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Six months ago, my life was in shambles. I was barely holding my career together, the media had turned on me, and I was convinced I’d never claw my way back to the top.

Now, everything was different.

Winning wasn’t just a goal anymore; it was my reality. Tournament after tournament, I stepped onto the court and reminded everyone why they’d fallen in love with my game in the first place. The crowd loved me, the media couldn’t get enough, and the sponsors I’d lost came crawling back with bigger offers than before.

But none of that compared to what I’d gained off the court.

I glanced at Luke, who was sitting across from me on the plush private jet he’d insisted we take to Vegas. He was casually scrolling through his phone, one hand holding a tumbler of whiskey, the other resting on the armrest like he owned the world.

And in a way, he did.

He’d walked away from the agency not long after the fundraiser, refusing to play by their rules anymore. He wanted control, independence, and he got it. His new firm wasn’t just thriving. It was dominating. Clients flocked to him, drawn by his reputation, his results, and that infuriating charm that made him impossible to resist.

I couldn’t blame them. After all, I’d fallen for it too.

“Stop staring, Mrs. Carter,” he said without looking up, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

I rolled my eyes, fighting the smile threatening to break free. “I’m not Mrs. Carter yet.”

“Give it a couple of hours,” he said, finally meeting my gaze. “I like the way it sounds.”

I’d never imagined myself getting married, much less in Vegas, but with Luke, everything felt right.

The chapel he’d chosen was understated by Vegas standards, with no Elvis impersonator, no neon lights, just a simple, intimate space with soft lighting and white roses lining the aisle.

“Are you nervous?” I asked, slipping my arm through his as we stood just outside the entrance.

“About marrying you?” he asked. “Not even a little.” He added, “The only thing that makes me nervous is how much I want to get this right.”

I reached up to cup his jaw, letting my thumb brush against the stubble there.

“You already have,” I said.

The ceremony was perfect.

The officiant’s words faded into the background as I looked up at Luke, his hand warm and steady in mine. When it was time to exchange vows, I thought my chest might burst from the weight of everything I felt for him.

“I take you, Avery,” he said, his deep voice steady and sure, “to be my wife, my partner, my everything. From this day forward, you’re mine, and I’m yours. Always.”

The simplicity of his words was what broke me. Tears welled in my eyes as I repeated the vow, my voice trembling but full of conviction.

When the officiant pronounced us husband and wife, Luke didn’t hesitate. His hands cupped my face, and he kissed me with a passion that left me breathless, his lips firm and demanding as the small crowd of onlookers erupted into applause.

Later that night, back at the penthouse suite he’d booked, I stood by the window, looking out over the glittering Vegas skyline.

Luke came up behind me, his hands sliding around my waist as he pulled me close. His lips brushed against the curve of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.

“You’re mine now officially,” he murmured, his voice low and possessive.

“And you are mine,” I agreed, leaning back against him.

He spun me around, his dark eyes burning with something primal as he lifted me into his arms and carried me to the bed.

“Mrs. Carter,” he said. “My wife.”

I tugged him closer, my body pressing against his as I whispered, “Say it again.”

“You’re mine, Mrs. Carter,” he growled, lifting me effortlessly and carrying me to the bed. “And I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure you never forget it.”

As we tangled together in the silk sheets, the only thing I could think was that this—he—was the best fake decision I’d ever made.