BEDDING THE DON

Chapter One:

Ava's Pov.

Growing up, I always believed I was destined for something extraordinary. My mother called it wishful thinking, but I called it ambition. As a little girl, I would twirl around the living room, pretending the worn-out carpet was a runway. By the time I turned sixteen, I was walking real ones-small-time fashion shows in my hometown, nothing grand, but enough to fuel the dream.

That dream carried me to New York City when I was twenty. My big break was just a matter of time, or so I thought. Three years later, I found myself staring at Gerald Masters, the CEO of the agency I had worked tirelessly for, as he threw my career in the trash.

"Gerald," I began, gripping the edge of the chair to keep my voice steady, "I've done everything you asked. I've worked every gig, followed every rule. Why am I not on the roster for next season?"

Gerald leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing at his lips. He was the kind of man who exudes power but lacked any trace of decency. "Ava, you're a beautiful girl, but you're not playing the game."

My stomach churned. "What game?"

He tilted his head, his smile widening. "The one where you stop pretending you're above a little give-and-take."

The weight of his implication hit me like a punch to the gut. "You're saying I should sleep with you?"

"Come on," he said, shrugging. "Don't act so shocked. You wouldn't be the first, and let's face it, your career could use the boost."

I stood up so quickly that my chair toppled over. "You're disgusting."

His smirk vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating look. "You're making a mistake, Ava. No one crosses me and comes out unscathed."

By the time I stormed out of the office, I knew he wasn't bluffing. Within hours, my name was blacklisted. No calls, no jobs, no explanations. My career, the one thing I'd sacrificed everything for was over.

When I got back to my apartment, the betrayal that awaited me made Gerald's sleaziness feel like a minor inconvenience.

"Jayden?" I called as I opened the door, my voice echoing through the small space.

The sound of laughter floated from the bedroom. I froze, my heart sinking. Slowly, I stepped into the hallway, the door to our room slightly ajar.

And there they were. Jayden, my boyfriend of three years, and Lila, my younger sister, tangled in the sheets of the bed we'd shared.

It felt like the ground had vanished beneath me. "What... What the hell is this?"

Jayden scrambled out of bed, his face pale. "Ava, listen, it's not what it looks like."

Lila sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest. She wouldn't even meet my eyes.

"How long?" My voice was quiet, trembling.

"Ava-"

"How. Long?" I demanded, my fists clenched at my sides.

Lila finally spoke, her voice barely audible. "A year."

I stared at them, my vision blurring with unshed tears. A year. They'd been betraying me for an entire year, lying to my face while I clung to a relationship that had been dead for months.

"You're both pathetic," I whispered before turning and walking out.

I didn't bother packing much, just enough to fit into a small traveling bag. I couldn't stay here.

Las Vegas. The city of lights, excess, and second chances. It wasn't a plan, exactly. It was more like a desperate escape, a way to put as much distance as possible between myself and the life I was leaving behind.

The plane ride felt a little slow, my thoughts spinning as fast as the tiny drink cart wheels. By the time I checked into a dingy hotel on the outskirts of the Strip, exhaustion had settled into my bones.

That first night, I tried to sleep, but my mind wouldn't stop racing. Memories of Gerald's leering face, Jayden's panicked excuses, and Lila's guilty silence played on a loop.

When the walls of my room felt like they were closing in, I decided to go downstairs. The hotel bar wasn't much, soft lighting, sticky counters, and a bartender who looked like he'd seen it all. But it was open, and that was enough.

I slid onto a stool, ordered the cheapest drink on the menu, and tried to disappear into the background.

"Rough night?"

The voice startled me, deep and smooth with a hint of amusement. I turned to see the man sitting a few stools away.

He was striking, dark hair, sharp jawline, and eyes so green they seemed to glow in the soft light. He wasn't smiling, exactly, but there was something playful in his expression.

"You could say that," I replied cautiously.

He moved closer, his drink in hand. "Let me guess. You're not from around here."

"Is it that obvious?"

He shrugged. "You don't have the look of someone who's used to Vegas."

"And what look is that?"

"Desperation."

I laughed, the sound surprising even me. "I could say the same about you."

He tilted his head, intrigued. "You think I look desperate?"

"No," I admitted. "But you're here, alone, striking up conversations with strangers. That says something, doesn't it?"

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. "Touché. I'm Nico, by the way."

"Ava."

We spent the next hour talking, the conversation flowing with an ease I hadn't felt in years. I told him about my failed career, the betrayal that had driven me here, and the weight of starting over. He listened without judgment, his gaze steady and attentive. And when much drinks had settle in our system, we were goners.

When I finally asked about him, his answers were vague. Something about business, family expectations, and a life that felt more like a trap than a privilege.

"You ever feel like running away isn't enough?" he asked, his voice quiet.

"Every day," I admitted.

It was past midnight when Nico leaned closer, his emerald eyes locked onto mine. "Let's do something crazy."

"Like what?"

"Get married."

I blinked, sure I hadn't heard him right. "Excuse me?"

"Married," he repeated, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. "You and me. One night, no strings, no regrets. What do you say?"

I should have laughed. I should have said no. But something about the way he looked at me, like he saw the cracks and didn't mind the mess, made me pause.

"Okay," I said, the word slipping out before I could second-guess it.

And just like that, my life took another sharp turn.

By the time we found an open chapel, I was giddy with laughter and cheap vodka. Nico was steady beside me, his arm around my waist as we exchanged slurred vows.

The officiant barely looked up from his paperwork as he pronounced us husband and wife. We signed the certificate, snapped a blurry photo, and stumbled back to Nico's hotel.

The rest of the night was filled with kisses, tangled sheets, and the kind of reckless passion that only exists in the haze of alcohol and adrenaline.

But when morning came, and I woke up to find Nico's arm draped over me, reality hit me like a freight train.

I had slept with this stranger.

Panicked, I slipped out of bed and gathered my things. Nico stirred but didn't wake as I scribbled a note and left it on the bedside table.

"Thanks for the adventure, but this was a mistake."

With that, I walked out the door, leaving my accidental husband behind.