Marriage by fortune

The bass pulsed through Lila's veins, thick and intoxicating, as she tipped back her third glass of whiskey, the amber liquid burning its way down her throat. Tonight, she wasn't Lila Monroe, the composed marketing executive with her life carefully packaged in neat, measured boxes. Tonight, she was a woman abandoned, a lover scorned-just another heartbroken soul swallowed by the city lights.

She shut her eyes, savoring the heavy warmth in her limbs, her skin tingling as the alcohol began to work its magic. Julian's words echoed in her mind like a haunting melody she couldn't shake. I'm doing this for us, Lila. I'll always care about you. Care. That word twisted her insides, leaving a bitter taste behind. Love was never enough for Julian Sterling; ambition had always come first.

With a deep sigh, she glanced around the dimly lit lounge, taking in the glimmering chandeliers, the velvet-lined booths, and the buzz of New York's elite around her. She didn't belong here-not tonight, not anymore. But she had come for one reason, and one reason only: to lose herself in the rhythm of music and forget, if only for a few hours, the man who had carved his way into her heart only to shred it apart.

"Another?" The bartender, a handsome man with a crisp, black vest and warm hazel eyes, leaned in, his gaze lingering just a little too long. She noticed the faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he looked her over.

"Why not?" she replied, her lips curling into a half-smile. The night was young, and she wanted nothing more than to drown every memory of Julian until it dissolved into oblivion. The bartender slid her a fresh glass, and she lifted it in a silent toast-to broken hearts, to bad decisions, to finding a way to forget.

"Rough night?" His voice was low, smooth, and a little too perceptive.

Lila laughed softly, the sound tinged with a hint of bitterness. "You could say that. It's one of those nights where you realize...maybe you've been wasting your time."

He nodded knowingly, leaning against the bar with an ease that suggested he'd heard his fair share of late-night confessions. "Well, in that case, I'd say you're in the right place. Just make sure you don't drink the memories away for good. Some things are worth keeping."

"Oh, trust me," she murmured, swirling the liquid in her glass, "there's nothing worth keeping here."

She downed the whiskey in one long, searing gulp, her gaze drifting over the crowded lounge. A sleek black suit caught her attention, its wearer's back turned as he spoke to another man in a low, intent conversation. Something about the way he held himself-the commanding presence, the ease with which he filled the room-drew her in, a magnetic pull she couldn't resist. She barely registered herself standing up, her steps unsteady as she walked toward him, leaving the bar and the faintly amused bartender behind.

She approached him without a plan, without a single coherent thought beyond the need to escape herself. And somehow, it felt like he was the answer, or maybe just the perfect distraction. She was close enough now to catch the deep timber of his voice, though his words were lost beneath the music. But as if sensing her presence, he turned, his gaze locking onto hers with a sharp intensity that left her breathless.

Her breath hitched. The man was handsome in a way that bordered on dangerous-sculpted cheekbones, dark eyes that seemed to hold a hint of something primal, something untamed beneath the polished exterior. He was unmistakably wealthy, the subtle tailoring of his suit and the quiet confidence in his stance giving him away.

"Hello." Her voice came out softer than she intended, almost hesitant, as she met his gaze.

He raised a brow, a flicker of intrigue passing over his face. "Hello." His tone was cool, distant, but there was a glint in his eyes that betrayed a hint of curiosity.

"Do you mind if I...?" She gestured vaguely, realizing with a pang of embarrassment that she wasn't sure what she was asking.