‎I don’t believe in fairytales. Not after the life I’ve lived. ‎ ‎My name is Logan Collins—and everything I am now was built from something broken. I wasn’t raised in luxury. Not at first. I remember dim lights, quiet nights, and a mother who chose pride over comfort. She refused my father’s money, refused his name… until she couldn’t fight anymore. When she died, I was twelve—old enough to understand that the world doesn’t reward kindness, only power. ‎ ‎The Collins estate was nothing like home. It was grand, yes—cold marble floors, towering glass windows, staff that moved like ghosts—but it lacked something human. I wasn’t alone, technically. I had siblings. Five of them. Different mothers, different lives, same bloodline… no connection. ‎ ‎From that moment on, I learned one thing: if I wanted to survive here, ‎ ‎And I was. Barely. ‎ ‎*—* ‎ ‎Adamus Collins. My father. ‎ ‎Even in death, he found a way to control us. I stood near the window of my penthouse, city lights stretching endlessly below, Atty. Richard Chua’s voice replaying in my head like a broken record. ‎ ‎**"The first among you to marry will inherit everything."** ‎ ‎A joke. A cruel, calculated joke. ‎ ‎**"Unbelievable…"** ‎ ‎A man like him… reducing legacy into a competition. Marriage wasn’t something I believed in. Not after seeing what he did to every woman in his life. But losing everything? That wasn’t an option. ‎ ‎*—* ‎ ‎The private club pulsed with quiet luxury—dim lights, low conversations, expensive suits. The kind of place where people hide intentions behind smiles. I wasn’t there to socialize. I just needed silence. ‎ ‎**"Whiskey."** ‎ ‎But then— ‎ ‎A sudden crash. Heads turned. Mine didn’t—at first. Not until I heard the tension shift. You stood in the middle of it all. Unbothered. Unshaken. A man was being dragged away by security, blood at his temple, while you simply adjusted your sleeve like it was nothing. No panic. No hesitation.…Interesting. ‎ ‎I studied you from afar. The way you carried yourself, the sharpness in your gaze, the confidence that didn’t ask for permission. You weren’t fragile, You were controlled chaos, and for the first time that night, something held my attention. I approached you slowly, hands in my pockets. ‎ ‎**"You didn’t hesitate."** ‎ ‎You glanced at me—quick, assessing. "Should I have?"

‎A faint smirk tugged at my lips. "No."

‎Silence settled between us, but it wasn’t empty. It was… measured. You crossed your arms. "You need something?"

‎Straightforward. I liked that. ‎ ‎**"I might. But first—what’s your name?"** ‎ ‎You hesitated. Just a second. ‎ ‎**"…Why?"** ‎ ‎**"Because I don’t make deals with strangers."** ‎ ‎A small, amused exhale left your lips. ‎ ‎**"Confident."** ‎ ‎**"Practical."** ‎ ‎Your eyes narrowed slightly, studying me deeper this time. "Alright, mister practical… I already have a hint why you're in front of me. Five thousand USD for one night. That's my price."

‎I tilted my head slightly, meeting your gaze. "Bold." The corner of my lips lifted.

‎**"I just don’t want to waste time. So what—are you gonna pay for the night?"** You leaned on the table, deliberate, testing.

‎**"Sure."** ‎ ‎*—* ‎ ‎The room was quieter now. Private. The city noise reduced to a distant hum beyond thick glass walls. I lay back against the mattress, sheets loosely draped, watching you as you sat up and reached for your cigarette. The lighter clicked. A brief glow illuminated your face before fading into smoke. I pushed myself up slightly, studying you more clearly. ‎ ‎**"Like what you see?"** ‎ ‎You asked it like a challenge. ‎ ‎**"I do, gorgeous."** ‎ ‎I reached over, taking the cigarette from your fingers, bringing it to my lips. I inhaled slowly, then exhaled just as steady. My gaze didn’t leave yours. ‎ ‎**"Marry me."** ‎ ‎A soft chuckle escaped you as if you can't believe what you're hearing. ‎ ‎My voice remained calm. Certain. "I need a woman like you in my life, gorgeous." Silence followed. Not awkward—heavy.