Alexander

I’ve never truly known what it means to be happy, not while I was a child, not while I was a teenager, and definitely not right now that I’ve become an adult. It has always been a foreign concept to me. 

But as seconds turned into minutes, and into hours, and into days, the lingering thought—possibility that I might become a father in months has left drops of happiness in my bloodstream.

Am I still adamant that the child doesn’t belong to me? Yes. However, a part of me knows that child is mine, and that part is happy about it, especially about the woman who’s carrying that child.

It’s the reason seven days later, I put a call across to Carter and gave him my consent to draft a marriage contract between Evangeline and me. 

I hope this doesn’t come back to bite me. Because right now, I’m slowing my car to a stop outside the building where my private investigator said  Evangeline lives. 

It’s decent, no, expensive. The place is upscale with modern architecture, glass balconies… How the hell is she affording this? My digging says she’s jobless, apart from some volunteer gigs at orphanages and hospitals. No steady income, yet here she is, living in a place I’d actually consider for myself.

Maybe she has a man in her life, someone who’s paying for her expensive lifestyle.

No, she doesn’t. If she did, it would’ve been included in her file. 

Fuck me for even thinking about that vile women. She can do whatever she wants. I shove the thought aside and focus on why I’m here.  

I step out of the car and slam the door harder than necessary. Then I adjust my cuffs, and head into the building. The lobby smells like polished marble and overpriced flowers as I stride across it and enter the elevator, ignoring the awkward glances I get from the residents. 

The elevator’s too slow, giving me too much time to think. By the time I reach her floor, I’m already shaking with irritation and impatience and quite frankly, anticipation.

My stupid heart wants to see Evangeline. 

I press the doorbell.

No one answers. 

I press it over and over, more urgently. Finally, the door swings open and there she is, stealing my breath away once again.

Beautiful, beautiful Evangeline. Like an angel.

My Angel.

She’s wearing a dress that’s more air than fabric. Thin straps, low neckline, the hem stopping somewhere indecent on her thighs. It clings to her like it was painted on. Her hair’s a mess—like she just got out of bed—and her red-painted toes. Jesus.

I won’t stare at her. I won’t allow her to control me. Bullshit. My eyes betray me and move before I can stop them, sliding down her body, taking in every curve. She’s infuriatingly beautiful.

Heat coils in my stomach. I grit my teeth and fight the thought and the urge.

"Alexander? What the hell are you doing here?" Evangeline asks, her voice snapping me out of my thoughts. She crosses her arms over her chest, and a grunt rumbles deep in my throat.

That doesn’t help me at all. 

Pregnancy has done wonders to those boobs. Fuck.

Stop it, Alex.  

I don’t care to respond to her question. I step forward, she tries to block me with her small frame. It's laughable. I push past her easily, walking into her apartment like I own the place, because right now, I feel like I do. 

"Nice place," I say, glancing around. The place is... impressive. Minimalist, expensive furniture, a view that costs more than some people’s annual salaries. I let out a low, mocking chuckle. "Your previous job must’ve paid well. Seducing men for a living must’ve been lucrative."

Anger crawls up her face, staining her pale skin with red. "If you’re here to insult me, Xander, then you’re not welcomed. Get out."

I snigger underneath my breath. “I’m only pointing out the truth.”

“You wouldn’t know the truth even if it slapped you across the face. Get out.” 

I don’t move. Instead, I turn slowly, meeting her furious gaze with one of my own. "We’re getting married."

She blinks, taken aback. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. We’re getting married. I’ve already spoken to my lawyer. The contract will be ready soon."

For a moment, she’s silent, her eyes dancing across my features as if looking for a sign that tells her this is a joke. When she finds none, her head falls back and laughter bubbles into her throat. "You’re insane if you think I’d marry you. I didn’t tell you about the baby because I wanted a ring. I told you because I thought the child deserved to know their father. That’s it."

I step closer, crowding her space. "And that’s exactly why we’re getting married. The child—my child—deserves legitimacy. A name. A family. I won’t have my kid born under some scandalous story."

She flinches like I slapped her, then her small hands shoves my chest, attempting to push me back. "I don’t need your name. This baby doesn’t need your money or your pity." she grits out. "And my child doesn’t need a marriage to be legitimate. It needs love. Stability. Not some arrangement drafted by your lawyers."

"And what stability can you provide? In an apartment you clearly can’t afford, with no job? Living off what—charity? Spare change from men like me?"

She scoffs. “At least I’m getting something from other men when I got nothing from you!”

“What about me?” I ask, my voice a growl. “All I got from you was pictures of moments I thought meant something to us plastered all over the internet because you got paid to ruin my life!”

“If you had married her, this wouldn’t have happened!” she counters.

“And you wonder why I didn’t show up to my own wedding.” I catch myself quickly before I break, then continue, "This… it’s not about money. It’s about doing what’s right."

Evangeline glares at me, her breathing shallow bursts. "Right for who? You? Your image?"

"Right for the child." I tell her, my voice softer.

“You don’t even believe it’s yours…”

“Rightfully so,” I shut her down. “But I’m trying to give you an opportunity here. It’s a win win for us and the child.”

Evangeline’s resolve melts and she stares at me, the tension radiating rapidly, squeezing around my throat and almost cutting off my air. Finally, she drops her gaze, sighing like I’ve drained all the fight out of her.

"Fine," she mutters. "I’ll marry you. But don’t expect me to pretend this is anything more than a deal."

"Trust me," I say coldly, "I wouldn’t dream of it."

And that’s how it begins.