The Temporary Bride

~HADLEY~

My heels clicked against the polished hardwood floors of the sprawling mansion, the sound echoing through the empty corridor. The place was a monument to wealth and modern design, exactly the kind of sterile, expensive fortress I expected the captain of the Frostpeak Wolves to live in. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the back wall, framing a vast expanse of private, snow-dusted woods. A staff member had ushered me inside moments ago, pointing me toward the main living area for our pre-wedding photoshoot.

I never made it to the living room.

Low voices drifted through the crack of a heavy oak door to my left. The smart thing would have been to keep walking. I should have cleared my throat. I should have knocked.

My feet stopped moving on their own accord.

The man’s tone was deep, a dark rumble that vibrated through the quiet hallway. "You have nothing to worry about. I will never fall for her."

My stomach hollowed out. That was Beckett Calloway.

He paused, his tone shifting into something harder and far more calculated. "You know my heart belongs to you, Daphne. This marriage is nothing more than a transaction. My father insisted on it to repay the Davenport family for everything they have done for us. That is all it is. I already told you. I will make her hate me so much she will be the one pushing for a divorce."

The words landed like physical blows.

I stood frozen outside the study, my lungs burning as I forgot to exhale. He was going to make me hate him on purpose. He had already laid out a strategic plan to treat me with cold cruelty. To him, I was just a temporary nuisance to be managed and discarded.

I had just survived the humiliation of Garrett throwing me away. I had watched him stand in a crowded room and choose someone else, discarding me like trash. I was still bleeding from that betrayal, and now, my future husband was promising his actual girlfriend that he would mentally torture me until I broke. Another man deciding my worth before he even knew me.

A bitter, burning wave of pride flared in my chest.

I took a blind step backward. My elbow caught the curved edge of a massive porcelain vase resting on a marble side table.

The heavy ceramic tipped.

I reached out to grab it, my fingertips brushing the smooth glaze, but I was a second too late. It hit the hardwood floor with a deafening crash, shattering into a hundred jagged pieces.

Dead silence flooded the corridor.

The study door swung open, hitting the wall with a dull thud.

Beckett Calloway stepped into the hallway.

I had seen him on the ice countless times. I had watched him from the VIP boxes, a cold, focused, and untouchable force in his Frostpeak jersey. Seeing him in person, stripped of the hockey gear, was a different experience. He was significantly taller than I had anticipated, his shoulders broad and imposing in a fitted black T-shirt. Ash-blond hair fell messily across his forehead, looking as though he had been running his hands through it in frustration.

His sharp blue eyes locked onto mine.

He was unfairly handsome. The sheer physical presence of him made my pulse kick hard against my ribs, a traitorous flutter of attraction that I ruthlessly tried to squash.

A woman stepped out of the study behind him. She was a stunning brunette with delicate features twisted into a mask of pure rage. Daphne Winslow. She glared at me with enough heat to melt the snow outside the windows.

Beckett ran his gaze over me. He took his time, his eyes sweeping from the sensible heels on my feet to the plain, tailored coat I wore over my dress. Whatever mental image he had painted of Harrison Davenport’s daughter, I clearly did not match it. The muscle in his jaw flexed.

His voice was a flat, unyielding demand. "Are you Hadley?"

I squared my shoulders, ignoring the broken porcelain scattered around my feet, and forced my lips into a bright, sharp smile. "Yes. I am the bride you cannot wait to get rid of."

The hallway went dead quiet again.

A slow, dangerous smirk curved the corner of his mouth. It was a predatory expression, and it sent an unwanted, electric jolt straight down my spine.

He tilted his head, watching me with a new, intense focus. "You are earlier than expected."

I held his gaze, refusing to be the first one to look away. "And you are more honest than expected. Most men at least pretend to be polite when they meet their future wife. You went straight to planning how to make me miserable. Efficient. I will give you that."

She crossed her arms, her manicured nails digging into her sleeves. "You were eavesdropping. You were not supposed to hear that. If you had waited in the living room like a normal person, you never would have heard us talking about you."

I kept my voice even and calm. "I was walking to a photoshoot I was instructed to attend. If you did not want an audience for your plotting, you should have closed the door."

Beckett ignored Daphne’s outburst. His piercing blue eyes remained fixed on my face, analyzing my reaction. The hostility in the air was palpable, thick and suffocating.

He took a step forward, his boots crunching over a shard of broken porcelain. "So you are the Davenport daughter."

I lifted my chin, matching his arrogant stare with my own fierce pride. "And you are the man who already decided I am disposable. We make a charming pair already."

Daphne shifted her weight, glaring back and forth between us. She clearly hated the fact that he was giving me his full attention.

