“It’s simple,” Parker said. “You keep saying you could do anything, control anything. That you’re not trapped by appearances. So marry someone who isn’t your type. Someone… ordinary.”
Dean added, “Not part of our circles. Not an influencer, not a model, not someone trained to smile on cue.”
Miles’s gaze flicked back to the photo. The woman’s smile wasn’t practiced. It was the kind of smile that happened when you didn’t expect to be watched.
Something in him, annoyingly, moved.
Curiosity. Not attraction. Not tenderness.
Just a small, sharp interest, like spotting a door in a wall you thought was solid.
Logan lifted his glass. “Six months. You marry her. You do the whole thing. Rings, vows, the photos. Then you split, clean. You walk away.”
“And if I do?” Miles asked.
Logan’s grin widened. “A million bucks.”
Miles almost scoffed. A million dollars was barely a rounding error to him. But then Logan added, softer, more precise:
