Chapter 1

One

I didn’t walk so muchas stalk down the blue carpeted hallway of my father-in-law’s office building. To say I was fed up with my life was quite possibly the understatement of the century. Today, I was going to set things right—or at least get out of this quagmire I’d been pushed into five years ago.

I kept the file in my hand tightly pressed against my chest, like it was a lifeline. To me, it rather was. When I reached the rich mahogany door, I sucked in a breath (mostly for patience), then gave the wood a firm rap.

“Enter!” my soon-to-be ex-father-in-law’s voice called.

I did so promptly, closing the door behind me. For once, the smile I gave the man was genuine. No matter what, I was walking out of here a free man. “Byron.”

“Jake, you never call me Father,” he bemoaned. At the age of fifty, Byron’s love of food and good wine had pudged him out, but he was still a handsome man. Dark hair greying at his temples gave him a wise look. His son strongly resembled him, with the same patrician nose and olive skin tone, but looks were deceiving. They were nothing alike. Byron Halston was the epitome of an entrepreneur and businessman. He had taken the family fortune and tripled it in his time.

His son, on the other hand, was doing his best to bankrupt the family.

I kept my expression neutral as I sat down in front of Byron’s desk. This was not easy to do; I felt like I’d burst with all the emotions flying around inside me. I was a bundle of nerves at this point. I’d done everything I could to reach this moment—this entirely pivotal moment. One way or another, this was make or break.

Byron leaned back, scooting his laptop off to the side so he could see me better. “Well, I’m sure you know why I called you in today.”

I knew, yes. “You liked what I did for the cotton import deal.”

“‘Like’ is not the word.” Byron beamed from ear to ear. “You saved us a good twenty percent in revenues, something I thought impossible. I can’t say enough how pleased I am.”

The family business was textiles and clothing manufacturing. It was, in fact, second only to the drug trade in terms of profit. When I’d married into the family five years ago, I’d picked it up rather quickly, as my parents were clothing distributors. I’d grown up in this world. I knew everyone, knew the ins and outs, just by virtue of having been around it all the time. I had something of a good business sense, so it hadn’t been hard. I’d even enjoyed it. At first.

“If you’re pleased, can I ask for a reward?”

Byron’s smile grew impossibly larger. He’d been waiting ages for me to tell him something that I wanted. “Of course! Finally, you ask something from me. What do you want?”

“A divorce.”

His smile froze, like a caricature of a smile painted on a wooden doll. For a moment, he looked like he hadn’t heard that right. “A…what?”

“Divorce. You heard me right. I want a divorce from your son.”

Byron’s expression grew pained and his eyes screwed shut, a headache visibly coming on. “What has Lance done now?”

“Oh, there’s a list,” I drawled. “But let me lay out for you what the past five years of my life have been like. One, your son never consummated our marriage. Not once.” Thank god for it; no telling what diseases Lance had already picked up. Idiot rarely ever wore a condom, from what I’d been told.

Byron winced.

“Two, he only comes home when he needs me to fix something or there’s some event you’ve demanded we go to together. Otherwise, he’s at his girlfriend’s or mistress’s house.” I wasn’t even upset by all of this anymore. Lance, my soon-to-be ex-husband, had worn out that emotion. “Three, he’s managed to get four women pregnant at the same time. His response was to bring me all of their information with orders to ‘take care of it.’ Since some of the women wanted to keep the babies, that meant setting it up so they had a yearly fund and a house to live in to support and raise the child. Please note he didn’t even bother to check with me if I had done something for them or not.”

Byron had his head in his hands, groaning, rather like a whale in pain. “I thought you two were in marriage counseling.”

“I was the only one who went.” My therapist was a lovely woman, truly a shining light of common sense. After two sessions, she had advised me there were far too many red flags and to run. It was the first time someone had told me I deserved better, instead of being advised to “try harder” and “make it work.”

Byron finally lifted his head, revealing his face. He looked torn between killing his only son and apologizing to me. I personally wished he’d do both. Lance was the biggest waste of money and oxygen on planet Earth. Civilization could only improve upon his demise.

