"Audrey, answer my call quickly!"

"Where are you? Call me back right away!"

"It concerns my brother, also your boyfriend Asher."

"Audrey, quickly answer the phone! Something very important has happened!"

Audrey's eyes drowsily gazed at the blurry text, her heartbeat irregularly thumping in her chest.

Three calls unanswered. Four urgent messages. All these messages were from Victoria Sterling—her best friend, also the sister of her secret boyfriend Asher Sterling .

A sense of unease surged in her stomach. She thought, what could have happened that made Victoria contact her so urgently, and it seemed to be related to her boyfriend, her brother.

Just then, Victoria's face appeared on the screen—it was an invitation for a video call. That sense of urgency was as loud as the sound of a horn.

She accepted.

Victoria's face was filled with an expression of anger, her golden hair slightly disheveled. The background was dark, with the low rhythm of music and the noisy sound of the crowd lingering in the air. It was a bar.

“Audrey, you finally answered the phone,” Victoria said with some anger. “Do you know what happened?”

"What's wrong?" Audrey's voice was hoarse and broken, worn out from days of coughing, "I've had the flu and been lying down for two days?"

"Asher lied to you, he's back. He was never in Zurich!"

Audrey froze, her mind blanked out instantly with the high fever, leaving only an unbelievable daze. "Impossible, he messaged two days ago saying his business in Zurich would end only next week."

Victoria let out a bitter and mocking sneer, "Zurich? He's at the Silas Bar in the center of Manhattan. He's throwing a victory party, for your stepsister Isabelle Gray."

Audrey's inner unease turned as cold as ice. "A party? For what?"

Victoria's expression softened for a fraction of a second, a flicker of pity crossing her features before the anger returned. "He's celebrating. With your dear stepsister. They're making it official."

The words didn't make sense. It was like trying to read a foreign language. "Official? What are you talking about? There must be a mistake." She tried to defend him, the habit of the last three years ingrained in her. "He would have told me."

"Oh, Audrey," Victoria sighed, the sound laced with a sorrow that cut deeper than her anger. "Don't be naive. Just... just open Instagram. Look at his latest post."

Her heart began to pound. Her fingers felt numb as she fumbled, switching from the video call to the familiar purple and orange icon.

She didn't have to search.

It was the first thing in her feed. Posted ten minutes ago.

The photo was professionally taken, bathed in the warm, intimate glow of the bar. Asher stood tall and handsome in a tailored suit, his arm wrapped tightly around Isabelle Gray. Her stepsister. Isabelle was beaming, her hand resting on his chest, a diamond ring flashing on her finger like a shard of glass aimed directly at Audrey's heart. They were kissing, a celebratory, public kiss for the whole world to see.

But it was the caption that shattered her.

"She said yes. My past, present, and future. My one and only, Isabelle Gray."

The phone slipped from her nerveless fingers, landing silently on the plush rug.

Three years.

Three years of secret meetings, of sneaking in through service elevators, of holidays spent alone because he couldn't risk being seen with her. He'd called it protection. He'd said he was shielding her from the vicious New York press until the time was right.

Now she understood. She wasn't a treasure. She was a placeholder. A convenient stand-in, kept in the shadows while he waited for the real prize to become available.

She remembered how he'd pursued her, right after Isabelle had left for her final year at boarding school in Switzerland. He'd commented on her eyes, how they were the same shade of green as Isabelle's.

She remembered how his calls would become less frequent, his touch more distant, every time Isabelle came home for a break.

All the pieces, all the little hurts and confusing moments she had brushed aside, now clicked into place, forming a picture of breathtaking cruelty.

The grief came first, a tidal wave of humiliation. But then, something else surfaced. Anger. Sharp, unyielding rage burning through every inch of her bones, wiping away all soft, foolish longing for the man who’d toyed with her heart.

She sat up, her spine straight. With a fierce, jerky movement, she wiped the tears from her face. Her eyes, reflected in the dark screen of the television across the room, were cold and hard, stripped of all vulnerability.

