The Toyota Camry merged into the congested, honking traffic of Manhattan. Inside the car, the silence was so thick it felt like a physical weight pressing against Blaire's chest.

She nervously twisted her fingers together in her lap. From the corner of her eye, she studied Jude in the driver's seat. His hands gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles prominent and sharp.

Suddenly, Jude pressed a button, rolling down his window completely. The biting autumn wind rushed into the cabin. He needed the freezing air to clear the suffocating, nauseating panic that always crawled over his skin whenever a woman was in close proximity.

Blaire shivered as the cold air hit her. Thinking he was too hot, she leaned forward, her hand reaching toward the center console to turn on the air conditioning.

"Don't touch me!" Jude barked, his voice cracking like a whip.

Blaire violently yanked her hand back. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Heat flooded her cheeks, burning with intense embarrassment. She pressed herself against the passenger door, thinking this man had the worst temper she had ever encountered.

Jude realized his reaction was extreme. He forced his breathing to slow, fighting the physical palpitations of his haphephobia. He stared straight at the road and laid down his first absolute rule. "Do not touch me without permission."

Blaire bit her lip. Ugh, what a creep, she thought. But outwardly, she gave a stiff, jerky nod.

The car rolled to a stop at a red light. Jude slammed his foot on the brake. He turned his head, his piercing eyes locking onto hers, and began to outline the boundaries of their contract.

"This marriage is nothing but a piece of paper," he stated, his voice flat. "It's to get my family off my back. We do not interfere in each other's private lives."

He leaned slightly closer, his gaze hard. "Do not get any ideas about me. In exactly one year, we divorce."

Blaire listened to his intense, overly defensive speech. She remembered the old woman's story about his crushing mortgage and his miserable sales job. A bubble of ironic amusement rose in her throat.

She straightened her spine, refusing to be intimidated. "Don't worry. I have absolutely zero interest in your assets."

A flicker of dark mockery passed through Jude's eyes. He thought she was playing hard to get. He had heard that exact lie from a dozen women before.

Determined to prove she wasn't a leech, Blaire made her offer. "Since we're going to be roommates, we split the rent and living expenses down the middle. Fifty-fifty."

Jude's hands jerked on the steering wheel. He snapped his head toward her, his eyebrows crashing together in pure shock.

As the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar empire, the concept of splitting a grocery bill with a woman had never once existed in his universe.

He narrowed his eyes, searching her face for the punchline, looking for the crack in her acting. But all he saw was stubborn, earnest determination.

When he didn't answer, Blaire assumed he was stressed about the money. Her sympathy flared again. "If your sales commissions are low this month, I can cover a little more of the utilities."

A muscle feathered in Jude's jaw. For the first time in his life, his ability to provide was being questioned. A bizarre sense of offense burned in his chest.

He ground his teeth together. To maintain his fake identity, he forced the words through his tight lips. "No. I can afford it."

The light turned green. Jude stomped on the gas pedal. The old Camry let out a loud, struggling groan and lurched forward aggressively.

The sudden momentum threw Blaire backward. Her shoulders slammed into the seat. She let out a short gasp and scrambled to grip her seatbelt tightly across her chest.

Jude caught her panicked expression in the rearview mirror. The irrational irritation in his gut dissipated slightly, but he kept his profile locked in a cold, unreadable mask.

They navigated the streets near City Hall. Finding parking was a nightmare.

Jude spotted an impossibly tight space between two SUVs. With sharp, aggressive spins of the steering wheel, he parallel-parked the Camry perfectly on the first try. Blaire watched his hands move, secretly impressed by the raw competence of the maneuver.

They stepped out of the car and walked up the massive stone steps of City Hall. All around them, couples were holding hands and kissing. The physical distance between Blaire and Jude felt like a gaping canyon in comparison.

As they passed through the security metal detectors, Blaire fumbled with her purse. It slipped from her fingers, hitting the floor. Her lipstick and compact powder spilled out, rolling across the dirty tiles.

Jude's body reacted instantly. He took a distinct half-step backward, his hands retreating into his pockets. His haphephobia and intense germaphobia paralyzed him. He stood there, staring blankly, offering absolutely zero help.

Blaire crouched on the floor, frantically gathering her makeup. Her face burned. She looked up at his indifferent posture, and the filter of his extreme good looks shattered into a million pieces. He is gorgeous, but he is absolute trash, she thought.

She stood up, aggressively dusting off her skirt. Without waiting for him, she marched past the security guards toward the registration hall, her back stiff with anger. Jude's eyes darkened, and he followed her inside.

The marriage bureau inside City Hall was packed and echoing with loud chatter. Blaire and Jude held their paper queue ticket. They sat on a long wooden bench in the waiting area. Blaire pressed herself against the far left armrest. Jude sat on the far right. A massive, empty gap remained between them.

Beside them, a Latino couple was making out aggressively. Blaire felt her face heat up. She awkwardly averted her eyes, her gaze drifting downward until it landed on Jude's long, muscular legs stretched out in front of him.

