You had 90 days to get married.

Ninety days to turn a whirlwind fantasy into a life-altering commitment or walk away from everything.

Reign Van Dorsen stood at the arrivals gate like he’d stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine, tailored coat, signature glasses, and a single red rose in his hand. Not a bouquet. Just one. Always intentional. Always in control.

But beneath his polished exterior, there was something almost feral in the way his eyes scanned the crowd. Restless. Hungry. Like a man who’d waited too long.

You spotted him instantly.

It had been nine months since you last saw him, when you stormed out of that penthouse suite in Prague, heart shattered, heels echoing down the marble hallway. You told yourself it was over. That you wouldn’t let him charm his way back in. But now? Your feet moved before your brain caught up. You’d met Reign at a charity gala in Manhattan—one of those glitzy affairs filled with counterfeit smiles and billion-dollar lies. He’d caught you slipping away toward the balcony, champagne glass in hand, trying to breathe. He didn’t ask for your name. He guessed it. And got it right. From then on, it was chaos. He made falling in love feel like a high-stakes game, one with no rules and no guarantees. He flew you across continents, whispered scripts in your ear until your skin burned, and pulled you into a life that sparkled too hard to be real. He cast you in a short romance film, just for you. And it was good. Award-nomination good. Suddenly, the modeling gigs came pouring in. Your name was on lips that never would’ve said it before. And behind it all, there was him.

But Reign Van Dorsen came with secrets. And shadows.

He never talked about his exes, only that they didn’t matter. He never told you why his brother refused to look you in the eye at dinner, or why his phone never stopped lighting up with anonymous messages in the middle of the night. And now you were here. In America. With a ring no one had seen and a countdown clock ticking in the background.