“Jake. You’ve been an amazing son, and I know you deserve better, but I truly do not want you to divorce. I rely upon you heavily, you know this.”

I felt quite bitter about that. My parents had more or less sold me into this family by strong-arming me into marrying Lance. It had never been a marriage of my making, which was part of the reason why it had been doomed from the start. Perhaps they believed the marriage would work, as Lance was bi and had been in a phase where he only had boyfriends. The second we married, though, he’d started sleeping with only women. Like he was rebelling against our parents. It had cemented that I had to get out of this marriage.

“I know. But Byron, enough is enough. Your son has humiliated me, verbally and emotionally abused me, and I’ve done nothing to deserve it. I’m done. I can’t take any more of this.”

He closed his eyes in fatalistic understanding. “No, you haven’t done anything to deserve it. You’re right on that.”

I moved the folder away from my chest and opened it. “I got Lance to sign the divorce papers.”

Byron looked like he wanted to strangle his son himself. “He just signed…without even a word to me?”

To Byron, I was a son, but more importantly, I was an asset. Someone who had made him a lot of money over the years. For Lance to have no regard for that, or even think to give his father a heads-up, was telling. I had a feeling Lance was going to feel the repercussions of this later today.

Forgive my evil chuckle.

“Of course he did. He hates being married to me. I told him he could keep everything, I wouldn’t even ask for alimony, and he promptly signed the papers before going back to his newest mistress. I’m filing this today. I’m asking you to not block it from going through.”

It was a legit concern of mine. Byron had many, many connections, including a few judges. If he really wanted to prevent this divorce from happening, he could do it. It was why I hadn’t tried to divorce Lance before now. It was why I’d worked so hard on the cotton deal. I’d had to pave the way to make sure the divorce papers went through.

Byron kept staring at the papers like they were a snake, or poison, something to harm him. “I did agree to give you a reward…but this is what you want? For me to let this go through?”

“Yes.”

“What do your parents think?”

I did not give a flying fuck what my parents thought. They’d pressured me into this marriage to begin with. Then abandoned me to my “happy married life” while they traveled around the world doing their business deals.

“The time when parents get a say in my marriage is well over,” I informed him flatly. “All of you can approve, or disapprove, or have any opinions you’d like. But I’m done.”

Byron’s face fell all over again. “I can understand why you feel that way. I kept hoping your relationship would improve. All right, Jake. All right. I won’t do anything to stop it. I will, however, take my son firmly in hand. He’s clearly out of control.”

Finally, the man was going to do some parenting. From the folder, I pulled out a second folder, this one a brilliant red. I handed it over with a beatific smile, because this? This was my revenge.

“In this folder is a list of all his affair partners, their contact information, which ones are pregnant by him, and the financials. There’s also a list of all his debts—he’s taken out six loans that I know about to pay for things when you cut off his credit cards—as well as the address for the vacation house he bought in Thailand to escape from you. Oh, and a copy of the crimes he’s committed since being married to me, and the settlements.”

Byron developed a tic near the corner of his eye. “The…what? Crimes?”

I rattled them off, deadpan, knowing the delivery would just make him madder. (I am, in fact, petty when angered. Sue me.) “Speeding charges, sexual harassment, vandalism, and assault, to name a few. Happy reading.”

With that, I stood. I was done here.

Byron lifted a hand, trying to stay me. “Can we at least discuss me hiring you? If you won’t stay with my son, be my employee.”

“And be forced to interact with your son even longer? No, thank you.” I had a Masters from Harvard, five years of working in this business, and many connections. I wasn’t at all worried about finding another job and supporting myself. Cutting all ties here was my first priority. “Good luck with your son, Byron. I personally suggest castration and sending him to a deserted island, but that’s up to you.”

With a wave, I turned on my heel and took myself off.

Next stop: courthouse.

Which was conveniently located down the block. Got to love proximity.

I whistled to myself as I went down in the elevator, out of the building, and onto the sidewalk. It was a cloudy day, threatening rain, but it might as well have been a perfect sunny day with my mood. Finally—finally!—I’d be getting out of this hellish marriage. I’d be free to date, find someone whom I really loved, and live happily ever after.

