After The Vows

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He married her for power. She vowed never to fall in love.

Isla Monroe is the scandal-ridden daughter of a disgraced politician, trying to stay invisible in a world that feeds off reputation. When her father strikes a deal with billionaire resort mogul, Ares Lancaster, Isla is forced into an arranged marriage to save her family's name.

Ares, cold and ruthless, never planned to care for his bride-she was just a pawn to gain more control of the Monroe empire. But he never expected the fire in her eyes, the sting of her defiance, or the way her touch haunts him.

Now stuck together on a private island for six months due to a stipulation in the marriage contract, passion becomes their battlefield. Lust turns into obsession. Secrets unravel. And somewhere in the tension-filled nights and scorching kisses, love begins to bloom in the most forbidden way.

But the truth about Ares' deal could ruin everything-and Isla may never forgive the man who made her fall in love, only to break her heart.

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A luxurious private island resort owned by a powerful family dynasty.ππππππππππ

They were marrying her off to cover the sins of powerful men.

Isla Monroe stared at her reflection in the mirror, suffocating under the weight of ivory silk and stitched expectations. She looked like a bride from a fashion spread-flawless, serene, sculpted-but inside, her pulse raced like a prisoner hearing the cell door lock.

The room behind her buzzed with soft voices-makeup artists, stylists, her father barking into a phone as if it were any other day in his empire of control. He hadn't so much as looked at her. Not since the night he told her she'd be marrying Ares Lancaster.

"You'll do this," he'd said. "For your sister. For our family name. For your own damn survival."

And Isla had said nothing. Not because she agreed, but because fighting Gerald Monroe was like arguing with gravity. He was the disgraced senator who'd dodged prison by selling his daughter's future.

The Monroe family's legacy was in ruins. Political donors had fled, headlines screamed scandal, and Gerald's remaining influence hung by a thread. The Lancasters-old money, untouchable and viper-sharp-had offered him one final lifeline.

Ares Lancaster.

Billionaire hotel tycoon. Known for luxury resorts, ruthless business plays, and a smile that never quite reached his eyes. Marrying his heir to the Monroe name would silence whispers of impropriety on both ends.

And what did Isla get?

A ring she didn't want, vows she didn't believe, and six months trapped in the orbit of a man she couldn't read-but already didn't trust.

"Stand straight," her father barked, as he passed behind her.

She stiffened. "I'm not a prop, Gerald."

"Today you are."

He adjusted his cufflinks with the care of a man preparing for camera flashes. "You'll do what's required. Smile. Obey. Appear in public when Ares tells you to. You'll keep your mouth shut about what you know, and in return, your sister gets her scholarship back, and this family gets one last chance to rise from the ashes."

"I'm not for sale," she said.

He smirked. "You were the day you were born to me."

The doors to the ceremony opened before she could spit back the fury rising in her throat.

A hush fell over the gathered elite. The aisle stretched out before her, built over glistening turquoise water, leading to a glass altar perched at the edge of Ares Lancaster's private island.

Her heels clicked with each step, echoing like a countdown. Whispers swirled from the crowd-some pitying, some curious, most just bored rich people watching another high-society merger dressed up as love.

At the end of the aisle, he waited.

Ares Lancaster.

Sharp suit. Sharper jaw. Eyes like obsidian glass. The breeze teased his jet-black hair, but he stood as still as a statue. Watching her. Measuring.

Their gazes locked. Not warmth. Not tenderness. Just fire and ice, locked in a silent dare.

She reached him. He held out his hand. She hesitated-just long enough to make him notice-then gave it to him, cool and steady.

"You look exquisite," he murmured.

"You look like a warning."

His lips curved, barely. "Fair enough."

The officiant began.

Isla drifted through the words, each sentence like a tick on a bomb. Her mind screamed with everything unsaid: This isn't real. This isn't right. You should've run.

But she didn't.

When Ares placed the ring on her finger, she didn't flinch. When it was her turn to say "I do," she said it with her chin high.

And when he leaned in to kiss her-

She turned her head, offering her cheek.

A flicker of reaction crossed his face. Surprise, amusement, something darker.

He kissed her cheek anyway, lingering half a second too long, his breath brushing her ear as he whispered, "Bold move, Mrs. Lancaster."

She smiled through her teeth. "Get used to it."

**

Later, in the honeymoon suite, the air between them was heavy with unspoken truths.

The room was made for seduction-candlelight, a king-sized bed, champagne sweating in a silver bucket. Isla stood by the windows, arms crossed, ignoring the view. Ares sat across the room, unbuttoning his cuffs like this was just another business meeting.

"I assume you have questions," he said.

"I don't care enough to ask."

He glanced up. "You're not what I expected."

"Good."

He stood, slowly. "We're married now. Let's agree to certain terms."

"Terms?" she scoffed. "You already own my schedule, my image, and apparently my body, by contractual obligation. What else is there to define?"

Ares crossed the space between them in three slow steps. His presence was magnetic, and infuriating.

"I don't want your body, Isla," he said, voice low. "Not unless you give it freely."

She blinked. That... threw her.

"I want your cooperation. Appearances. Public unity. In private, we stay out of each other's way."

"Fine," she said, trying to mask the twist of disappointment in her gut.

"But let me be clear about one thing." He moved even closer, until the scent of expensive cologne and stormy seas surrounded her. "Betray me, and there won't be a quiet divorce. There will be ruin."

She tilted her head. "That almost sounded like foreplay."

His mouth twitched.

Then, without another word, he walked out onto the balcony and left her alone with her reflection again.

**

The next morning, Isla found a sealed envelope waiting on the breakfast table.

Her name was scrawled across the front in Ares' unmistakable handwriting.

She opened it.

Inside was a contract. A buyout clause: five million dollars, payable at the end of six months, if she fulfilled the "duties" of a wife in public, but required no intimacy in private.

So that was the game. He wanted obedience, not affection. A six-month performance, then silence and a payout.

Beneath the contract was a second item.

A photograph.

Her fingers froze.

It was grainy. Black and white. Taken at night.

It showed Isla-six months ago-stepping into a dark parking garage. Meeting with a man. Heads close. Urgent posture.

The man was Damian Voss. Investigative journalist. Whistleblower. The man who had been compiling a file on the Lancaster empire-before vanishing three months ago.

There was a note, paper-clipped to the photo, written in Ares' hand:

"Tell me, Isla-how well did you know him?"

She dropped the picture, heart slamming against her ribs.

Footsteps sounded behind her.

She spun.

Ares stood in the doorway, casual in an open-collar shirt and linen pants. His expression was unreadable. But his eyes? Razor sharp.

"You followed me," she whispered.

"No." He walked slowly toward her. "I protect what's mine. And you, Isla, just became very, very interesting."

"I didn't betray you."

"Not yet."

"Damian Voss contacted me," she blurted. "He was digging into your family. I didn't ask him to. I told him to stop."

Ares stopped inches from her. His presence pressed against her like a storm front.

"Then where is he now?" he asked.

"I don't know."

He leaned in. His voice, when it came, was almost gentle.

"But you do know something."

She didn't answer.

He smiled darkly.

"You're playing a dangerous game, wife."

"And you're not?" she shot back.

He reached out. Brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. The touch made her tremble, despite herself.

"Let's see which one of us survives it."

**