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.

The next morning, Blaire woke up before the sun. She tiptoed into the kitchen, quickly slapping together two ham and cheese sandwiches. She left one on the kitchen table wrapped in a paper towel, grabbed her purse, and practically ran out the door to avoid the awkwardness of seeing Jude.

An hour later, Jude stepped out of the master bedroom, fully dressed in a sharp suit. He spotted the cheap, squished sandwich on the table. His nose wrinkled in disgust. But his stomach gave a loud, hollow growl. Driven by hunger, he picked it up and took a hesitant bite. The flavor exploded on his tongue. He finished it in three bites.

While driving to the Brewer Group headquarters, his grandmother called again, relentlessly probing about their sleeping arrangements. Jude gripped the steering wheel, his voice dripping with ice. "I am testing her character. Nothing is happening."

By noon, Blaire was exhausted, organizing heavy racks of autumn coats at the Manhattan boutique where she worked. Her phone screen lit up. A voice message from Sharon.

Blaire tapped play. Sharon's shrill, aggressive voice pierced her eardrum. "Blaire! I want proof of this new 'roommate' of yours. Right now! For all I know, you've been brainwashed into a pyramid scheme!"

Panic seized Blaire's chest. She ducked into an empty fitting room, her fingers trembling as she scrolled through her camera roll. She found the photo she had secretly snapped at City Hall-just Jude's broad back as he stood at the counter. She hit send.

Less than a second later, her phone rang. Sharon was calling.

"You think I'm an idiot?" Sharon screamed through the receiver. "A picture of a back? Did you just download this off the internet to shut me up?"

"Mom, no!" Blaire lied frantically, her heart racing. "He's just... really busy with work. He hates taking pictures."

Sharon let out a loud, mocking snort. "Fine. I finish my shift at five. I am coming to that Queens address tonight for a surprise inspection. Do not try to hide him!"

The call disconnected. Blaire broke out in a cold sweat. She frantically typed a text to Jude: SOS! My mom is coming to inspect the apartment tonight! Please don't blow our cover!

Miles away, in the glass-walled penthouse boardroom of the Brewer Group, Jude sat at the head of a massive mahogany table. A terrified executive was presenting quarterly losses. Jude's phone buzzed on the table.

He glanced down at Blaire's message. A cold, cynical smirk twisted his lips. Here we go, he thought. The whole family is in on the scam. He typed back a single, dismissive letter: K.

By 6:00 PM, a miserable, freezing drizzle began to fall over New York. Traffic ground to a dead halt.

Blaire clutched a plastic bag of hot deli food to her chest, sprinting the last block to the Queens apartment building. Her lungs burned.

As she reached the entrance, she stopped dead in her tracks. Sharon was standing under a large umbrella in the pouring rain, her eyes scanning the dilapidated brick building like a hawk looking for prey.

Blaire forced a smile and jogged up to her. Sharon immediately launched into a brutal critique of the neighborhood's lack of security and the trash on the sidewalk.

At that exact moment, Jude's beat-up Toyota squeezed into a tight spot down the street.

Jude stepped out of the car. His custom-made Italian leather shoe landed squarely in a deep, hidden puddle. Muddy water splashed violently up his shin, soaking his expensive trousers. His face instantly darkened into a mask of pure, murderous rage.

He stomped toward the building entrance. He reached into his pocket for the keys, and his hand froze. In his rush this morning, he had left the apartment keys on the kitchen table next to the sandwich.

Jude sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, fighting the urge to punch the brick wall. He grabbed the handle of the lobby door. The lock was broken. It pulled open with a pathetic squeak.

He walked into the lobby and pressed the elevator button. Nothing happened. He looked up. A piece of lined notebook paper was taped to the metal doors: Elevator Out of Order.

Jude Brewer, a billionaire who owned half the skyscrapers in the city, was now facing the ultimate degradation: a five-story walk-up.

He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached. He started up the dark, narrow, mold-smelling stairwell. With every step, his thigh muscles burned, and his hatred for Blaire multiplied exponentially.

Meanwhile, Blaire and Sharon had reached the third-floor landing. Blaire was frantically digging through her purse for her keys.

Heavy, aggressive footsteps echoed up the concrete stairwell. Sharon snapped her head toward the sound, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Jude crested the stairs. He was panting heavily. His suit jacket was unbuttoned, his tie was yanked loose, and his eyes were blazing with a terrifying, homicidal fury.

He stopped on the landing. His eyes locked onto Blaire. The air in the hallway instantly froze.

Blaire stared at his disheveled, terrifying appearance. Her hands shook violently. The keys slipped from her fingers, clattering loudly against the concrete floor.

Sharon stepped forward, throwing her arm out to shield Blaire like a protective mother hen. She glared at this massive, angry man.

"Who the hell are you?" Sharon demanded, her voice echoing in the stairwell. "Why are you following my daughter?"

Jude's face turned the color of a thundercloud.