Jude felt the weight of her stare. He turned his head and shot her a look so cold it could freeze water. Blaire flinched, snapping her head up to stare intensely at the ceiling tiles, her heart hammering like a caught thief.

The automated voice called their number. They both stood up simultaneously and walked to the clerk's window. The clerk slid the Marriage License application across the counter.

Jude reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. His fingers closed around his custom Montblanc fountain pen. He pulled it halfway out before his brain caught up with his fake identity. His hand froze.

Blaire saw him struggling. She quickly dug into her purse, pulled out a chewed-up, one-dollar ballpoint pen, and shoved it toward him. "Here. Use mine."

His obsessive-compulsive disorder prevented him from reaching for the pen, but for now it seemed to be the only option. The corner of Jude's mouth twitched. He slowly took the cheap plastic pen from her hand.

When he reached the section for 'Occupation', Jude didn't even blink. He scribbled Sales Representative in block letters. Blaire peeked at the form out of the corner of her eye. Seeing it in writing cemented her belief. Just a struggling salesman.

"That will be thirty-five dollars," the clerk announced.

Blaire instantly reached for her wallet, operating on her strict fifty-fifty rule. But Jude's hand shot out faster. He slapped a plain, standard debit card onto the counter, beating her to the punch.

"Okay, look at the camera," the clerk instructed, pointing to a small webcam. "You need to stand closer together."

Jude's entire body went rigid. His muscles locked up like stone. Seeing his hesitation, Blaire took a deep breath and took a step sideways. Her shoulder brushed directly against his bicep through the fabric of his shirt.

Jude's lungs stopped working. He braced himself for the violent wave of nausea, the crawling sensation of bugs under his skin that always accompanied a woman's touch.

But nothing happened.

His chest remained calm. His stomach didn't churn. A violent shockwave of disbelief crashed through his brain. He stared down at where her shoulder pressed against him, his eyes wide with confusion.

Before he could process the impossibility of it, the camera flashed, permanently capturing their stiff, awkward proximity.

They were ushered into a small room for the brief ceremony. The judge stood behind a podium and asked them to exchange rings.

Because it was a spontaneous decision, neither of them had rings. The air in the room grew thick with awkwardness.

The judge smiled, clearly used to this. "That's perfectly fine. We can proceed directly to the vows."

Jude looked at Blaire. His deep, magnetic voice vibrated through the quiet room. "I do." The sound of it sent a physical jolt down Blaire's spine, making the tips of her ears burn hot.

Blaire swallowed the lump in her throat. She repeated the words. When the judge handed her the thin, official marriage certificate, her fingers trembled slightly. The reality crashed down on her-she was legally bound to this stranger.

They walked out of City Hall. The autumn wind whipped around them. They stood on the steps, staring at the traffic, neither knowing what to say.

Jude checked his watch. His tone shifted back to a cold, business-like clip. "I need to go back to the office and beg my manager for some time off. I'll pick you up later to move your things."

Blaire nodded, feeling a pang of pity that he had to go grovel to a boss on his wedding day.

Jude turned and walked toward the corner of the building. The second he stepped into the shadows, completely out of Blaire's line of sight, his posture changed. The defeated salesman vanished. His spine straightened, his aura turning lethal and commanding. He pulled out his primary phone and dialed his executive assistant, Emanuel Stanley.

"Emanuel," Jude ordered, his voice dripping with absolute authority. "Find a standard, cheap apartment in Queens immediately. Two bedrooms. Make sure it looks lived-in."

Emanuel stuttered through the speaker, utterly bewildered. "Queens? A standard apartment? Boss, are you not returning to the Hampton estate?"

"Shut your mouth and do exactly as I say," Jude snapped. "And clear my entire schedule for the rest of the day. I am 'moving'." He ended the call, shoving the phone back into his pocket.

Blaire returned to her cramped, depressing studio apartment. She threw her clothes into a battered suitcase.

Her phone rang. A video call from Sharon. Blaire took a deep breath and answered. She lied through her teeth, claiming she had found a new female roommate and was moving to Queens to split the rent.

Sharon scowled at the screen, furious about the failed blind date, but the mention of saving money pacified her slightly. "Just don't forget you still need to find a husband," Sharon warned before hanging up.

Blaire dragged her heavy, broken suitcase out of her building. Jude's Toyota was already idling by the curb.

Jude stepped out of the car. He looked down at her suitcase, noting the wheel that was practically hanging off by a thread. A microscopic frown pulled at his brow. Without a word, he reached out, grabbed the handle, and easily hoisted the heavy bag into the trunk.

The Toyota pulled up to a slightly rundown, red-brick apartment building in Queens. Blaire tilted her head back, looking at the peeling paint on the exterior walls. She mentally calculated how cheap the rent must be.

