Chapter 3: You Gold digger

A dull ache throbbed behind Dahlia’s eyes.

She groaned as she stirred awake, her skull felt too small for the pounding inside it. The faint scent of linen and expensive cologne wrapped around her like fog as she stirred, squinting against the light creeping through the heavy curtains.

She groaned, pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead. Her mouth was dry, her tongue heavy with the taste of whiskey and regret.

A hangover. Perfect.

Blinking, she took in the room-wide windows, golden drapes, the hum of distant traffic. A hotel suite, judging by the décor. She frowned. Did I… check into a hotel last night? After walking for hours? That seemed plausible. She had wandered the city until her feet ached, the world spinning around her grief. Maybe she’d stumbled in here and collapsed.

She stretched her arms above her head, trying to ignore how every muscle complained. When she turned to sit up, the sheets rustled and she froze.

Someone was lying beside her.

A man.

Dahlia’s heart stuttered violently. Her first instinct was to scream for security, but the sound died in her throat. Her hand flew to her chest, her breathing shallow.

The stranger was asleep on his chest, one arm thrown over a pillow. His hair was tousled, dark strands falling across his face.

For a moment, she forgot to breathe.

Then it hit her.

Fragments of last night flared through the haze-his deep voice, low and teasing. The warmth of his arm steadying her. The way his gaze held hers like he could see past every wall she’d built. The press of his hand at her back, the heat of his breath as he whispered her name-

Dahlia squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head hard. No. Don’t think about that.

When she looked again, he shifted slightly, rolling onto his back. Morning light spilled across his chest, revealing faint red marks tracing over golden skin her marks. Her nails had done that, while digging into his back.

Her stomach dropped.

“Oh my God” she breathed, horrified.

She had slept with a stranger. A s*x worker.

Her pulse hammered in her ears. If the media caught even a whisper of this, she’d be ruined. Headlines flashed in her mind: CEO Caught in Scandalous Tryst. She shook her head fiercely. “No. No, no, no…”

She threw the covers off and stumbled to her feet. You can fix this. Just leave. He probably won’t even remember you. People like him… they have clients every night.

Moving quietly, she tiptoed to the pile of clothes strewn across the floor. Her cheeks flamed when she spotted her red underwear ripped clean through. She scowled at the man in the bed, muttering under her breath, “Savage beast”

Another memory flickered,a tangle of heat and breath, his hand at the small of her back, the sound of his laughter in the dark. The memory hit so vividly she felt her skin prickle.

“Get it together” she hissed, dragging on her clothes as quickly as possible

She dressed quickly, movements sharp and silent, forcing herself not to look at the man still sleeping. He looked infuriatingly peaceful, lips curved as if he were halfway through a dream that amused him.

She grabbed her purse from the table and turned toward the door.

“Where are you going, wifey?”

Dahlia froze mid-step.

Her spine went rigid. Slowly, she turned around.

He was awake now, sitting up lazily, one arm resting across his knee. The sheet stopped low on his hips-too low and she had to avert her eyes before she saw more than she could handle.

The morning light painted him in soft golds. His features were striking, sharp lines softened by something warm, almost sun-kissed. His skin held that golden-brown glow of someone who spent time in the open, not under fluorescent lights. His eyes,when she dared meet them were steady, half amusement, half curiosity. His smile was easy, dangerous.

And those lips-she refused to remember where they had been on her body.

Her brain scrambled for composure. She straightened, spine snapping back into the posture that had cowed boardrooms and politicians alike. “I’ve already paid you,” she said coolly. “There’s no need to linger.”

Nate’s brows lifted slightly. Paid him? He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. The woman standing before him ,hair tousled, voice frosty, eyes darting anywhere but his chest-was clearly trying to erase the chaos of the night before with sheer authority.

He leaned back against the headboard, watching her with a lazy grin. “You’re serious?”

“I’d appreciate it,” she continued sharply, “if you kept last night between us.” She pulled a small stack of bills from her purse and dropped them on the bed. “For your silence.”

Nate looked down at the money, then back at her. She really believed he was some kind of hired companion. The idea was so absurd he almost laughed aloud.

“Wifey,” he drawled, his voice still rough with sleep, “are you sure you’re awake? This act you’re putting on-” He chuckled softly.

Dahlia’s head snapped up, fury flashing in her eyes. “What do you want then? More money?” Her tone sharpened with panic. She reached into her purse again, threw the rest of the bills onto the bed. The cash scattered like fallen leaves. “That’s all I have left! Take it, and don’t ever come near me again. Do you hear me?”

Nate stared at her blankly for a moment, then sighed. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood. Dahlia instinctively took a step back, relieved to see he was wearing boxers.

“Now, wifey,” he said, voice calm but teasing, “I tolerate many things, but this is no way to treat your husband.”

She blinked. “H-husband?”

He nodded. “That’s right.”

Dahlia gave a short, incredulous laugh. “You are not my husband.”

A smirk curved his mouth. “You sure?”

When she didn’t answer, he lifted his hand. A silver ring glinted on his finger.

Her breath caught. She knew that ring. The one she had bought for Tyler.

Dahlia’s breath hitched.

Slowly, she looked down at her own hand and froze. A matching band gleamed on her ring finger.

“No…” The word escaped as a whisper, then louder, desperate. “No, no, no, no, this can’t be!”

Nate watched her unravel with an odd mix of concern and fascination. The woman was a storm-beautiful, furious, completely unaware of how captivating she looked when she lost control.

“You gold digger!” Dahlia suddenly shouted, lunging forward. Nate barely had time to catch her before they tumbled back onto the bed.

She pounded a fist against his chest, which barely made an impact. “What was it, huh? You saw my card, my balance? That’s why you tricked me into this!”

Nate met her glare, unruffled. Then, with a grin, “Sure, wifey. Let’s say I married you for your money. Because your personality’s not exactly charming.”

She froze, stunned by his boldness. “You-!”

“Thief, scoundrel, villain?” he offered helpfully, stretching his arms behind his head. “I’ve been called worse.” His tone turned playful, eyes glinting. “And seeing you like this is getting me all riled up again, wife. How about another round?”

Dahlia gasped, realizing she was sitting too close to his budge. She scrambled off the bed, face flaming. “Disgusting!”

She was halfway to the door when something on the nearby table caught her eye. A stack of papers.

She hesitated.

Drawn by some grim instinct, she reached for them—and her heart stopped.

A marriage certificate. Her name. His name. Signed. Stamped. Dated.

Her knees nearly buckled. “No…”

Behind her, Nate’s amused voice drifted through the silence. “Told you, wifey.”

Dahlia turned slowly, the document trembling in her hands, her expression shifting from disbelief to fury to something dangerously close to panic.

She couldn’t belive it.

She was actually married. And to this man.