The Superstar's Obsession: My Unwanted Husband

Bridie pushed off the wall. Her legs felt like lead.

She walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked down at the endless stream of Los Angeles traffic.

The harsh morning sun stung her eyes. It dragged her mind violently back to Las Vegas, exactly one month ago.

The memory hit her like a physical blow.

The Bellagio penthouse suite was dim. The air smelled like stale alcohol and bad decisions.

Empty liquor bottles littered the expensive carpet. Bridie woke up on a massive king-sized bed, her head splitting open with a massive hangover.

Her lower back ached with a dull, heavy soreness.

She turned her head. Her eyes locked onto the cold, god-like face of Evander Byers.

He was shirtless. Suspicious red marks painted his collarbones. His dark eyes stared right into hers, deep and unreadable.

Bridie let out a blood-curdling scream. She yanked the thick duvet up to her chin, her eyes darting around the room for her scattered clothes.

Evander sat up slowly. He didn't bother to cover himself.

"You drank five Long Island Iced Teas," he stated, his voice flat. "You were very... enthusiastic."

Before Bridie could process the horror, the electronic lock on the suite door beeped.

The door swung open.

Mr. Ortega and Mrs. Byers marched into the room, flanked by a terrifying wall of corporate lawyers.

Bridie's father stopped dead in his tracks. His face turned purple. He screamed at Bridie, clutching his chest as if she had just given him a heart attack.

Mrs. Byers, however, beamed. She rushed to the bed, grabbed Bridie's hand, and called her her future daughter-in-law.

"No!" Bridie shook her head frantically. "It was the alcohol! It's a mistake!"

She whipped her head toward Evander. She shot him a desperate glare, silently begging him to clear this up.

Evander suddenly slumped forward. He pressed a hand to his stomach. His eyebrows pulled together in a picture-perfect display of weakness.

"Mom," Evander whispered, his voice thick with fake vulnerability. "She dragged me in here last night. I couldn't stop her."

Bridie's jaw dropped. Her lungs forgot how to work.

This untouchable, ice-cold superstar was sitting here playing the victim.

The lawyers didn't waste a single second. They pulled thick stacks of prenuptial agreements from their briefcases.

Mrs. Byers slammed the pen onto the nightstand. She demanded Bridie sign it to protect Evander's pure reputation.

Mr. Ortega leaned over. He quietly threatened to freeze Bridie's bank accounts and take her car keys if she brought a scandal to the family name.

Under the crushing weight of the lawyers, her father's threat, and Evander's hidden, mocking smirk, Bridie picked up the pen. She signed her life away.

The memory faded. Bridie stood in her LA apartment, her blood boiling.

She pulled her fist back and slammed it into the thick glass of the window.

The glass vibrated with a dull thud. Her knuckles instantly flared red.

She spun around and marched into the bathroom. She cranked the faucet to the coldest setting.

She scooped up the freezing water and splashed it violently onto her face.

She looked up at the mirror. Her face was flushed red with pure rage. She sucked in a deep breath, her chest expanding.

She grabbed her electric toothbrush and jammed it into her mouth. She scrubbed her teeth viciously, imagining she was scrubbing the smirk off Evander's face.

"Bridie!" Pax yelled from the living room. "Fifteen minutes until we leave for the styling salon!"

Bridie spit the foam into the sink. She wiped her mouth raw with a towel.

She stared at her reflection and pulled her lips into a sharp, dangerous smile. She would rather die than bow down to this garbage marriage contract.

She ripped open the bathroom door and marched toward her walk-in closet. It was time to go to war.