Chapter 1
Maya
You know how some days just start bad?
Yeah. My day had been a disaster from the moment I opened my eyes — and somehow, it kept getting worse.
At 5 AM, my shower broke. I ended up rinsing off with bottled water, shivering and cursing at the universe.
At 6:30, I ran out of coffee — and me without my morning coffee is basically a public safety hazard.
Before coffee, I want to kill people. After coffee, I can at least pretend to be civilized — even to my boss.
I should’ve seen the signs. I should’ve just stayed in bed.
But no, I kept going.
I swiped on my wine-toned lipstick, smoothed my sleek hair, and slipped into my favorite oversized gray Prada suit, pairing it with burgundy classic heels and a matching bag.
I love Prada suits — they fit perfectly, comfy but bold, confident. Even if my day was spiraling, that wasn’t an excuse to look bad. Wherever you go, whatever happens: show up looking like you own the place.
I got to the office at 7:30, as usual — a full hour before anyone else showed up. I prepped my presentation for the new summer collection, checked every slide, every detail. Everything was set. Perfect.
And then the email came.
The embassy.
Visa declined.
Three months before they deported me back to my country.
It felt like the walls were closing in on me. Ten years of building a life here — gone, just like that.
I could already picture the gloating faces of my extended family back home. The suffocating pressure to go through an arranged marriage like my brother and sister.
They were lucky — they found love that way.
Me? I never fit the mold. I hated the traditions that tried to tie me down.
This wasn’t supposed to be the end.
I grabbed my bag, slammed the elevator button, and rode it up to the roof.
I needed air. I needed a cigarette. I needed to scream into the sky where no one could hear me.
I lit up and sat on the ledge, exhaling smoke and frustration into the warm morning air — when an all-too-familiar voice hit me like a punch to the gut.
Tall. Dark. Infuriating.
Six-foot-five, cream-tailored suit, navy blue shirt underneath. Dark hair tousled just enough to look effortless. And that scent — citrus, jasmine, and something else I could never quite place.
Adrian Blake.
Acting CEO. Menace to my existence.
"Is it my lucky day to witness the tragic end of the dearest person to me?" he drawled, sarcasm dripping from every perfect word.
I groaned. "Jesus, what are you doing here?"
"Believe it or not," he said, that damn smirk curling his mouth, "I wasn’t expecting company either. Is this some secret spot no one told me about?"
"Was," I muttered, blowing out another puff of smoke. "It was special. Five minutes ago. Now... not so much."
He chuckled and lifted a white napkin from his pocket, waving it like a tiny flag. "Truce? Before you kill me?"
I glared at him, then sighed, the smoke trailing from my lips.
"Fine. Peace. But only because I’m not in the mood for war today."
He sat beside me, too close for comfort, his perfect suit wrinkling slightly as he leaned back. His amber eyes flickered in the sunlight, like golden honey.
"Bad day, huh?" he asked.
I barked out a humorless laugh. "Yeah. You?"
He ran a hand through his hair, the playfulness draining from his face. "The old man gave me an ultimatum. Settle down, get married, be ‘responsible’... or lose the company."
I choked on my laugh. "You’re kidding. This is some billionaire soap opera bullshit, right?"
He half-smiled, but his eyes stayed grim. "I thought so too. But he’s dead serious. Six months. Wife. Or no company."
I let out a low whistle. "At least you have six months. I have three."
His brow furrowed. "Wait... what do you mean?"
"You think my parents are forcing me to marry too?" I laughed bitterly. "Nope. Worse. My visa got rejected. I have three months before they ship me back like a damn package."
His whole body turned toward me, eyes wide with something like shock. Maybe something else I couldn’t name.
"You’re leaving?" His voice was rough. "Just like that?"
I shrugged, feeling my heart crack a little more. "Tell that to the embassy."
We sat in silence, the city buzzing far below, uncaring.
I took another long drag from my cigarette, letting the smoke blur the edges of my frustration and fear.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Adrian shift, like a man fighting with himself.
The clock was ticking — we had a conference room full of people waiting for us in fifteen minutes.
I stood, brushing ash from my pants, and started walking toward the door.
"Wait," Adrian said suddenly.
I turned, cigarette dangling from my fingers.
He stared at me, something reckless flashing in his amber eyes.
"I have a crazy idea," he said, voice low and rough.
"What if you and I... got married?"
