The Understudy

I need a fake fiancée. Full access. No questions.

That was the deal Weston Cole put on the table, and I should have laughed him out of the room.

I didn't. My mother's medical bills don't care that I have a spine.

Three months. His ring. His name. In public, I'm the woman who tamed the coldest CEO in New York.

In private, I'm the only person alive who's ever watched him lose control on purpose.

He doesn't raise his voice. He's never had to. He just says my name — low, certain, like he already owns the sound of it — and something in my spine goes quiet that's been screaming for three years straight.

I tell myself it's acting.

He tells me, the first night, in a voice that isn't asking: "Say the word if you want me to stop."

I don't say the word.

He wrote an end date into the contract. He didn't write a clause for what happens the night he stops checking his watch and starts checking me — whether I'm still breathing, still with him, still his to take care of. I didn't write one for the exact moment I understood that kneeling for this man felt less like losing myself and more like coming home.

One rule between us: don't fall for the part you're playing.

Neither of us reads the fine print anymore.

A very high-heat, emotionally intense standalone billionaire romance. Dominant hero, fake-dating-to-real, consensual power exchange throughout. Guaranteed HEA — no cliffhanger.

Tropes: Fake Fiancée • Billionaire • Possessive Alpha • BDSM/Power Exchange • Forced Proximity • Contract Romance Heat: Explicit, frequent, graphic. 18+ only.