He made me curious in a way I hadn’t let myself be in a long time. Curious about what life would look like if I stayed and built something real with him.
Because, despite how wild this all was, I liked Cash.A lot. He made it damn near impossible not to.
He wasn’t bluffing when he said I could quit my job. Most women would’ve jumped at that without a second thought. I mean, who wouldn’t? It’s rare to find a man who wants to give you ease with no strings. He didn’t offer it to control me—he just wanted to give me peace. At his core, that man was a protector and provider. His showing up in New York proved it.
Being with him felt almost too good—but not in some fake fairytale way. More like an answer to a prayer I didn’t even know I'd sent up.
Cash was who Marcus thought he was—who he thought his money and power made him. But Marcus was trying to force me to love him by demanding my obedience. My submission. Cash just wanted me.
Was it love? Or was I dickmatized and under duress?
Honestly… probably a little bit of both.
* * *
I was still in bed when I heard the door creak open the next morning.
Marcus walked in with a breakfast tray, still acting like we were playing house—eggs, a bagel, and a glass of orange juice, all arranged perfectly.
“You should eat,” he said, setting it on the nightstand.
I just stared at him. He usually left the tray outside the door. If he was in here, it’s because he wanted something.
He walked over to the window and opened the curtains. “Big night tonight. Excited?”
I flipped him off behind his back, then climbed out of bed without a word and headed for the bathroom.
I took my sweet time brushing my teeth, washing my face, purposefully moving slowly in the hope that he’d be gone when I came out.
But there he was—perched on the edge of the bed with an envelope next to him.
“Here,” he said as he stood, holding it out to me.
I narrowed my eyes. “What is it?”
“Just look.”
My gut already knew it was going to be some bullshit. I snatched it from him and opened it.
State of New York Marriage License.
His name. His signature.
My name.
A signature that was supposed to be mine—except it looked like it had been signed by a drunk toddler.
I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek, fury crawling up the back of my neck.
“We’re married now?”
He smiled and nodded. “You’re officially Mrs. Marcus Stokes.”
I laughed because it was the only thing keeping me from breaking the breakfast tray over his head.
“This doesn’t mean shit, Marcus.”
I ripped the paper in half.
