The black Lincoln pulled up to the curb in front of New York's City Hall. The driver opened Chloe's door with a curt, professional gesture.
Chloe stepped out, her gaze lifting to the imposing stone building. She took a breath. This was just the first step. The beginning of her revenge.
She walked into the marriage bureau. She saw him immediately.
He was in a wheelchair, his back to her, looking out a tall window. Even sitting, his frame was large.
He wore a perfectly tailored dark gray suit. His black hair was impeccably styled. A sliver of a Patek Philippe Calatrava peeked from beneath his cuff. Despite the wheelchair, the quiet elegance and detached air of the upper class clung to him like a second skin.
Chloe's steps faltered.
So this was him. Julian Sharpe. He had more presence than she expected. And he was, she reluctantly admitted, handsome.
Hearing her approach, he turned the wheelchair to face her.
His deep blue eyes, the color of a frozen lake, assessed her with a cold, detached curiosity.
Their gazes locked.
A sharp-looking man in a suit stepped forward, breaking the tension. "Miss Beaumont. I'm Zane Foster, Mr. Sharpe's assistant. All the paperwork is ready. If you'll follow me."
Chloe followed Zane, her face a blank mask. She sat at a small counter. Throughout the entire process, she and Julian exchanged no words, only signing where the clerk pointed.
When the clerk stamped the final document and announced, "You are now legally married," a wave of absurdity washed over Chloe. She was bound to a man she had met only minutes ago.
Julian's expression never changed. He looked as though he had just closed a minor business deal.
They left City Hall in silence, Zane pushing Julian, Chloe trailing behind.
This time, they got into a long Cadillac Escalade. The interior was spacious, but the atmosphere was suffocating. Chloe and Julian sat on opposite ends of the leather bench seat, a vast distance between them.
To break the silence, to test the waters, Chloe pulled an astrology magazine from her bag.
She spoke loudly, deliberately. "Let's see if our signs are compatible."
Julian didn't even look up from his copy of The Wall Street Journal.
Chloe ignored his cold shoulder. "Oh, I'm a Scorpio. You're... let me guess. A Capricorn? You look like a boring old stick-in-the-mud."
From the front seat, Zane's eyes flickered to her in the rearview mirror. "Mr. Sharpe is a Virgo."
Chloe gasped dramatically, slapping the magazine against her thigh. "It's a disaster! Scorpio and Virgo. Astrologically catastrophic! The book says we'll torture each other until one of us ends up in a hospital and the other in jail."
Julian finally lowered his newspaper. His deep blue eyes met hers, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. His voice was a low, rich baritone, laced with irony.
"It sounds like our marriage won't be boring, at least."
It was the first thing he'd said to her. Chloe read the warning in his eyes and returned it with a bright, fake smile.
"I'll make sure of it, Mr. Sharpe."
The car passed through massive iron gates, entering a sprawling estate. The main house was a grand Normandy-style castle, something out of a movie.
Zane pushed Julian from the car, and Chloe followed them inside. The interior was opulent, but as cold and impersonal as a museum.
A line of uniformed staff stood at attention, their eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and pity as they looked from Julian to her.
"Mrs. Sharpe and Mr. Connor had an important dinner engagement this evening," a woman who looked like the head housekeeper announced coolly. "They won't be seeing you."
Chloe sneered internally. She didn't care. It saved her the effort of acting.
"Miss Beaumont-forgive me, Mrs. Sharpe," Zane said. "I'll show you and Mr. Sharpe to your wing."
They walked down a long, echoing corridor to a remote wing of the estate. The scene here was a stark contrast to the grandeur of the main house.
Chloe stopped in her tracks.
The wing was frozen in a bygone era, dominated by heavy mahogany paneling and dense velvet drapes. There were no smart lights, no ambient screens, no digital pulse-only a heavy, sterile silence. The air was impeccably clean, disinfected, and as cold as a vault.
She glanced at Julian. His face was still an unreadable mask, as if this was exactly what he expected.
Zane pushed open a heavy wooden door. "Mrs. Sharpe, this is your and Mr. Sharpe's bedroom."
Chloe's eyes landed on the single, solitary bed in the center of the room.
