Three months later.

The apartment looked smaller than I remembered.

I stood in the doorway of what used to be our home-Adrian's penthouse in the heart of the city and felt absolutely nothing. No nostalgia. No regret. Just emptiness.

"You have fifteen minutes," Adrian said from behind me. He didn't even have the decency to look at me. Just scrolled through his phone like I was an inconvenience.

"I just need to get my things," I muttered.

"Most of it's already in boxes. I had the staff pack it up."

Of course he did. Couldn't even let me have this one last moment.

I walked into what used to be our bedroom. The bed was made with different sheets pink, silky ones that definitely weren't mine. Melissa's perfume hung in the air.

She was living here now.

My hands clenched into fists.

"Emma?" Adrian's called my name.

"Can we talk?"

"What's there to talk about?"

I started pulling framed photos off the dresser, pictures of us from when things were good. Or when I thought they were good.

"I want you to sign the divorce papers."

I froze. "We're not married, Adrian. What do you want me to sign to."

"The marriage certificate was already filed and technically, we've been married for three months."

I spun around. "What?"

He had the audacity to look annoyed.

"I filed it before the wedding. It was easier for tax purposes."

"You filed our marriage certificate without telling me?" My voice rose higher. "When? How?"

"Does it matter?" He pulled out a folder from his briefcase.

I looked at him in disbelief.

"Just sign. I'll give you the condo downtown and a hundred thousand. That's more than generous."

I laughed. Actually laughed. "Generous? Adrian, your family's net worth is eight billion dollars. You're offering me pocket change."

"You didn't contribute anything to this relationship," he said coldly. "No income. No connections. You were basically a dependent."

The words hit like a slap.

"I gave up my job for you," I said quietly.

"You asked me to. You said you wanted me to focus on being your wife, on hosting dinners and charity events and making you look good-isnt it?"

"And you failed at that too." His eyes were ice. "You were always too awkward, too quiet. Melissa can work a room in five minutes. You couldn't even make my mother like you."

Something in me cracked.

"Why did you even propose?" I whispered. "If I was so terrible, why waste three years?"

For the first time, his expression shifted. Almost looked human.

"Because I thought I loved you," he said. "But I was wrong."

"I made the worst decision also for thinking everything will be good and spends the rest of my life with you. You don't worth it"

I don't know how I made it out of that building.

The boxes were loaded into a moving truck. My whole life, reduced to eight cardboard boxes and two suitcases.

I sat in my car, the old Honda I'd driven before Adrian, the one he'd always been embarrassed by and stared at the divorce papers.

One hundred thousand dollars. The condo. And my freedom.

I should sign it. Should take the money and run.

But something stopped me.

I pulled out my phone and searched: Adrian Castellan + Melissa Vance.

The first result made my blood run cold.

"Castellan Heir Announces Engagement to Childhood Sweetheart."

The article was dated two months ago. Two months. We'd been married for three months, and he'd announced his engagement to her after one?

I kept scrolling.

Photos of them at charity galas. Smiling. Holding hands. Looking at each other like-

Like Adrian used to look at me.

Or maybe he never had. Maybe I'd just been convenient. A placeholder until Melissa came back.

My phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: Are you Emma Hartley?

I frowned.

Me:Who is this?

Unknown:Someone who can help you. If you're interested in making Adrian Castellan regret every second of the way he treated you, meet me at The Emerald Club tonight. 9 PM. VIP section.

My heart pounded.

Me:Why would you help me?

Unknown:Because I have my own reasons to want him destroyed. And because you deserve better than a hundred thousand and a condo.

Unknown:Don't be late.

The message ended with an address.

I stared at it for a long time.

This was insane. Meeting a stranger who somehow knew about my situation? It screamed danger.

But then I looked at the divorce papers again. At Adrian's cold, dismissive signature. At the pittance he thought I was worth.

I made my decision.

The Emerald Club wasn't just exclusive—it was invisible.

I'd lived in this city my whole life and never even heard of it. The entrance was hidden behind a bookshop, down a marble staircase that seemed to go on forever. By the time I reached the bottom, my legs were shaking.

