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.