She couldn't be weak. Not now. Not after wasting three years on a liar who tossed her aside for her stepsister.

Audrey's mind raced. All along, for Asher, she had turned down every blind date her family arranged. Now that Asher had betrayed her, the trust fund shares her father left her would only unlock full control of the family estate the second she tied the knot—her mother held all the purse strings until she was legally married.

Audrey needed leverage, a lifeline to seize back what belonged to her and crush Asher and Isabelle’s smug engagement. Then a forgotten email flickered in her mind, one from her mother Laura sent a week prior, which she’d dismissed as another shallow grab for social status.

An arranged blind date. A transactional marriage opportunity, exactly the weapon she needed.

She snatched the phone from the floor, her fingers flying through her inbox until she found it.

Julian Sinclair. 8 PM. Le Ciel.

She barely recognized the name, but none of that mattered. All she cared about was that this man needed a wife just as desperately as she needed a husband to break free from her mother’s financial grip and strike back at her cheating ex.

She found her mother's number and pressed call.

Laura picked up on the second ring.

Her voice clipped and already threaded with venom. "What now, Audrey? I was in the middle of something that actually matters."

"The blind date," Audrey said, her own voice startlingly calm, devoid of any tremor or sorrow, ice coating every syllable. "The one you arranged with Julian Sinclair."

A long, disdainful pause stretched between them. "That meeting. I assumed you'd buried your head in the sand as usual. Don't tell me you're finally considering it—or did you just call to waste more of my time?"

"I'll go," Audrey said, the words tasting like cold metal on her tongue, her resolve unshakable. "Tonight."

There was a sharp, disbelieving exhale, almost a mocking laugh. "Tonight? It's past seven, Audrey. You can't even manage to show up on time for a brunch I planned three weeks in advance, and now you expect everyone to rearrange their schedules the moment you snap your fingers? Do you ever listen to how entitled you sound?"

"I'm going," she repeated, her tone leaving zero room for argument, every word sharp and authoritative. "Tell Julian Sinclair I will be there sharp at eight. This is non-negotiable."

Laura's voice sharpened to a blade, dripping with frustration and contempt. "You're going to ruin this high-society match, you know that, don't you? You'll walk in there with that same tragic, desperate expression and drag the Gray family name through the mud all over—"

Audrey cut her off mid-rant, hanging up without a single extra word.

The decision was sealed. A reckless, calculated, utterly desperate counterstrike. She wouldn’t beg for love or sympathy ever again. She’d walk into Le Ciel tonight, strike a mutually beneficial deal with Julian Sinclair—he gets a compliant wife to quiet his family’s marriage pressure and secure his inheritance, she gets full access to her father’s trust fund and the power to ruin Asher and Isabelle’s perfect little fairy tale.

The heavy, carved wood of the door to the private dining room at Le Ciel felt cool beneath Audrey's trembling fingers.

She took a deep, steadying breath, the air tasting of expensive perfume .She pushed the door open.

He was standing with his back to her, looking out the panoramic window at the glittering tapestry of the New York skyline. He was tall, his shoulders broad beneath a perfectly tailored dark suit. He held a glass of what looked like whiskey, swirling the amber liquid.

He turned as the door clicked shut, and the breath caught in Audrey's throat.

The photo her mother had sent didn't do him justice. He was brutally handsome, with a sharp jawline, dark hair, and eyes the color of a stormy sea. There was an air of predatory stillness about him, a coiled energy that the opulent room seemed too small to contain.

His gaze swept over her, analytical and intense. It wasn't the leering look she was used to from men in this world, nor was it the dismissive glance. It was something else. An assessment.

Before he could speak, Audrey stepped forward steadily, taking the initiative to break the silence.Her tone was calm, poised, and unwavering, laced with quiet determination.

"Mr. Julian Sinclair,"she said firmly, her gaze locked unflinchingly on his stormy eyes. "Thank you for agreeing to meet me tonight. I’m Audrey Beaumont."