She reached out, her fingers grazing his bicep. "Beckett."

He issued the command without once glancing in her direction. "Give us a minute."

Daphne hesitated. Her mouth opened, but she snapped it shut. She shot me one final, vicious look before retreating into the study. She left the heavy oak door cracked open just enough to ensure she could hear every word we said.

Beckett leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his massive arms over his chest. The black fabric stretched taut across his muscles. It was incredibly frustrating trying to hold onto my anger when my body was hyper-aware of his every breath.

His deep voice scraped against the sudden quiet of the corridor. "You are not what I expected."

"Let me guess. You thought I would be some spoiled, empty-headed socialite who would cry and run to daddy the moment you raised your voice."

"Something like that."

"Sorry to disappoint."

His gaze dragged down my body, slower this time, before snapping back up to meet my eyes. "I am not disappointed. Yet."

The dark promise in that single word sent another flush of heat through my veins. The tension crackling between us was undeniable. It was a stinging, hostile confrontation, but beneath the mutual resentment lay a raw, electric awareness that terrified me.

I clenched my hands into fists at my sides to keep them from shaking.

I delivered the words like a physical strike. "Just so we are clear. I did not ask for this marriage either. My father decided my life the same way yours decided yours. The difference is I am not already promising someone else that I will destroy you to get out of it."

His smirk returned. "Are you always this direct?"

"Only when someone is already planning to make my life hell."

Beckett pushed off the doorframe. "Good."

He closed the distance between us in two long strides, stopping just inches away from me. The sheer size of him blocked out the light from the hallway. He smelled like expensive cedar, fresh ice, and cold winter air. My breath hitched, but I locked my knees to ensure I did not take a single step backward.

His voice dropped to a low, rough murmur. "Then you will understand when I say I do not plan on making this easy for either of us. I have someone I actually want. You have a father who sold you into this. We are not going to play happy couple and pretend this is anything more than what it is."

Sold. That was a harsh way to put it, though a dark part of my mind wondered if he was right. I should have slapped him. I should have walked out the front door and canceled the photoshoot.

Instead, a strange sense of relief washed over me. He was blunt, arrogant, and cruel, but he was honest. There would be no fake politeness. No pretending. Just raw, unfiltered warfare.

I stared right into his icy blue eyes. "Fine. Then we understand each other perfectly. You stay out of my way, I will stay out of yours, and the second this arrangement can end, it will."

"Agreed."

We stood there, neither of us moving, the air practically humming with static. The space between us felt suffocatingly tight, far too intimate for two people who had just declared mutual war. His eyes dropped to my mouth. He stared at my lips for a split second before his jaw clenched and he dragged his gaze away.

My pulse hammered a frantic rhythm in my throat. I hated that I noticed the slip. I hated even more that my body wanted him to look again.

Footsteps echoed from the main hallway, breaking the spell.

A distinguished older man with silver-streaked hair strode around the corner. Lawrence Calloway stopped dead in his tracks when he saw us standing toe-to-toe in a sea of shattered porcelain. His gaze darted from Beckett to me, and then to the crack in the study door where Daphne was undoubtedly listening.

A flash of sheer panic crossed Lawrence's face, quickly masked by a rigid, authoritarian scowl.

Lawrence forced the words out through gritted teeth. "Beckett. I was not aware Daphne would be here today."

Beckett did not flinch, his expression hardening into a mask of cold indifference. "She was just leaving."

The study door swung open wider. Daphne marched out, her lips pressed into a tight, furious line. She did not say a word to Lawrence. She simply grabbed her designer coat from a nearby chair and stormed past us, her shoulder intentionally bumping hard against mine as she passed.

The venomous glare she shot me promised this was far from over. I watched her retreat down the hall, the sound of her heels echoing like gunshots until the heavy front door slammed shut.

Lawrence turned his attention to me, plastering a polite smile across his face. "Miss Davenport. Thank you for coming. I apologize for the mess. The photographer should be ready for you two shortly in the living room."

I nodded once, maintaining my composure. "Thank you, Mr. Calloway. I will be right there."

Lawrence hurried off down the hall, shouting for a staff member to bring a broom.

I was left standing alone with Beckett again. The man who had just looked me in the eye and admitted he would never fall for me. The man whose heart belonged to someone else. The man who, despite my best intentions and every ounce of logic I possessed, made my skin burn with a single look.

I turned away from him and began walking toward the living room, my mind racing.

This marriage was going to be a disaster. We were going to tear each other apart.

The worst part was, as I walked away, a reckless, wild part of my soul was already looking forward to the fight.