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My boyfriend and his childhood sweethe@rt got their marriage certificate. When those two legal marriage certificates were practically shoved in my face, the entire private room was waiting to see me make a fool of myself. Amidst the deafening music, Hailey blinked her innocent-looking eyes, her voice sickeningly sweet: "Claire, you won't be angry, right? It's just a joke. I'll get a divorce in thirty days and give him back to you." My boyfriend of three years, Logan Pierce, stood behind her, hands in his pockets, frowning at me: "Just playing around. If you can't handle losing, don't play. Don't spoil the fun." All the gazes—sympathy, mockery, and anticipation—pierced me like needles. I looked at the projected wedding photo of them, heads touching, on the screen, the jeers almost drowning me out. At that moment, the string that had been stretched too thin in my he@rt snapped. I suddenly laughed. Under Logan's disapproving and Hailey's surprised gaze, I picked up my glass and downed it in one gulp, then stood up and grabbed my bag. My gaze swept past the "newlyweds," landing precisely on the darkest corner of the VIP area. The man who had been silent all night, yet impossible to ignore. "You're right," my voice wasn't loud, but strangely it drowned out the noise, "If you can afford to play, you have to be able to afford to lose." I walked towards that corner, towards the alluring figure of the Blackwell Group's heir. After all, I had longed for his body for a long time. The night the marriage-license desk was set up inside the club, my boyfriend lost a game, and his childhood best friend dragged him over to make it legal for fun. When they held out two certified copies of their marriage certificate in front of me, Hailey smiled and said, “I can’t believe it’s actually real. Claire, you’re not mad at me, are you? I swear I’ll file for divorce in thirty days and give him back to you.” Logan Pier//ce frowned at me. “Stop. It’s just a dare. If you’re going to play, you