Or maybe that was just nerves.

"Name?" The bouncer was the size of a small car.

"Emma Hartley. I'm supposed to meet someone in VIP?"

He checked his tablet, then nodded. "Follow me."

The club interior was all dark velvet and gold accents. Chandeliers dripped from the ceiling. The music was low, sultry—the kind that made you feel like you were in a movie.

We passed through the main floor, up another staircase, and into a private section blocked by frosted glass doors.

The bouncer opened them.

And my breath caught.

The man sitting alone at the corner table wasn't just handsome—he was devastating. Dark hair, sharp jawline, eyes so blue they looked unreal. He wore a black suit that probably cost more than my car, and when he looked up at me, I felt like I'd been pinned in place.

"Emma Hartley," he said. His voice was deep, controlled. "You actually came."

"Who are you?" I managed.

"Damien Cross." He gestured to the seat across from him. "Sit."

It wasn't a request.

I sat.

"You know who I am?" he asked.

I shook my head.

His smile was sharp. "Good. That means Adrian hasn't mentioned me. Which means he's more arrogant than I thought."

"How do you know Adrian?"

"We used to be business partners." Damien poured two glasses of whiskey—expensive, from the bottle—and slid one toward me. "Until he tried to steal my company out from under me. Cost me fifty million and two years of my life."

I picked up the glass but didn't drink. "What does this have to do with me?"

"Everything," he said. "Because you, Emma, are going to help me destroy him."

"I don't understand." I said

At the moment I heard destroy him something in me was so happy.

"Adrian filed a marriage certificate before your wedding, correct?" Damien leaned back.

"Which means you're still legally his wife. Which means you have access to things he doesn't want anyone to see."

My stomach twisted. "I don't have access to anything. He kicked me out."

"But you know his patterns. His passwords. His favorite restaurants, his meeting spots, his secrets." Damien's eyes locked on mine. "You know where he's vulnerable."

"Ummhh...why would I help you?" I set the glass down. "I don't even know you."

"Because I can give you what he took from you," Damien said simply. "Your dignity. Your reputation. Your future. I can make sure Adrian Castellan regrets the day he ever met you."

"For what price?" I asked

"Smart girl." His smile widened. "I need you to pretend to be my fiancée."

I blinked. "What?" I screamed because I wasn't expecting that.

"Adrian is trying to acquire Cross Industries through a merger with Hartfield Tech. The deal closes in six months. If I can prove he's an unstable partner, if I can make him lose his temper, make mistakes, ruin his reputation—the deal falls apart. And he loses everything."

"And you think me being your fake fiancée will do that?"

"I think," Damien said slowly, "that seeing you on my arm—happy, successful, madly in love with his enemy—will drive him absolutely insane."

He wasn't wrong.I know Adrian so much that something like this will definitely make him absolutely insane.

"What do I get?" I asked confidently

"Five million dollars. Paid in full once the deal falls through."

I almost choked. "Five million—" He cut me off

"Plus access to my legal team for your divorce. Plus a position at Cross Industries if you want it. Plus the satisfaction of watching Adrian Castellan's empire crumble."

It was too much. Too good to be true.

"Why me?" I whispered. "You could hire anyone"

"Because you're real," Damien interrupted. "You actually loved him. You actually believed in him. And when Adrian sees that I have what he threw away, it will destroy him from the inside out."

I looked at this beautiful, dangerous man across from me.

"This is insane," I said.

"Yes."

"It'll never work."

"It will."

"Adrian won't care"

"He will." Damien leaned forward. "Trust me, Emma. Men like Adrian never realize what they had until it's gone. And when he sees you with me? He'll break."

I thought about Adrian's cold eyes. His dismissive tone. The way he'd made me feel small.

I thought about Melissa in my wedding dress.

I thought about that divorce offer. One hundred thousand dollars for three years of my life. I had to choose wisely.

"When do we start?" I asked.

Damien's smile was pure danger.

"Right now."

I didn't sleep that night.

How could I? I'd just agreed to fake-date a man I'd met two hours ago, all to destroy my ex-husband who technically wasn't even my ex yet because we were still legally married even though we never actually had a wedding.

