My Accidental Wife

"It's just a signature. A signature, a couple of vows, and then I Lila Harper, belong to Ethan Grey, cold-hearted billionaire and the man who will save my family's company. No pressure."

I tugged at the collar of my white dress for the third time in ten minutes. It wasn't even a real wedding dress—just a simple, knee-length number my mother had approved because "it makes you look practical but not cheap." Practical, apparently, was the exact vibe one should aim for when walking into a lifelong business transaction.

The courthouse loomed in front of me, all gray walls and bureaucratic indifference, and I had to resist the urge to turn and sprint back to my car. My parents, bless their overly dramatic hearts, had promised me this was the right thing to do. "A marriage of convenience," they called it, as if that made it sound noble instead of soul-crushing. "You're saving all of us, darling."

And yes, logically, I knew they were right. My father's company was circling the drain, my little brother's tuition was overdue, and my mother's charity luncheons required funding that we definitely didn't have anymore. If Ethan Grey's money and connections could fix all of that, then fine. I'd marry him.

But logic didn't stop the nagging thought in my brain: I didn't even like Ethan Grey. Forget love—I was pretty sure the man didn't even have blood in his veins. He ran on spreadsheets and ambition. Romance wasn't part of the deal. He probably scheduled his emotions into five-minute slots between meetings.

I adjusted my bouquet of limp gas-station carnations and climbed the courthouse steps. This was fine. Everything was fine.

The waiting room smelled like floor polish and disappointment. A few other couples sat on the benches, ranging from wide-eyed and giggling to already glaring at each other. One woman was crying softly into a tissue.

Great. Perfect place to get married.

Peter, Ethan's perpetually frazzled assistant, stood near the clerk's desk, shuffling a folder of paperwork like it might spontaneously combust. When he saw me, he darted over, his tie already askew.

"Ms. Harper!" he exclaimed, as though I were a celebrity who'd just graced him with my presence. "You look... wonderful."

"Peter," I said, cutting straight to the point, "where's Ethan?"

Peter's smile faltered. "He, uh... there was an issue with the board meeting. He's... delayed."

I raised an eyebrow. "Delayed? You mean he's late. To his own wedding."

Peter's face turned a lovely shade of panic. "He'll be here soon," he stammered. "Definitely. He asked me to assure you—"

"That this is fine?" I interrupted, crossing my arms. "Because, Peter, let me assure you: this is not fine."

Peter fumbled with the folder, almost dropping it. "Mr. Grey sends his deepest apologies. He'll, uh, definitely be here for the honeymoon."

"Fantastic," I muttered. "I'll pencil him in for eye contact on our second anniversary."

Peter looked like he might cry.

"Next couple! Harper and Carter!" the clerk called out, her voice as bored as the peeling paint on the walls.

I stood up, smoothing my dress and preparing myself for what was surely going to be the least romantic wedding in history. But before I could even move, someone else walked up to the clerk's desk.

She was not Ethan Grey.

The woman strolling into the courthouse looked like she belonged in a skate park, not a marriage ceremony. She wore a leather jacket over a graphic tee, paired with ripped jeans and boots that looked like they'd been in a fight with a lawnmower. Her short dark hair was perfectly messy, with one side undercut, like she'd rolled out of bed and said, Yeah, this works.

And she was holding a bag of chips.

"Hey," she said, her voice casual, like this was the checkout line at a gas station. "This the spot for Harper and Carter?"

Peter froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. "Uh... y-yes! Harper and Carter! Right here!"

What. The. Hell.

Before I could even process what was happening, the woman strolled right up to the clerk's desk. She crumpled her chip bag and stuffed it in her pocket, flashing a grin that could probably stop traffic.

I turned to Peter, my voice low and dangerous. "What is happening?"

"Uh," Peter stammered, thrusting a pen into the woman's hand. "This is Ms. Carter. Just sign here, ma'am. It's, uh, all been arranged."

"All been—?" My voice pitched higher as I rounded on Peter. "Peter, who is this woman?!"

The stranger—Carter, apparently—turned to me and winked. "I'm guessing you're the bride?"

"Excuse me?"

"Great. Let's do this," she said, turning back to the clerk like this was the most normal thing in the world.

The clerk didn't even blink. She just adjusted her glasses and launched into the ceremony, clearly ready to move on with her day.

"Do you, Lila Harper, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

I opened my mouth, then closed it. My brain was still stuck on Who is this woman and why is she here? But Peter was standing off to the side, looking like he might have a stroke if I didn't cooperate.

"Sure," I said finally, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Whatever."

The clerk turned to her. "And do you, Mattie Carter, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

Mattie—because apparently that was her name—grinned like the devil herself. "Absolutely. Best decision of my life."

Something about her tone made me glare at her, but before I could respond, the clerk was stamping our marriage certificate with an air of finality.

"Congratulations," she said, handing me the document. "You're married."

The courthouse doors slammed open, and in strode Ethan Grey.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?"

His voice echoed off the walls as everyone turned to stare. He was wearing a designer suit, his jaw clenched so tightly I was surprised his teeth hadn't cracked. His sharp eyes zeroed in on Mattie, who was leaning against the desk, looking utterly unbothered.

"We're married," I blurted, holding up the certificate like a shield.

Ethan's glare shifted to Mattie. "To her?!"

I turned to Mattie, who popped another chip into her mouth and shrugged.

"Wait," I said slowly, my stomach sinking. "Who are you?"

Mattie grinned. "I don't know, sweetheart. Who am I to you?"

I stared at the marriage certificate, the weight of what had just happened crashing down on me.

I wasn't married to Ethan Grey. I was married to a stranger. A leather-jacket-wearing, chip-eating stranger.

"This can't be happening," I whispered. "This isn't happening."

Mattie leaned closer, her grin widening. "Don't worry, Mrs. Carter. This is gonna be fun."

And Mattie Carter? She looked like she was having the time of her life.