Jude grabbed her broken suitcase from the trunk and walked ahead of her. He pushed open the heavy, glass-paneled lobby door. The stale, greasy smell of old pizza and damp carpet assaulted his senses. Jude's jaw clenched tight. He stopped breathing entirely, refusing to let the contaminated air into his lungs.

They rode a creaky, vibrating elevator up to the third floor. Jude pulled a brand-new, shiny key from his pocket. He shoved it into the lock, twisting it twice before the door finally gave way.

Blaire stepped inside and let out a small gasp of surprise. The interior was completely opposite to the hallway. It was spotless. The furniture was basic IKEA, but it was arranged warmly, complete with throw pillows and a rug. Emanuel had executed the illusion perfectly.

"This is way better than I expected," Blaire said, spinning around the living room. "The rent must be pretty high, right?"

Jude loosened his tie, his face completely blank. "It's manageable. I paid the down payment a while ago. I'm just paying off the mortgage every month now."

Blaire's mouth formed an 'O'. It all made sense now. That was why he said he could afford things earlier. He was drowning in mortgage debt. Her chest squeezed with a fresh wave of sympathy.

Jude pointed a long finger toward the hallway. "I take the master bedroom at the end. The guest room is yours. We share the bathroom, but keep your things strictly on your side of the sink."

Blaire didn't care about his extreme territorial rules. She grabbed her suitcase and happily dragged it into the guest room to unpack.

Jude stood alone in the center of the living room. He listened to the sound of her zippers opening. He pulled out his phone. As a husband, even a fake one, he felt a compulsory need to provide living expenses to maintain his character.

He opened his banking app. His thumb hovered over the screen, instinctively preparing to transfer one hundred thousand dollars. He caught himself just in time. He deleted the extra zeros, his brow furrowing at the pathetic amount left on the screen.

Using Zelle, he transferred $1,000 to Blaire's phone number. He typed a single word in the memo: Household.

Inside the guest room, Blaire's phone chimed. She picked it up, her eyes bulging at the notification.

She dropped her clothes and sprinted into the living room, waving her phone at Jude. "Why did you just Zelle me a thousand dollars? You have a mortgage to pay!"

Jude sat down on the cheap sofa, crossing his long legs at the knee. He looked at her with cold indifference. "Since we live together, you will handle buying the groceries and daily necessities. That is for the expenses."

Blaire frowned deeply. She felt like he was puffing up his chest to look like a big man when his wallet was empty. "Groceries do not cost a thousand dollars a month. We agreed to split everything fifty-fifty."

Right in front of his face, she tapped her screen. A second later, Jude's phone buzzed. She had Zelled $900 back to his account.

"I'm keeping one hundred for tonight's groceries," Blaire declared, crossing her arms. "You keep the rest for your mortgage. If I need more, I'll pay for it myself."

Jude stared at the $900 refund notification on his screen. The temperature in the room plummeted. His eyes turned into shards of black ice.

In his world, in his extensive experience with women, returning money only meant one thing: she thought it wasn't enough. She was playing the long game, trying to hook him for a much larger payout down the line.

Jude stood up abruptly. He closed the distance between them, his massive frame casting a dark shadow over her. The sheer physical intimidation made Blaire stumble backward until her spine hit the wall.

"What exactly is your game?" Jude demanded, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

Blaire shrank back, her eyes wide with total confusion. "I don't have a game! I just don't want to take advantage of you!"

Jude let out a harsh, mocking laugh. He opened his mouth to tear apart her little act, but his private, encrypted phone suddenly began to ring in his pocket.

The custom ringtone belonged exclusively to the Brewer Matriarch. Jude glared at Blaire, his chest heaving, before he spun on his heel and marched out onto the small balcony, sliding the glass door shut behind him.

He answered the call. "What?" he snapped.

"Watch your tone, boy," the Matriarch's booming voice echoed through the speaker. "Did you get the license? You didn't mistreat the poor girl, did you?"

Jude lowered his voice, grinding his teeth. "She is a master manipulator. She just turned her nose up at a thousand dollars. She's playing hard to get."

The old woman burst into loud, booming laughter. "She's sensible! Stop using your cutthroat boardroom paranoia on my granddaughter-in-law!"

The old woman intentionally raised her voice to a near-shout. "And don't you forget about your oceanfront estate in the Hamptons! Don't actually start believing you're a beggar!"

Jude's blood ran cold. He immediately took three long strides to the far end of the balcony, pressing his back against the brick wall to muffle the sound, and whipped his head around, staring through the glass door into the living room.

Blaire was standing in the open kitchen, her back to him, loudly rummaging through the empty refrigerator, while the blaring sound of a blender she had just turned on to make a smoothie completely drowned out the outside world. She was also wearing a pair of white wireless earbuds, nodding her head to an unheard beat. She hadn't heard the fatal slip.

Jude dragged a hand down his face, exhaling a harsh breath. He gave his grandmother a clipped, angry response and hung up. He stared at Blaire's back through the glass, the seed of deep, toxic misunderstanding firmly planted in his chest.