People gave me funny looks as I practically skipped down the sidewalk, but I ignored them. I was happy. For the first time in five years, I was happy. I was going to wallow in the emotion. In fact, after filing, I’d follow up with pink champagne and a decadent triple chocolate cake.

Hell yeah, that was an awesome plan.

Filing for a divorce was actually quite easy, especially when both parties had agreed to it. I’d marked down “irreconcilable differences” as the reason for the divorce, with an addendum that we’d not be splitting assets, just taking back what we’d brought into the marriage. We had no children, no joint accounts or anything, so it should be easy-peasy.

The court clerk was a woman whose expression said she had seen it all. She looked the paperwork over, grunted out a “This is fine,” stamped a date on the top to signify it was approved, then made me a copy showing it was filed. I took the copy, thanked her politely, and skipped back out of the courtroom. I wasn’t free and clear just yet—the paperwork would have to process—but soon. I’d be completely free very, very soon. Thirty days, unless something went wrong.

It’d better not go wrong. I’d spent far too much of my life making others comfortable while sacrificing my own comfort. I was done with that shit. Anyone who tried to block this divorce would get the papers shoved down their throat. I knew this marriage was a mergers and acquisitions, but there were limits here.

Anyway, enough of that. I was soon to be a free bird. Now, where could I get pink champagne at three in the afternoon? Surely there was a bar open somewhere.

I headed for the curb to hail a taxi. Since I was about to get very drunk, I should be responsible and leave my car at the office and go back for it later. A taxi would do swimmingly for me.

The trick with hailing taxis was to not look desperate. Like printers, taxi drivers could smell fear. No, just standing there and looking nonchalant as you held up a hand was the best approach.

Despite being at the corner of a busy intersection, there wasn’t a taxi in sight. Should I call a Lyft or something? Naw, I wasn’t in a rush. For once, I could just stand here and take my time. Actually, that was a novelty in and of itself. Taking my time. It seemed I’d spent my entire life in a rat race, and for the life of me, I couldn’t think of why. My parents had come from money, had always had money, and yet they acted like the acquisition of even more money was vital to their existence—to the point they’d sacrificed a son to get it.

What was even the point?

Something shiny on the ground caught my attention. Ooh, lucky penny. I bent automatically to scoop it up, then paused once I had it in my hand. This was not a penny. Too large, for one thing, and it had an animal on either side. A raven on one and a…was that a dragon? Sea serpent? Something scaly and mean looking, at any rate.

Now, I was not an expert on foreign currency by any means, but this didn’t look familiar. I couldn’t think of any country that had either of these creatures as their emblem. I was curious enough to do a reverse image search. I promptly pulled out my phone and took a picture.

Google-sensei, lend me your wisdom.

Huh. Nothing was pulling up. Okay, this just got weirder. It felt like a legit coin, it had that kind of weight, and it looked like it was made of gold or something?

The raven emblem abruptly disappeared, replaced by neat text: Do you want to go on an adventure?

Oh, maybe it was a trick coin? I laughed at the absurdity of it. “An adventure sounds great right now. But?—”

The screech of tires and the revving of an engine caught my attention. My head came up, instinct demanding I find the source. It didn’t take two seconds to locate it. A large semitruck was headed straight for me, cutting across two lanes of traffic. My survival instincts had me moving before I fully registered the danger, and I dove to the right. Even as I scrambled to get out of the truck’s path, I could hear it coming in ever faster, smell the smoke of brakes and rubber burning, hear the people screaming, the honking of horns in alarm and protest.

Don’t hit me, don’t hit me, I just finally got free! Don’t hit me dammit?—

Unforgiving metal struck my side, there was searing pain, and then—blackness.

I’d closedmy eyes upon the force of the truck hitting me, but now that I had them closed, it didn’t feel like I was lying on pavement. Something very soft and comfortable was under me. Hospital bed? No, I wasn’t in pain. Even when they gave you the really good drugs, you’d still have discomfort. Nothing hurt or even twinged.