My head hurt.

At 6 AM, my phone rang. Unknown number. I already knew who it was.

"Hello?"

"Good morning, darling." Damien's voice was way too cheerful for this hour. "Hope I didn't wake you."

"I've been awake since three," I admitted.

"Good. That means you're taking this seriously." I could hear the smile in his voice. "My driver will pick you up at nine. We have shopping to do."

"Shopping?"

"Emma, you can't be seen with me wearing... whatever it is you're wearing right now."

I looked down at my ratty NYU t-shirt and pajama shorts. "How do you know what I'm wearing?"

He hung up.

I stared at my phone. Was he watching me? How did he even get my number?

What the hell had I gotten myself into?

The driver arrived at exactly 9 AM in a black Mercedes that probably cost more than my yearly salary used to be. He opened the door without a word, and I climbed in feeling completely out of place.

Damien was already inside.

He looked impossibly good in daylight-charcoal suit, no tie, hair slightly messy like he'd run his hands through it. He was scrolling through his phone, barely glancing at me.

"Seatbelt," he said.

I buckled up. The car started moving.

"Where are we going?"

"Marcus Atelier. They're holding the boutique for us."

"The entire boutique?"

"I don't like crowds." He finally looked at me, and those blue eyes scanned me from head to toe. Not sexual. Clinical. Like I was a project. "You'll need everything. Dresses, shoes, jewelry, lingerie-"

"I'm not wearing lingerie for you," I said quickly.

His eyebrow quirked. "It's not for me. It's for the photographers who will inevitably catch glimpses when you move, sit, dance. Every detail matters, Emma. If we're going to sell this, you need to look like you belong with me."

"And what does that look like?" I said with curiosity.

"Expensive. Confident. Untouchable." He turned back to his phone. "Right now, you look like a woman who's been crying for three months."

Jeez!!..I looked at myself. The words stung because they were true.

"I can pull this off," I said, lifting my chin.

"I know you can." His voice softened slightly. "That's why I chose you."

Marcus Atelier was the kind of place I used to walk past and dream about. Now I was being ushered inside like royalty, with an entire team of stylists waiting.

"Mr. Cross!" Marcus himself-a thin man with sharp features and an even sharper accent-air-kissed both of Damien's cheeks. "And this must be the lovely Emma."

"She needs everything," Damien said. "Evening wear, casual, business. I want her wardrobe completely rebuilt by end of day."

Marcus's eyes lit up. "Consider it done."

For the next four hours, I was poked, measured, dressed and undressed more times than I could count. Gowns in every color. Shoes that cost more than my monthly rent. Jewelry that required security guards to bring out.

Damien sat in a leather chair the entire time, watching. Occasionally he'd shake his head-no. Sometimes he'd nod-yes. Most of the time he just stared at me with an expression I couldn't read.

"Try the red one," he said when I was exhausted and ready to collapse.

"I've tried on thirty dresses"

"Try it."

I sighed and let Marcus's team squeeze me into a red silk gown that hugged every curve. It was backless, sophisticated, and made me look like someone else entirely.

Someone powerful.

I stepped out of the dressing room, and for the first time all day, Damien's expression changed.

He stood up.

Walked toward me slowly.

Stopped just inches away.

"This one," he said quietly. His eyes hadn't left mine. "You'll wear this tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Adrian's hosting a charity gala. We're going."

My stomach dropped. "Tonight? Damien, I can't-"

"Yes, you can." He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture was gentle, but his eyes were calculating. "This is what you signed up for, Emma. Tonight, we make our first public appearance. Together."

"He'll lose his mind," I whispered.

Damien smiled. "That's the point."

By seven PM, I was standing in front of my mirror and didn't recognize myself.

The red dress felt like it was made for me-because it was. My hair was styled in loose waves, makeup done by professionals who knew exactly how to make my eyes look bigger, my lips fuller. The diamond necklace Damien had insisted on felt cold against my skin.

I looked expensive.

I looked confident.

I looked like someone who belonged with Damien Cross.

