

Finally, Luke looked up. His eyes, framed by thick dark lashes, were as clear and guileless as a golden retriever’s. For a second, I almost forgot everything and just felt sad for him.

His gaze dropped, fixing unerringly on my chest. He looked absolutely desperate. For a heartbeat, it felt like time hung suspended.

"Can’t find it," he said. His voice was soft, almost childlike, so at odds with his towering presence that it made something twist inside me.

I deliberately leaned forward, baring even more of my neckline, tempting him. "Look again~" I tried to sound playful, but my nerves were buzzing like the neon sign outside the Wrigleyville bar where I’d met him, once upon a time.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes boldly following the line of my body. The tension in the room sharpened, thick and electric, as if we were actors trapped in a slow-motion scene.

My breath quickened, my chest rising and falling. My heart thudded in my ears, embarrassingly loud in the quiet room.

"Did you find it?" I teased. I licked my lips, trying to hold onto the upper hand.

"Red," he answered, his cool voice sending a jolt right through me. His tone was flat but his eyes were so intent, it made my knees go weak.

He was so unintentionally seductive, I nearly went weak on the spot—but I managed to keep teasing him. This was a new game, and I wasn’t ready to lose.

"No, it’s pink." I grinned, hoping he’d play along.

He frowned, dead serious. "Captain America’s shield is red."

…

Right now, I wanted nothing more than to smack him until he was red all over. I clenched my fists at my sides, fighting back a laugh and a scream all at once.

But looking at that mouthwatering body, and thinking of the three million about to be mine, I forced myself to calm down. Money like that changes everything—tuition, mortgages, freedom. I pictured my checking account and took another slow, grounding breath.

"Since you’ve already seen everything…" I softened my voice, trailing my fingers along my neckline to guide his gaze. "Don’t you want to take it out yourself?"

I stepped lightly across the carpet, closing the distance between us. The hem of my nightdress swayed with every step, cool air brushing my bare thighs. The old Oriental rug muffled my movements, adding a thrill of secrecy.

Luke’s eyes grew darker and deeper—I couldn’t tell if it was because of me or that damn Captain America. Maybe a little of both. His lips parted, breath catching.

But as he approached, I almost wanted to bow down and thank Captain America. The absurdity of the thought made me smirk; never thought I’d owe a Marvel toy for my honeymoon.

Closer, and closer. Every inch between us charged with anticipation.

Luke bent down, his dark eyes locked on my chest. His warm breath tickled my collarbone. I could smell the faint trace of his cologne—clean, woodsy, expensive.

His long, clean fingers hovered just an inch from my skin—just a little more and he’d touch me. I held my breath, my pulse hammering. I was ready to leap the last barrier between us.

And then, this infuriating man suddenly turned around and pulled another Captain America out of the nightstand drawer. My jaw dropped. Are you kidding me…? Of course the Andersons would have a backup.

When he was normal, he’d put on a cold face just to get under my skin. He’d perfected the art of the slow burn, always just out of reach.

Now that he’s lost his mind, he’s even better at tormenting me. It was almost impressive, if I wasn’t so frustrated.

Fine, Luke Anderson. Just you wait. No way was I letting a hunk of plastic outplay me. Not tonight.

For three million, I’ll do whatever it takes. I’d survived sorority hazing and finals at Northwestern—this was just another test.

Tonight, even if I have to work like a picker at an apple orchard in October, I’m going to sleep with him. I grinned, picturing myself as some all-American farm girl, only with a trust fund and a lace nightie.