“How is she?” I asked when Malice picked up.
“Just got back from Pilates.”
I nodded at nothing. Coco in her space, moving through her day, completely unaware that I, Lesley Fuckin’ Grimson, was ready to body his uncle just off the strength. Yeah, I probably was gone for Colecion.
“Keep your eyes open,” I said. “All the way. Not just outside threats.”
A pause. “Understood, boss.”
I hung up and told my driver to head toward Michigan. Four hours. I had four hours to get my head straight and figure out how to come home to that woman as something better than what I’d been.
Tommy’s face stayed with me the whole drive. That smile. That pivot. The way he’d agreed so cleanly.
My father trusted his brother way too much. I always saw the way Tommy looked at my pops — a cut of envy every time he bought something new, closed a deal, added to what he’d built. I loved my father's loyalty to family, but he’d fucked around and let a fox in the hen house. I could feel it.
Two Weeks After the Wedding
Two weeks and still no husband. Just Malice, hovering like always. I was sick of his ass too. Sick of anything connected to Lesley Orion Grimson.
“You heard from him?” I asked one morning, catching him in the kitchen.
His shoulders lifted. “Boss is good. Handling business.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
He didn’t flinch, just sipped his coffee like I hadn’t put extra bite on my words. “I don’t think the boss sent you that, if that’s what you’re asking.” His eyes flicked toward the envelope on the counter.
My stomach twisted. The prenup.
It had been sitting there for a week, haunting the counter like an unwanted roommate. Every morning, I brushed it aside toreach my coffee, but those papers stared me down, daring me to make a decision I wasn’t ready for.
I wasn’t a gold digger, but my life had been completely uprooted. When the envelope first arrived, my hands shook with pure offense. A prenup? From a marriage I never wanted, but that had somehow become one I desperately did want. As Denzel said,I was leaving here with something.Fuck what he thought.
I left the papers out on purpose, not because I intended to sign them, but because I wanted him to see them, to acknowledge them, to acknowledge me. I wanted a conversation, not him silently moving behind my back. Maybe it was one of his tests. Maybe this was how he figured out who was really loyal and who was here for the perks. But if that was the case, he was playing with the wrong one. I wasn’t in the mood for games. I could go back home today and act like I never met Lesley.
Or could I?
The only thing scarier than marrying a man like Lesley… was realizing I didn’t want to un-marry him either.
It had only been two weeks since the wedding, but time bent weird in this penthouse. Some days felt like months, others like minutes. And still, the man I married was more myth than memory after going missing.
I was trying to stay settled, but every time I looked at those documents, I didn’t see protection, I saw distance. I saw a man trying to secure his assets while I was still trying to figure out if he even wanted me, or if I was just another problem.
Being tied to Lesley Grimson had its perks; no point in lying about that. Folks who used to size me up didn’t even blink my way now. Doors opened. Whispers stopped. His last name carried weight, and for better or worse, I was carrying it too.
But don’t get it twisted, I wasn’t some silent partner in this. Linking myself to him meant I kept the wolves off his back justas much as he kept them off me. We both gained something from it.
At least, that’s how it was supposed to go.
My fake husband had taken the crown with no interference. Clean. Final. Until the wedding. That day stuck with me—the way his arm stayed locked around me, the way his eyes dared anyone to test him. Protective, warm, fine as hell in every suit they pulled out of the closet. He didn’t miss.
But all that meant nothing now. It had been two weeks since then, and I was still waking up to cold sheets, still eating alone. He had two strikes in my book—one for playing in my face about the prenup, and another for not keeping his promise to come home or at least call.
Men. Always making shit more complicated than it needed to be.
What embarrassed me most was how much I cared. Somewhere between the shopping trip, the wedding, and those rare smiles he let slip, I’d started to feel something for Lesley Grimson. Deep, dangerous, too much for a man I barely knew. The kind of feeling that made you side-eye your own heart.
And then there was his room, our room now. That big-ass bed dressed in black silk, walls dark as midnight, curtains heavy enough to block out the world. It wasn’t cozy, but it was comfortable. On my low days, it consumed me whole, as if the vibe perfectly matched my mood.
