The Husband Hangover: Chapter Two - The Debt Collector

They say you shouldn't make life-altering decisions while grieving. Apparently, I also shouldn't make them while drinking bourbon with the black sheep of the Vance family. I have a ring on my finger, a gap in my memory, and a husband who looks like he’s ready to collect a debt.

Chapter Two

The Debt Collector

Roman Vance

I’ve spent ten years perfecting the art of being the man my father hates and my brother fears. I built my own company from the dirt up, far away from the Vance pedigree and their pristine, blood-soaked reputation. I don't do favors. I don't play the hero. And I certainly don't go to weddings where my brother is the star of the show.

But I went today. I sat in that black SUV at the edge of the St. Regis property, hidden by the shade of an old oak tree, just to watch the wreckage. I knew it was coming. Marcus is a coward who treats women like accessories, and Ivy Rhodes was always the one diamond he didn’t deserve to wear.

When she came sprinting out of that garden, her white dress trailing through the mud like a tattered flag of surrender, something in my chest that I thought I’d buried a long time ago sparked back to life.

Now, I’m sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed in my penthouse, watching the sunrise bleed across the city skyline. Ivy is asleep—dead to the world—under my high-thread-count sheets. Her wedding dress is a crumpled pile of silk on the floor, discarded like the life she tried to build with my brother.

I look down at the gold band on my own finger. It’s cheap. Tacky. Bought from a vending machine in a chapel that smelled like incense and regret.

I should have stopped her. When she started talking about "burning it all down" after the fourth shot of tequila, a better man would have taken her home, tucked her in, and left a glass of water on the nightstand. But I’ve never claimed to be a good man. Especially not when it comes to Ivy.

I’ve wanted her since the moment Marcus introduced her to the family three years ago. I watched her laugh at his mediocre jokes and dim her own light to fit into the Vance shadow. I told her then she was making a mistake. She called me cynical.

Who’s cynical now, sweetheart?

The bed creaks. I shift my gaze from the window to the woman stir-crazy in the center of my bed. She groans, a low, pained sound that tells me the hangover has officially arrived.

She rolls over, her dark hair a tangled mess against the charcoal pillows. She looks small. Fragile. But I know better. Ivy Rhodes is a storm; she just forgot how to thunder.

Her eyes flutter open, squinting against the floor-to-ceiling windows. She stays still for a long beat, processing the unfamiliar ceiling, the scent of my cologne on the linens, and the crushing weight of a memory that hasn't quite formed yet.

Then, she sees me.

She bolts upright, clutching the duvet to her chest. The panic in her eyes is instantaneous, sharp enough to cut. "Roman?"

"In the flesh," I say, my voice gravelly from a night of bourbon and watching her sleep. I don't move. I don't want to spook her, though I know the damage is already done.

"Where... where am I?" She rubs her temples, her face pale. "My head feels like it’s being split open with an axe."

"My place. You weren't exactly in a state to give an Uber driver your address, and I wasn't about to drop you off back at the St. Regis so Marcus could beg for your forgiveness."

She winces at the mention of his name, her jaw tightening. "Right. Marcus." She looks around the room, her eyes landing on the white dress on the floor. Memories start hitting her, I can see them in the way her breath hitches. The run. The bar. Tequila.

Then, her gaze drops to her left hand.

The blood drains from her face until she’s the color of the sheets. She stares at the ring—the twin to the one on my finger. She lifts her hand, her fingers trembling as she touches the metal.

"Roman," she whispers, her voice cracking. "Tell me this is a joke. Tell me we didn't."

"We did," I say, leaning forward, resting my elbows on my knees. I let the coldness of my voice mask the way my heart is hammering against my ribs. "You wanted to do something that couldn't be undone. You wanted to give them something to talk about. Well, congratulations, Ivy. You’re officially a Vance. Just not the one everyone expected."

She shakes her head, her eyes wide and glassy. "No. No, no, no. I was drunk. I was... I was out of my mind. This isn't legal. We can just... we can fix this. An annulment. Right?"

I stand up, the movement slow and predatory. I walk to the edge of the bed, looming over her. The silence in the room is heavy, thick with the tension that’s been building between us for three years.

"An annulment is a long process, Ivy. And frankly, it doesn't suit my interests."

She scoffs, a bitter, hysterical sound. "Your interests? Roman, I’m having a nervous breakdown and you’re talking about interests? I just married my ex-fiancé’s brother! My life is over!"

"Your life with him is over," I correct her, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. I reach out, my fingers catching a stray strand of hair and tucking it behind her ear. She flinches, but she doesn't pull away. "But look at the bright side. My father’s will has a very specific clause about his sons being 'settled and married' before they can touch the secondary trust. Marcus just lost his half by cheating on the bride. And I just gained mine by marrying her."

She stares at me, horrified. "You used me. You saw me at my lowest and you used me to get back at your family."

"I gave you exactly what you asked for," I counter, my eyes darkening. "You wanted to burn it down. I just provided the matches. Now, we have a choice. You can run back to Marcus and try to explain why you have my ring on your finger, or you can stay here and help me finish what we started."

She looks at me like I’m a monster. Maybe I am. But I’m the monster that saved her from a lifetime of mediocrity.

"I hate you," she whispers, though there’s a flicker of something else in her eyes—a spark of that same rage that led her into my car yesterday.

"I know," I say, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. "But you’re still my wife. Get dressed. We have a family brunch to crash."

I turn and walk toward the door, leaving her sitting in the wreckage of her own choices. I’ve been waiting a decade to get what belongs to me. And I’m not letting her go until she realizes she belongs with the 'wrong' brother.

Come back tomorrow for another chapter

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

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Published by LS Phoenix

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First Edition: December 2025

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