Althea tapped her fingers against the edge of the glass table. The office smelled like leather, expensive pens, and quiet judgment.
"So let me get this straight," the lawyer said, adjusting his tortoiseshell glasses. "You're asking me if it's legally possible to annul or dissolve a wedding that may or may not have happened?"
"Technically, it happened," Althea muttered.
"But not… exactly with your full consent?"
"I walked down the aisle," she admitted. "But it was more of a high-speed emotional car crash and less of a well-planned ceremony."
Mr. Faheem leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "You said your name is Althea Serrano... wait, Velasco?"
She winced. "Serrano. Still. I think."
"You're married to Maximilian Velasco... I think?"
"Kind of. Publicly. Emotionally? Debatable."
The lawyer blinked. "And this… wedding. It happened last week?"
"At the ceremony meant for his brother and me."
His eyebrows hit his hairline. "Ah." Althea sighed and slumped into the chair. "I came here in secret, by the way. Max doesn't know."
"I gathered."
"I googled you at 2 a.m. while eating mango sorbet out of the tub. You had the most reassuring forehead." He looked pleased. "Thank you. I moisturize."
Althea exhaled. "I'm not even sure what I'm doing. One minute I'm the black sheep of a self-destructive family. The next I'm the Velasco family's emergency bride. There's probably a cursed bridal magazine out there about this exact scenario."
Mr. Faheem chuckled, shuffling papers. "Let's start with the basics. Was there an official marriage license signed?"
"There was," she said. "Somewhere between Adrian's mom screaming and the photographers mistaking me for an actress."
"Then by law, you are indeed Mrs. Velasco." She groaned. "God help me."
"Now, if you're looking to undo this—"
"I'm not saying I want to." She rubbed her temples. "I just want to know… if I could. If I had to."
The lawyer nodded thoughtfully. "You have grounds for annulment, potentially. Misrepresentation, lack of premeditation, coerced consent, if needed. But you'd have to file soon. Publicly." Althea stiffened. "Publicly?"
"High-profile family. No way around it." Great. As if she hadn't already become a walking tabloid headline. Now she'd be Mrs. Velasco (Briefly). "Let me think about it," she said.
"Of course," he replied. "Just... try not to sign any inheritance papers in the meantime." She snorted. "I'm not marrying him for his money."
"Good," Faheem said with a smile. "Because based on the headlines, you're marrying him for the drama." Althea stood up. "Thanks. I'll let you know." He handed her a card. "Take your time. But not too much."
She left the building quickly, sunglasses on, hoodie up, the very picture of a woman trying to sabotage her own marriage. Her phone buzzed. She didn't check it. Whatever the world wanted from her could wait.
She turned the corner and stopped. Max Velasco.
Leaning against his matte-black parked car like he'd stepped off the cover of a cologne ad. His sunglasses were on. His hair, usually tousled in chaos, was slicked back like he gave a damn. His hands were in his pockets, and his shirt sleeves were pushed up just enough to show— Snap out of it Althea.
He was smiling.
Talking to a woman, probably mid-thirties, dressed in sleek corporate black. She said something, and Max laughed, tipping his head back slightly, looking like a walking PR campaign for stable, charming billionaire.
Althea's mind did something she didn't authorize. It was the laughter. The comfort. The way he fit into this expensive world so easily, so naturally. The same boy who'd once spilled soup on himself at her parents' dinner table now looked like he could negotiate a hostile takeover over coffee and croissants.
She hated that it bothered her how he fit in everywhere. She looked away, fast. Her heart thudded as if she'd been caught doing something wrong.
By the time she got back to the penthouse, her feet were sore, and her thoughts were chewing themselves to death.
She dropped her bag near the shoe rack and walked straight to her room. Lilith lifted her head from her cat throne and blinked once, judgmentally, before curling back up.
Althea shut the door, leaned against it, and closed her eyes. What are you doing? It had been one week. One absurd, scandalous, dramatic week. And now she was Mrs. Velasco. Legally, technically, emotionally? Who even knew.
She wasn't in love with him. God, no. She admired him, maybe. The way he'd stepped in without hesitation. The way he smiled through chaos. How he always made space for everyone.
She was grateful. But love? No. She wasn't ready for that. Not when she still flinched every time her mother's voice echoed in her memory or when she thought about Adrian's father glaring at her like a roach on fine China.
Max had always just… been there. A blur of chaos in human form. First as Adrian's annoying younger brother. Then as the boy who made too many jokes and looked too good in casuals. Then, somehow, the boy who married her.
She never figured out where he belonged in her life. And now, he was her husband. Temporarily.
Althea lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, trying not to overthink every moment she'd shared with him. The silence in the room felt heavier than usual.
It wasn't forever. It couldn't be. This wasn't a love story. This was a plot twist. She turned over and buried her face in the pillow and drifted onto an unplanned nap.
End of Chapter 25.