The Temporary Bride forever love

New York never slept and, honestly? Neither did Damian Voss. Guy was basically allergic to rest. His office reeked of espresso-some fancy blend, probably cost more than rent in Queens-and the cup just sat there, untouched, getting cold. Manhattan's doing its twinkle thing outside the window, all cocky and loud, like it knows it owns everyone. Inside? Damian's leaning on his desk, looking like he'd murder the next person who breathes wrong.

Marriage ultimatum. Of course.

He read the stupid letter again, practically grinding his teeth down to nubs.

"As per your grandfather's final revision of the family trust, the controlling shares of VossTech will not be transferred unless you are legally married by the end of the fiscal quarter."

Yeah, sure-nothing says "I love you, grandson" like financial extortion. Classic Grandpa Voss. Velvet-wrapped blackmail. Guy had style, Damian would give him that.

Marriage. The word tasted like poison. He'd done that before, way back when he still thought love was a real thing, not just tabloid fodder. What did he get? Betrayed. Headlines. A permanent chip on his shoulder.

"Ridiculous," he muttered, tossing the letter onto his desk like it might explode.

He didn't have time for this crap. Running a tech empire wasn't exactly speed-dating at a bar.

He snatched his phone and called the only person who could fix his life at 2 a.m.

"Get Mara."

Sixty seconds, maybe less, and here comes Mara-heels silent, tablet ready, not a hair out of place. Unflappable. She'd probably survived tornadoes and Wall Street bros.

"You rang?"

"I need a wife."

Mara blinked. Once. Honestly, the woman could win poker championships.

"Legally?" she deadpanned.

"Temporarily."

She started swiping through something on her tablet, zero hesitation. "Discreet, or-?"

"I don't care if she's a plumber or a poet," Damian snapped. "Desperate, convincing, and smart enough to keep her heart out of it."

Mara's mouth twitched. "You're gonna ruin someone's life, you know."

He shrugged. "I'm not asking for love. Just paperwork."

Two Days Later

Ava Leigh jabbed at the elevator button with one elbow, because both hands were full-sketchpads in one, a crumpled resume and a text from Mara in the other.

She seriously shouldn't be here.

This building? Pure intimidation. Glass, gold, and an uncomfortable hush. She half-expected security to toss her out for wearing boots that had seen better centuries.

"Sixty-two," the receptionist said, not even glancing up from her nails.

Ava nodded, heart bouncing around her chest like a lottery ball. She hadn't eaten since... Yesterday? Maybe the day before. Art gigs were dry, her bank account was a joke, and her sister's school fees were basically a ticking bomb.

She needed a miracle. Or at least a paycheck.

The elevator opened into a room so cold she almost checked for icicles. Not temperature. Just... vibe. All that chill? Courtesy of the man by the window.

Damian Voss. In the flesh. Hands in pockets, staring out like he's plotting to take over the moon.

"You're early," he tossed at her, still facing the skyline.

"You're intimidating," she blurted, brain-to-mouth filter totally busted.

He turned, slow and precise.

Their eyes met. Something weird crackled. Not sure what. A shift.

She looked like exactly what she was: broke, tired, stubborn as hell. Threadbare coat, scuffed boots, but her eyes-those were pure steel.

"I was told this was for an art job," she said, voice wobbly but not breaking. "Did I get it wrong?"

"No." He started walking over, all business. "You're here for a different role."

Ava squinted. "What kinda role?"

"A wife."

She blinked. "I'm sorry, you want me to what?"

"I'll pay you two-fifty grand. You move in, we get married on paper, play house for a year. No funny business, no romance. Just for show."

Ava laughed. She couldn't help it. "You're kidding."

He didn't even flinch. "I don't joke."

The world went silent. Like, really silent.

She shuffled back a step. "Why me?"

"Nobody cares about you in the press, your record's clean, you're completely unconnected, and you're broke. That is exactly what I need." His voice was made of ice cubes.

Wild. Absolutely bonkers. But... also her best shot.

Ava folded her arms. "One year?"

"One year."

"And after that?"

"We walk. No strings."

She looked him over, trying to spot the catch. His face was a statue-sharp, cold, unreadable.

She hesitated. "Health insurance?"

His mouth almost smiled. Almost. "Fine. Health insurance."

She took a shaky breath. Whatever. She'd survived worse.

She stuck out her hand, grinning like she was at some twisted game show.

"Congrats, Mr. Voss. You just hired yourself a bride."