One of his dark brows lifted slightly, a faint, knowing ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His voice rumbled out in a low, velvety baritone that sent an unexpected, faint shiver down her spine. "Miss Beaumont. I’ve heard the name."

The silence stretched. He didn't sit. He just watched her, his blue eyes unreadable. The usual script for these encounters involved polite, meaningless small talk. Inquiries about work, family, the weather.

Audrey had no time for scripts.

She looked directly at him, meeting his piercing gaze without flinching.

"Mr. Sinclair," she began, her hands clasped in her lap to hide their shaking. "I know this is our first meeting, and my proposal will sound... unconventional."

One of his dark eyebrows lifted slightly. A ghost of a smile played on his lips. "I'm listening."

The encouragement, however small, was all she needed.

"I need a husband," she said, the words stark and clinical in the quiet room. "The arrangement would be for one year. In return for the use of your name, I will act as a dutiful wife in any public or private capacity you require to satisfy your family. After one year, we file for a quiet divorce. No attachments, no complications."

The smile vanished from his face. He set his glass down on the windowsill, the clink of glass on marble unnervingly loud. He moved from the window to the table, pulling out the chair opposite her and sitting down. He leaned forward, his forearms resting on the polished wood, his gaze never leaving hers.

He was studying her, trying to see the cracks in her composure. She felt like a specimen under a microscope.

"You're serious," he stated. It wasn't a question.

"Completely."

He was silent for a long time, the only sound the distant hum of the city below. The pause was agonizing. She had laid her last, desperate card on the table, and she half-expected him to laugh in her face, to call her insane and walk out.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. But on the surface, she remained perfectly still.

"Why me?" he finally asked, his voice low and serious.

This was the question she had prepared for. "Your family," she said, offering a half-truth. "The Sinclair name carries weight in this city. Enough weight for my purposes."

His fingers began to tap a slow, rhythmic beat on the tabletop. Tap. Tap. Tap. It was a measured, thoughtful sound that grated on her frayed nerves. He was weighing her proposal, calculating the angles.

She had gambled everything on this one, insane move.

"Alright," he said, the single word cutting through the tension.

Audrey blinked. "Alright?"

"I accept your proposal," he confirmed, his expression unreadable. "With one condition."

She braced herself. "Which is?"

"The marriage won't be just for show," he said, his blue eyes locking onto hers. "It has to be real. Legally binding. No shortcuts."

She had expected him to ask for money, for some clause in his favor. This was... easier. Too easy. But she couldn't afford to question it.

"Of course," she agreed immediately, a wave of dizzying relief washing over her. "That was always my intention."

He nodded once, as if that settled it. Then he pushed his chair back and stood up, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. He extended a hand to her.

"Then let's go," he said.

Audrey stared at his outstretched hand, confused. "Go? Go where?"

"City Hall," he said, a glimmer of a smile flashed in his eyes again. "If we hurry, we can get it done before they close."

Audrey fell speechless, utterly stunned. She thought it would take several weeks to prepare, involving a series of negotiations, lawyers' work, and complex contract discussions.But Julian’s decisiveness was staggering—blindingly fast, leaving her reeling.

She had no room to hesitate.

Without a word, she placed her hand in his. His hold was firm and warm, swallowing her cold fingers entirely.

A sleek black Bentley waited curbside. The driver opened the door. Julian settled her inside before sliding in beside her.

"City Hall," he told the driver. The car glided smoothly into the night traffic.

Thick, unspoken tension hung in the air. Audrey stared out the window at Manhattan’s familiar streets, yet everything felt alien, unrecognizable. Her world had tilted off its axis, spinning far too fast. Only hours ago, she’d lain sick in bed, convinced she was loved. Now she was rushing to marry a man whose name she’d first seen in an email.

The rest of the drive blurred.

