Rose thought she must’ve lost her mind—there was no way she’d just heard what she thought she did. "Mr. Jefferson, what did you just say?"
"Rose, marry me. I may not have a PhD like your ex, but I’d never live off you. I’ll cover all the household expenses. You can use your income however you want. And I would never betray our marriage or do anything to humiliate you."
Under normal circumstances, if someone had proposed to her out of the blue like that, Rose—a woman who prided herself on her rationality—would’ve assumed he’d taken leave of his senses.
But now, with her heart in tatters thanks to Ethan, and her family breathing down her neck about marriage, Rose found herself wavering.
Almost without thinking, she nodded. "Mr. Jefferson, I’m willing to marry you. But I want to split the household expenses fifty-fifty. Equal status. And I want fifty percent say in all family decisions." If there wasn’t going to be love, she wanted equality.
Houston’s lips curled faintly. She worked at one of the top hospitals in the city, but that meager salary? No way it could cover half his lifestyle.
"I respect your terms," he said.
"So… should we go to the civil office now?"
"Sure," Houston agreed without hesitation.
…
The breeze blew gently as they arrived, and the wind only seemed to heighten the alcohol still swirling in Rose’s system.
She looked up at Houston in a daze. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, dignified and composed. The white shirt underneath, paired with a blue diagonal-striped tie, gave his mature aura a surprising edge of youthful charm.
He looked just like a groom.
Houston, too, was sizing up Rose.
He’d seen her in a lab coat before—poised, focused, almost intimidating. But in casual clothes, she had a fragile softness that stirred something protective in him.
"Rose, I hope you understand—marrying me is for life. In my view, divorce doesn’t exist. Only death can end a marriage."
Rose’s cheeks were flushed, her steps still a little wobbly, but she nodded firmly. "Good. That’s exactly how I see it too."
Houston turned and walked inside.
Rose followed like a puppet on strings. They approached the marriage counter, filled out forms, took photos, went through every step, and finally received two marriage certificates.
"Congratulations," said the clerk warmly. "You two might be the most perfect match I’ve ever seen."
"Thank you," Rose mumbled, dazed.
Houston had clearly heard one too many compliments in his life—he didn’t even flinch at the praise. Cool and collected, he slipped the marriage certificate into the pocket of his suit, then strode confidently toward the exit with those long, evenly proportioned legs.
Rose had to jog to keep up. When Houston realized she’d fallen behind, he suddenly stopped to wait.
She caught up, slightly out of breath. "My legs are too short. I can’t run fast."
Houston’s gaze dropped to her legs. They were long, lean, and pale—better than most supermodels.
Without warning, he swept her up into his arms. "I’ll carry you."
The next morning, Rose woke up with a pounding headache.
The first thing she saw was a ridiculously handsome face. Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest. She instinctively threw back the covers to make sure she was fully clothed—and only then could she breathe again.
Houston was a light sleeper. Her panicked breathing woke him instantly, and he opened his dark, mesmerizing eyes.
Noticing her panic, he gently tapped her nose. "Relax, Rose. I wouldn’t waste my first time on a drunk."
She relaxed a little, but her eyes still held a wary edge.
Frowning, Houston reached for the marriage certificate on the nightstand and handed it to her. "We got married. Don’t tell me you forgot?"
But in her head, she was spiraling—What have I done? What if he turns out to be violent? Or a gold digger? Or worse… a narcissist?
Just then, her phone rang. The screen flashed: Ethan Walker.
That one word—darling—snapped Rose back to her senses. She had a husband now. She couldn’t have anything to do with another man.
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