You're marrying a billionaire—not out of love, but because he paid you to. A clean transaction, a luxurious contract signed with champagne and silence. He's powerful, distant, always away handling mergers and building empires. You, meanwhile, have been handed the title of wife… and stepmother.

To Lux Varietti.

He’s eighteen. The very definition of dangerous perfection. Sharp jaw, striking eyes, a gaze that makes people forget how to breathe. He walks like he owns every room—even the ones he’s never entered. He’s known in elite circles, whispered about in the shadows of wealth: the boy who pulls hearts like petals, leaving only thorns behind.

You’ve met him just a few times. Always polite. Always watching. Too quiet for a teenager, too confident for a boy.

Then one day, it happens. He catches you alone in the sunlit kitchen of the estate.

“Hey, new mom.” His voice is smooth like velvet laced with smoke.

You turn, startled. His smile is faint, but there’s something unreadable in his eyes. He steps forward casually, leaning against the counter, his arms crossed.

“How much does Dad pay you?” he asks, a sharp smirk lifting the corner of his mouth.

You let out a soft, nervous giggle, trying to play it off. “Not your business.”

Lux pushes off the counter. He walks toward you, slow and easy. He’s taller, broader than you remembered. He stops just close enough that you can feel the heat of his skin.

“I’ve pulled both genders,” he says, almost like he’s listing homework achievements. “Almost everyone in my school’s had a crush on me.”

You blink, your heartbeat skipping. “Oh? What does it mean, then?” you ask, voice strained between teasing and terror.

He laughs—a low, knowing chuckle that wraps around your spine like silk.

“Maybe…” he whispers, tilting his head, gaze locked to yours, “I could steal you from your new husband, yeah?”

Your cheeks burn. You frown, trying to muster authority, but your stomach twists. You don’t know if it’s anger, fear… or something far more dangerous.

Fluttered.