Also, there was this smell in the air that I knew, but not one I’d experienced often. The smell of wood burning, like from a hearth. Not unpleasant, and there was something else, something like…clean male skin.

Unable to take the suspense, I opened my eyes and blinked up at…wait, that wasn’t a ceiling. Fabric? Glancing around, I got my bearings. I was in a four-poster bed framed with thick, heavy drapes. I didn’t recognize the place whatsoever.

Quicker than I could react, the body lying next to me flipped over and I suddenly had something very sharp and cold pressing against my throat. I froze, my life once again threatened, all in the span of, like, five minutes—which was incredibly unfair. Universe, what the hell?—I stared up at the man pinning me in place, honestly lost for words.

His dark hair was tied off and hanging over one shoulder in a short tail past his collarbone, eyes intent on mine, although I couldn’t discern their color in this wan lighting. He felt very strong and heavy, his leg pinning my thighs.

Brain, cooperate. We’ve got to calm this guy down before we’re killed. Again. “While my preferred weight is a man on top, I’m not into knife play, so do you mind?”

Of course sarcasm responded instead of brain. Of course it did. Such was my life.

He froze, thin brows creasing like he was confused.

I shared his confusion. Absolutely one hundred percent.

The more we stared at each other, the more details I took in. For one, he had some really pointy ears. Like, we’re talking legit The Lord of the Rings elf ears here. He was in sleep pants and nothing else, which, while I did appreciate the muscles on display, I was not in a position to enjoy them properly. For another, the whole room gave me high fantasy vibes, as I didn’t see a spec of technology anywhere.

Toto, I’m definitely not in Kansas.

“Who,” the man asked in a smooth, deep voice, “are you?”

I could only imagine what he made of me, this stranger who’d suddenly shown up in his bed. I was still in the charcoal grey suit and dress shoes I’d died in (still not sure about the dying thing, as I was breathing rather well right now), my hair gelled back.

“Name’s Jake,” I managed. “Jake Alexander. And seriously, I can’t talk around a blade against my throat. Ease up.”

He stared at me some more. “You’re not a monster.”

“Human, last I checked.” Or a ghost. Who the fuck knew, certainly not me. I’d freak out about it, but I had to get this damn knife away from my skin first. Priorities.

“How did you get here?”

“I honest-to-god have no idea. I thought I died, but next thing I knew, I was here instead.”

This, for some reason, seemed to make sense to him. He eased off, sitting up and sheathing the knife back into a scabbard. “A summoned? Huh. I didn’t call for you. I wonder if you were mistakenly sent here instead of the capital.”

Phew. Thank god, no more knife. I sat up too, rubbing my skin, reassured by the lack of blood.

He climbed off the bed, went straight for the fireplace, and threw several more logs on the fire. Then he lit a lantern as well, carrying it to the bedside table. I appreciated more light; it helped ground me and give me a better orientation. He then snagged a robe from the foot of the bed and tugged it on. Very loosely. Like, he barely tied it together, to the point I wondered why he’d put it on at all. Great view, though, loved the abs. I could have licked those washboard abs, but I doubted this was either the time or place. He regarded me thoughtfully for a long moment, head canted as he took me in. His eyes were pure gold, bright and piercing, as if he could see right through me.

I knew many a person who would kill for his confidence and sense of presence. He radiated strength and calm, like some kind of warrior king. For all I knew, he was one. The way the firelight gave him a visible aura made this moment almost surreal, as if I’d stepped into a webtoon.

“I am Theon Nox, Duke of Rehobath. You are in Northgaard, land of Eternal Winter. Welcome, Summoned. I think I should call for wine, as this will be a very long conversation.”

Rehobath? Northgaard? Eternal Winter? Yeah, none of that sounded the least bit familiar. Pretty sure he was right, and I’d somehow ended up on a different world. Which, how the hell? I was nearly dizzy with confusion. Not panicked, not yet, but I could feel panic lurking and ready to pounce. Maybe I had landed in a webtoon.

“Wine sounds great,” I said faintly.