Chapter 1

The video was only fifteen seconds long. A man on stage, wearing nothing but a glittery bow tie and tight black pants, winked at the camera before tearing the pants off in one smooth motion.

My finger slipped. The screen flashed.

Video sent to Liam.

A cold sweat broke out on my forehead. My heart hammered against my ribs. Of all the people in my contact list, I had to send it to my workaholic, almost-never-home, legally-bound husband, Liam.

My best friend Ashley, who had dragged me to this male burlesque show in the first place, was screaming with the rest of the crowd. She had no idea of the crisis unfolding right beside her.

I fumbled with my phone, my fingers shaking as I tried to recall the message. Too late. A blue checkmark appeared. Delivered.

My brain went into overdrive. I had to fix this. I started typing furiously, my thumbs flying across the screen.

"Oh my god, Liam, you will not believe where Ashley dragged me tonight. I am so disgusted. This is the most decadent, ridiculous thing I have ever seen. I can't believe people actually pay for this. I just had to send you proof of how crazy this is."

I hit send and held my breath. It was a flimsy lie, but it was the best I could come up with on the spot. I portrayed myself as an innocent bystander, horrified by the scene, a stark contrast to the whooping and cheering woman I actually was two minutes ago.

Liam' s response came almost instantly. My phone buzzed in my hand.

"Okay."

Just that. One word. No questions, no anger, no suspicion. Just "Okay."

The tension drained out of me, replaced by a wave of confusion. He bought it? Just like that? I stared at the single word on my screen. It was so typical of him-efficient, detached, and completely devoid of emotion. Our entire marriage was built on that kind of distance.

I felt a surge of relief. I had dodged a bullet. I shoved my phone back into my purse and turned to Ashley, ready to dive back into the fun. I grabbed her arm, pointing at the stage.

"Look at that one! He's got tassels!"

Ashley laughed, her eyes sparkling in the dim, flashing lights of the club. We moved closer to the stage, the music thumping through the floor. The energy was infectious. A little while later, a cute guy with a nice smile started dancing with me. It was harmless fun, the kind of freedom I' d always wanted.

And then I saw him.

Across the pulsing, crowded room, standing near the bar, was Liam.

He wasn't looking at the stage. He was looking directly at me. His expression was unreadable, his eyes dark and intense under the club's neon glow. He held a glass in his hand, perfectly still. He looked completely out of place in his tailored suit, a calm, silent island in a sea of noise and chaos.

My blood ran cold. The cute guy I was dancing with said something, but I couldn't hear him over the roaring in my ears. Liam was here. He was supposed to be on a business trip in another country. He was supposed to be anywhere but here.

Our marriage was a contract, a business deal. I married him two years ago, fresh out of college and desperate to escape my mother's constant nagging and pressure to find a "suitable" husband. My family situation wasn't great. My mother poured all her attention and resources into my older brother, leaving me feeling like an afterthought, a burden. Her constant criticism had chipped away at my self-worth for years. All I wanted was to get away, to have financial security and the freedom to pursue my dream of becoming a filmmaker without having to beg for scraps.

So, I had given my friend, the one who introduced us, a very specific list of requirements for a potential husband.

"He has to be tall," I had said, "at least six feet. And handsome. And rich, obviously. Super rich. But the most important thing is, he has to be busy. So busy he's never home. A workaholic. Someone who travels all the time. Basically, I want an ATM machine with a nice face who gives me a house and leaves me alone."

My friend had stared at me like I had grown a second head. "Chloe, are you serious? You're describing a mythical creature. That person doesn't exist."

"Then find me the closest thing," I insisted. "I'm not looking for love. I'm looking for an escape."

I never expected her to actually succeed. A week later, she called me, breathless.

"I don't know how, but I found him," she said. "He fits every single one of your crazy criteria. And he's willing to meet you."

I was shocked. "You're kidding. Who is he?"

I felt a mix of dread and excitement. I was about to meet the man who could be my ticket to freedom, a man I had handpicked to be a stranger in my own life.