The doorbell rang.

I opened it to find Damien in a full tuxedo, and oh God, it wasn't fair. No one should look that good.

"Ready?" he asked.

"No."

"Good. If you were ready, you'd be overconfident. Nerves will make this more believable." He offered his arm. "Shall we?"

I took it.

His arm was solid under my touch. Strong. Steady.

"Remember," he said as we walked to the car, "you're madly in love with me. You can't keep your hands off me. You look at me like I hung the moon."

"That's a lot of acting," I muttered.

"Then think of it this way-every smile you give me is a knife in Adrian's chest. Every touch is a reminder of what he lost. Every laugh is proof that you moved on."

I took a breath. "I can do that."

It's my chance to treat him bad the way he did to me so I have to put in all my best to do so.

"I know." He helped me into the car, then slid in beside me. "One more thing."

"What?"

He pulled out a small velvet box.

My heart stopped.

"Damien"

"Relax. It's not what you think." He opened it to reveal a stunning engagement ring. Emerald cut diamond, easily five carats, surrounded by smaller stones. "We're engaged, remember? You'll need to wear this."

He took my left hand-the same hand that used to wear Adrian's ring-and slid it on.

It fit perfectly.

"How did you know my size?" I asked.

"I know everything about you, Emma." His thumb brushed over my knuckles. "Your ring size. Your favorite coffee. The fact that you haven't eaten anything since this morning because you're too nervous."

He pulled out a protein bar from his jacket.

"Eat," he ordered. "You'll need your strength."

I took it, too shocked to argue.

This man had known me for less than twenty-four hours, and he already knew more about me than Adrian had learned in three years.

The gala was being held at the Castellan Hotel-of course it was. Adrian's family owned half the luxury hotels in the city.

Our car pulled up to the red carpet, and I could see the photographers already gathered. Flashes going off. People everywhere.

"Last chance to back out," Damien said.

I looked at the hotel. Somewhere inside, Adrian was probably laughing with Melissa. Probably celebrating how he'd dodged a bullet with me.

"Drive," I told the driver.

Damien's smile was pure satisfaction.

The car stopped. The door opened.

Damien stepped out first, and the cameras went insane. He was one of the most eligible bachelors in the city-powerful, wealthy, mysterious. Everyone wanted to know who he was dating.

He turned back and offered his hand.

I took it.

The moment I stepped out in that red dress, the noise doubled. Questions shouted from every direction.

"Mr. Cross! Who's your date?"

"Are you two together?"

"Is this your girlfriend?"

Damien ignored them all. He pulled me close, his hand on the small of my back, and leaned down to whisper in my ear.

"Smile like you own the world," he said.

So I did.

I smiled like I'd never been broken. Like I'd never cried myself to sleep. Like I was exactly where I belonged.

And then we walked inside.

---

The ballroom was stunning. Crystal chandeliers, live orchestra, champagne towers. Everyone who was anyone in the city was here.

Including Adrian.

I spotted him immediately. He was standing near the bar with Melissa hanging off his arm. She was wearing pink-soft, innocent, everything I wasn't in this red dress.

He hadn't seen us yet.

"There," I murmured to Damien.

"I see him." Damien's hand tightened on my waist. "Remember, you're with me. You're happy. You're in love."

"Right."

"And Emma?" He turned me to face him. "For the next few hours, I need you to pretend I'm the only man in this room. Can you do that?"

I looked up at him. At those impossibly blue eyes. At the sharp jawline and the way he was looking at me like I mattered.

"Yeah," I breathed. "I can do that."

"Good girl."

He led me onto the floor, and we started dancing.

I'd forgotten how good it felt to be held like this. Damien was an excellent dancer-smooth, confident, leading me effortlessly across the floor. His hand was warm on my back. His eyes never left mine.

"You're doing great," he murmured.

"He hasn't noticed us yet."

"He will." Damien spun me, and my dress flared out. "Three... two... one..."

I turned back into his arms.

And locked eyes with Adrian across the room.

His face went white.

Then red.

Then he started walking toward us, dragging Melissa behind him.

"Showtime," Damien whispered.