Chapter 2

"Come on, let's go check out our palace," Jack said, flicking his cigarette butt to the ground and grinding it out with his boot.

I climbed into his beat-up pickup truck, my stomach twisting with nerves. We drove south from city hall, the scenery getting more rundown by the mile, until we pulled up behind an auto shop next to this old trailer.

"Home sweet home," Jack said, hopping out and pointing at what looked like a temporary shack on wheels. "Welcome to the Morgan estate."

I followed him up to the trailer and pushed open the door. Inside, it was tiny—maybe twenty square feet tops. A single bed, a rickety table, a bare-bones kitchen nook, and a fridge that looked like it was on its last legs.

This was my new life.

"So, what do you think?" Jack leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyeing me. "Fancier than you expected, right?"

I turned to face him and actually laughed. A real, genuine laugh.

Yeah, it was a dump, but... no security cameras, no bulletproof glass, none of that suffocating luxury crap. And most importantly, no trace of Alexander.

"I love it," I said, meaning every word.

Jack blinked, clearly caught off guard. He studied my face like he was checking for a bluff.

"Alright then," he finally shrugged. "But fair warning—there's only one bed. I can crash on the floor—"

"No need," I cut in, my cheeks burning. "The bed's big enough. We can share."

The words tumbled out before I could stop them. God, that sounded way too forward, too... flirty.

Jack raised an eyebrow, his gaze turning a little dangerous. "You sure about that, Mrs. Morgan? We've only known each other a few hours."

"We're married now," I said, trying to sound cool and collected. "And I'm not some kid."

Night fell, and the trailer was lit by just one dim lamp. I'd changed into cheap pajamas from the corner store, and Jack had stripped off his jacket, revealing a toned chest and some scars on his arms.

We lay on that narrow bed, barely a fist's width between us. Moonlight filtered through the tiny window, casting shadows on his face.

"Jack?" I whispered, rolling onto my side to face him.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks... for marrying me."

He turned his head, those deep eyes glinting in the dark. "Why thank me? I took your money."

"Because..." I bit my lip. "You didn't ask why."

Jack watched me for a long moment, then reached out and brushed my cheek. His hand was rough, calloused, but surprisingly gentle.

"What's your story, Ava?" His voice was low, like a rumble in the night. "What kind of girl pays for a husband?"

My heart pounded like a drum. This close, I could smell the faint oil on him, mixed with something dangerously masculine.

"If I told you," I said, placing my hand over his, "would you believe me?"

"Try me."

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Instead, I leaned in closer.

Jack's body tensed. "Ava," he said, his voice husky. "You sure? I'm not exactly a saint."

"I know," I murmured, resting my forehead against his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat. "But you're not a bad guy either."

That night, in this crappy little trailer, we became husband and wife for real.

Jack's kiss started on my lips, soft but hungry, trailing down to my neck. His fingers skimmed over my pajamas, tracing the curve of my breasts, that soft swell trembling under his palm like it was answering him.

Moonlight danced on our skin, and my pulse raced, palms sweaty with nerves.

"Jack... I'm kinda nervous," I gasped, my voice shaky as I pulled back a little, even though his warmth drew me right back in.

He paused, looking up at me with those intense eyes, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "Hey, no rush, Ava. I'll take it slow. You trust me?"

I nodded, my face flushing hot. "Yeah... it's just, I haven't... been this close before." My words came out in stutters, all shy and hesitant.

Jack chuckled low, that sexy, gravelly sound, his fingers slipping under my top, gently circling my nipple and sending sparks through me. "Just relax, babe. Let me take care of you."

When he peeled away the last bit of fabric, his body pressed against mine, that hard heat against my thigh stirring something wild inside.

I let out a soft cry—not pain, but this sweet rush. "Jack... it's... too much," I panted, digging my nails into his shoulders.

"Shh, I got you," he whispered against my ear, his breath warm. "We'll go at your pace, okay?"

He eased in slow and steady, his rhythm dominant but tender—speeding up, then slowing down, like he owned the night. He knew exactly where to touch, making me shiver. "Feel that? Just like this... God, you're gorgeous, Ava." His words were all praise, coaxing me to match him.

My nails scratched down his back as I moved with him, waves building until everything exploded like fireworks, pulling us closer.

He groaned low at the end, satisfied, but still held me gently.

Afterward, I curled up in his arms, still trembling. Jack didn't say a word—just got up, wet a towel in the bathroom, and came back to clean me up.