In a few tens of minutes,Audrey stared at the fresh ink on her certificate, still half-convinced this was a dream. Julian took the paper from her, his fingers brushing hers. He studied it briefly, then a slow, deliberate smile spread across his lips. His eyes glinted with an unreadable light as he looked at her.

He folded the certificate neatly, slipped it into an envelope, and handed it back to her.

"Keep it safe, Mrs. Sinclair."

The name—his name, claimed so casually—sent a sharp jolt through her. She tightened her grip on the crisp envelope. This was real. This was her shield.

And it was time to fight back.

Audrey cast off her daze in an instant, transforming from a stunned bride into a sharp, calculating strategist. She pulled out her phone with crisp, precise movements. Julian leaned against the vacant desk, arms folded, watching her with detached curiosity.

She dialed her mother’s number.

Laura answered immediately, her voice rushing with urgency. "Audrey? Did you meet him? How did it go? His family is elite—you cannot mess this up—"

"I’ve gone through with the marriage, just as you wanted." Audrey cut her off, her tone cold and clear. "But I have one condition."

Dead silence greeted her from the other end. For ten full seconds, only a faint line static hummed.

"…What?" Laura whispered, stunned. "What do you want?"

"I want what belongs to me." Audrey did not hesitate. "My father’s trust funds and the Rosewood Manor deed. Have all documents on my lawyer’s desk by noon tomorrow. No exceptions."

"It’s not that simple!" Laura’s shrill protest flared to life. "Your stepfather Mark has objections, and the paperwork is incredibly complex—"

"Make it simple." Audrey’s voice dropped to a dangerous low. "I can still change my mind. If I fail to secure ties with the Sinclair family, you and your new husband will suffer the consequences. That would be… unfortunate."

It was a reckless, desperate bluff. She had no true grasp of the Sinclair family’s power. But Laura’s ragged, quickened breathing told her she had struck true.

More silence, sharp with Laura’s gritted teeth.

"Fine." The word dripped with resentment. "Tomorrow. Noon."

"I’ll wait for my lawyer’s confirmation." Audrey hung up and blocked Asher’s number without a second thought.

A crushing wave of exhaustion washed over her, nearly buckling her knees. Yet beneath the fatigue burned a fierce, exhilarating triumph. For the first time in years, she had fought back. And she had won.

She lifted her gaze to find Julian’s eyes on her. He had watched the entire exchange in silence. Now he pushed off the desk, a slow, approving smile tugging at his lips.

"Impressive."

His phone rang then, echoing through the empty hall. The caller ID read: Father.

Julian’s smile hardened. He answered at once, his tone flat and impatient. "What?"

Loud, furious shouting crackled through the speaker. Audrey caught fragments—responsibility, settle down.

"I’m busy." Julian cut the tirade short, then added coolly, "For the record, I’m married. You can drop it."

He listened to the renewed outrage, then rolled his eyes. "I’m not joking."

He pulled the phone away, took Audrey’s envelope, slid out the certificate, and snapped a clear photo before sending it off.

He pressed the phone back to his ear, tone lazy and unyielding. "You were saying?" He did not wait for a reply. "Excuse me. I’m with my wife."

He ended the call, plunging the hall back into quiet.

He had handled his overbearing family with the same brutal efficiency she had used on hers. They were strangers bound by paper, yet in that moment, they shared a startling, powerful kinship. He was no longer just a name. He was her ally.

Julian slipped the certificate back into the envelope and handed it to her, their fingers brushing again.

"Quite a productive evening for both of us." His eyes glinted.

He gestured toward the exit and walked beside her, his steady presence anchoring her chaotic emotions. The night air was cool as they stepped outside, the Bentley waiting curbside once more.

The driver opened the door. Julian paused, looking down at her.

"So, Mrs. Sinclair." His voice dropped to a low murmur. "Where to? Home to your place… or home to ours?"

The question hung between them, an unexpected crossroads. She was married. She had a husband. And husbands and wives lived together.

Even though this is just a fake marriage, a fake couple.