AVERY POV:
I sat at a window table at Top of the Hub, overlooking the glittering expanse of Boston. The waiter had replaced my lemon water for the third time.
My mother's "promising young man" was an hour late.
The champagne-colored dress I wore felt like a costume. It was something Elvina had sent over, with a note that said, "Look like a debutante." It was too tight in the chest and smelled faintly of her cloying perfume.
I swirled the ice in my glass, my mind not on the man who was supposed to be here, but on the 15% stake in my father's hotel. On how to make Fuller and Haleigh pay.
After about an hour, the man still hadn't shown up, and at that moment, I realized I'd been tricked.
Just as I was about to signal for the check and leave, a tall figure slid into the chair opposite me.
He was silhouetted against the city lights, a broad-shouldered shape in a perfectly tailored black suit.
"Sorry," he said, his voice a low, magnetic drawl laced with a careless apology. "Traffic was a bitch."
I looked up, and my breath caught.
The man was sculpted from arrogance and golden light. Sharp, defined jawline. A mess of blond hair that looked effortlessly perfect. And his eyes—a startling, deep blue that seemed to drink in the restaurant's shimmering lights.
I knew him.
Collier Rivers.
The legendary captain of the Briar University ice hockey team. A name that was a permanent fixture in campus sports headlines. The heir to what was rumored to be one of Boston's most powerful sports dynasties.
What was he doing here? How had Elvina managed to hook someone from the Rivers family? Then again, I should never underestimate my mother's ambition.
He studied me, a slow, appreciative glide of his blue eyes. A playful smirk touched the corner of his mouth. "Miss Emily? More interesting than the photo."
Emily?
Well, it seems that he chose the wrong seat and the wrong blind date.
This discovery is like a pot of cold water poured on me.
I opened my mouth to correct him, but a crazy and reckless idea flooded into my mind.
His gaze was unsettling, but I forced myself to meet it. I wasn't here for flirtation. I was here for a transaction.
I took a deep breath, abandoning all pretense of social grace. "Mr. Rivers," I said, my voice flat. "I need a husband."
One of his blond eyebrows shot up.He probably didn't expect me to be so direct. Then the smirk widened into a look of genuine interest. He leaned forward slightly, propping his chin on his hand. "Go on."
I held his gaze, my words precise and cold. "A contract husband. For one year. At the end of the year, we part ways, no strings attached. In return, I can..."
He cut me off before I could even figure out what I could possibly offer a man like him. He leaned back, his fingers drumming a soft, rhythmic beat on the polished table.
He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "You can what? Help me deal with my match-making grandfather? Or fend off the endless parade of Puck Bunnies?"
His directness stunned me. He was clearly familiar with this kind of proposition.
I bit my lower lip, deciding to gamble everything on the one thing I had left: the raw, ugly truth. "I can't give you anything, Mr. Rivers. I have nothing. I was just publicly dumped by my boyfriend. I just need a new identity to escape my current situation."
I expected him to laugh, to call me crazy, to get up and walk away.
Instead, the smirk vanished from his face. He looked at me, really looked at me, and his eyes held a strange, unreadable depth.
The silence stretched on, thick and heavy.
Then he spoke, his voice even and absolute. "Okay."
I blinked. I must have heard him wrong. "What?"
"I said, okay," he repeated, then picked up his napkin and dabbed at the corner of his mouth. "I have one condition, though."
My heart hammered against my ribs.
"I don't like to wait." He stood up, the motion fluid and commanding. He extended his hand to me. "City Hall is still open."
My brain short-circuited. He meant now. Right now.
I stared at his outstretched hand. The knuckles were strong, the palm broad. This was insane. This was the most reckless decision of my life.
But I had no other choice.
I placed my hand in his. His skin was warm, his palm calloused. Not the hand of a pampered rich boy, but of an athlete who spent his life gripping a hockey stick.
We walked out of the restaurant, leaving my untouched dinner and his untouched drink behind. He led me to a sleek, black Aston Martin parked at the curb.
Thirty minutes later, I was standing under the fluorescent lights of Boston City Hall, signing my name on a legal document: Avery Velasquez.
As I pushed the form across the counter, Collier reached over and picked it up. His blue eyes scanned the name I had just written, "Avery Velasquez."
I wasn't trying to hide anything，I knew he would eventually find out. If he disagrees now, he can formally reject it at this point.
Silence stretched between us. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. I could feel the clerk's curious gaze on us.
Then Collier laughed—a low, genuine chuckle that echoed off the marble walls. He picked up the pen and signed his name without another word.
When he finished, he slid the form back to the clerk and turned to me, his smirk back in full force. "You're a terrible liar, Mrs. Velasquez. But you've got guts. I like that."
Then I watched as the man beside me signed his name—Collier Rivers—and the clerk stamped the documents.
When the clerk handed us the two new marriage certificates, the world felt tilted and unreal.
I, Avery Velasquez, within twenty-four hours of being betrayed, had just become Collier Rivers's legal wife.
Walking out into the cool night air, a shiver ran through me. Collier shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders.
It was heavy and warm, carrying the faint, clean scent of expensive cologne and something else—something uniquely him, like cold air and woodsmoke.
He looked down at me, his blue eyes impossibly bright in the dark.
"Where to next, Mrs. Rivers?"
