Chapter 1: The Husband I Bought

I spent a hundred bucks to get myself a husband. I know how that sounds—like something out of a tabloid or a joke you’d tell your friends over drinks. But when you’re desperate to rewrite your own story, you’ll try just about anything.

The guy I picked? He was impossible to ignore—those sharp brows, eyes that could cut glass, tall enough to make you forget how to breathe. He moved with a kind of quiet confidence, always watching me, always ready to make sure I was happy. It was like he’d studied some secret manual on how to be the perfect man.

One night, halfway between dreaming and waking, I reached for him in bed. My hand hit nothing but cool, empty sheets.

Blinking away sleep, I peered through the bedroom door. The dim hallway was lined with men in black suits, standing stiff and straight, like some kind of elite security detail. Their heads were slightly bowed, hands clasped in front of them. It felt like I’d stumbled into a scene from an old-money soap opera—serious, silent, and a little bit surreal, as if I’d married into a family that still believed in ancient rituals.

“Your Grace, the wedding arrangements are ready. When do you plan to officially wed Miss Warren?” one of them asked, his voice low and formal, like he was addressing royalty.

“Your Grace, will you be taking Miss Warren back to Boston with you on this trip?” another chimed in, his gaze fixed on the floor, every word laced with deference.

Bathed in cold moonlight, my usually affectionate husband looked like a stranger—his face carved from ice, his tone sharper than I’d ever heard. “You’re all talking too much.”

The men fell silent instantly, tension thick in the air. A few shifted uncomfortably, but no one dared move until he dismissed them with a single, piercing look.

I watched all of it from the dark edge of the bedroom, my hand pressed tight over my mouth, barely daring to breathe, like if I made a sound I’d be swept up in whatever strange world I’d landed in.

I’m the villainess here—yeah, the one everyone loves to hate. That’s me, Emmeline Warren. I was supposed to keep my distance from the main characters, so I packed up and moved to Maple Heights, a quiet little coastal town miles away from Boston, hoping to disappear into the background.

I hustled every day, selling homemade balms and scrimping on every expense, all so I could afford to buy myself a gorgeous man who’d treat me right…

And wouldn’t you know it? The husband who spent his days being sweet and attentive was actually Julian Ashcroft—the same leading man I’d been trying to avoid, the so-called Duke of Halewell.

I squeezed my eyes shut, cursing my own idiocy. I almost laughed out loud at how perfectly I’d managed to step right into the plot I was running from.

Outside, the men in black seemed to dissolve into the night, vanishing as if they’d never been there at all. Julian slipped off his suit jacket, then quietly returned to bed, sliding in beside me. He wrapped his long arm around my waist, pulling me close until I was pressed against his warmth.

His breath was hot on my neck. I instinctively tried to edge away, but he just chuckled, low and intimate. “Emmeline, I missed you.”

There was no way I could keep up the act anymore. My nerves were shot. I forced myself to mumble, trying to sound like I’d just woken up. “…Julian, what time is it?”

“It’s still the middle of the night. Go back to sleep, Emmeline. I’ll handle everything.”

Then Julian leaned in and kissed me—slow, deep, and with a kind of possessiveness that made my heart race.

His hands started to wander, and I felt my pulse skyrocket. Did this man ever run out of energy? Was he made of pure adrenaline or something?

Pressed beneath him, I struggled, but it was pointless—he was immovable, and my resistance melted away.