Caroline stepped into the office, her sneakers clicking softly on the dark hardwood. Harrison didn't look at her; he simply placed a high-end hairdryer on a side table and pointed to a hidden outlet near the baseboard.

"Dry yourself," he said, his voice dropping into that bored, command-driven tone.

It was an absurd, undignified scene. The hairdryer was a professional-grade tool, heavy and loud. Because the cord was short, Caroline was forced to stand in a slight crouch, holding the hem of her batik skirt out like a fan. She turned her back to Harrison, bending her head low so the hot air could blast the damp, purple-stained fabric.

She felt exposed. Even though her dress was a modest midi-length, the act of hitching it up to dry the inner thigh felt intimate in a way that made her skin crawl. She kept her head down, her ponytail falling over her shoulder, focusing entirely on the rhythmic hum of the machine.

Across the room, Harrison had already dismissed her existence. He pulled a leather-bound volume from a shelf that reached toward the ceiling. He sat at his mahogany desk, the green shaded lamp casting sharp shadows across his angular face. He looked like a statue of a statesman, perfectly still, perfectly composed.

He didn't look up, but his mind was far from the text in front of him. Is this really what I’m getting? he wondered. The girl was a mess. She was clumsy, she was wearing flat shoes because she clearly couldn't handle a heel, and she had just stained herself with dessert like a toddler. His grandfather was a perfectionist, a man who calculated every move three decades in advance. Why would he settle for a "substitute" who seemed so entirely unpolished?

"Finally," Caroline whispered, the sound lost in the whir of the dryer. The fabric was finally stiff and dry. "Thank goodness. Look, it’s gone."

She turned around, glowing with a small, genuine victory.

"Turn it off," Harrison snapped, the sound of the dryer clearly grating on his nerves.

"Oh!" Startled by his sharpness, Caroline jerked the dryer. In her haste, she accidentally pointed the nozzle directly at her own face. A blast of 120-degree air hit her square in the eyes. She let out a soft, surprised squeak, her face scrunching into a "cute" expression of pure shock before she scrambled to find the "off" switch.

Silence fell over the room, ringing in her ears.

"Were you born a mess?" Harrison asked, his voice dripping with a sarcasm so dry it could have started a fire.

Caroline’s face heated up, and it wasn't from the hairdryer. "Was I born—?" She stopped herself, her jaw tightening. She wanted to tell him that she wasn't a mess, that she was a person who lived a real life where things spilled and people laughed. But looking at his cold, blue eyes, she realized the effort would be wasted.

"Why did you stop?" Harrison challenged, leaning back in his chair. "Go on. Insult me. I’m not as fragile as my grandfather."

Caroline shook her head, clutching the hairdryer like a shield. "There’s no point. I’ve learned to be careful around anyone named Marcus."

The unfinished retort seemed to irritate him more than an actual insult would have. He closed his book with a heavy thud. "I almost let myself believe that someone of your standing could actually manage a clever insult. Fortunately, it was just a false belief."

"Someone of my standing?" Caroline’s voice shook. "Oh, forgive me, Your Heavenly Lord. I forgot that the air is thinner up here on the fifth floor."

"You were born with a sharp tongue," Harrison observed, though his expression remained unmoved. "Since we will be forced into several public appearances, I suggest you reduce your... unusual behavior."

"Unusual?" Caroline looked down at her dress. "I’m just uncomfortable. I’m not used to being painted like a doll or wearing clothes that cost more than my car."

Harrison stood up, his gaze raking over her from her ponytail to her flat shoes. "I bet you're wearing those because you can't walk in high heels."

"Yes," Caroline said defiantly. "Because I like to actually get places, not just teeter toward them."

"I knew it," Harrison said, a flicker of smug victory crossing his face. His phone buzzed on the desk. He checked the screen, his expression shifting back to business. "My parents have finished dinner. They are heading to the lobby. We are to meet them there."

He walked toward the door, but his pace was slower this time. He stopped by the glass window, looking out over the foggy Havenport harbor. "Actually, I brought you here to discuss several points we missed in the first meeting. But seeing as you’re currently preoccupied with fanning your skirt, I suppose I’ll have to request a third meeting."

They entered the elevator in silence. The car was lined with mirrors, forcing Caroline to see them in a single frame. The contrast was devastating. Harrison was tall, his shoulders broad and straight, his suit fitting him like armor. He looked like an imported, high-end product, sleek, expensive, and cold. Beside him, Caroline felt like a local knick-knack, small, handmade, and hopelessly out of place in this chrome-and-glass world.

"Didn't you hear me?" Harrison’s voice broke through her daydream.

"What? Sorry," Caroline snapped out of it.

Harrison glared at her. In the reflection of the elevator door, she saw his eyes flare with a genuine, concentrated annoyance. In the span of an hour, he had been ignored by her twice. In Harrison’s world, people didn't ignore him. They hovered on his every word.

"Bad luck," Harrison muttered as the doors slid open. "I have a feeling you are the harbinger of very bad luck."

The drive home was a descent into a different kind of silence. The Hale family’s black Alphard moved through the misty streets of Havenport like a funeral carriage. There was no music, no laughter. Even the hum of the engine felt heavy.

Jake sat behind the wheel, his knuckles white against the leather. He drove with a fierce, controlled anger, his eyes fixed on the road as if he were looking for something to hit. In the back, their parents sat huddled together, their whispers barely audible over the heater.

"What did you talk to Jennifer about?" her mother’s voice was a thin thread of anxiety.

"I just wanted to know if she was okay," Mr. Hale replied, his voice sounding older than Caroline had ever heard it. "I wanted to know if she could... accept Caroline."

Mr. Hale closed his eyes, his mind drifting back to the private moment he had shared with Harrison's mother after dinner. He had known Jennifer when she was a girl, the agile, laughing daughter of his employer. Now, she was a statue of grief, an expressionless woman who looked like she was mourning a life she was still living.

"How are you doing, Miss?" Hale had asked her, falling into the old habit of his assistant days.

"You're going to be my in-law, Hale," Jennifer had replied with a sad, ghostly smile. "Stop calling me 'Miss.' I've warned you."

"How are you really?"

"As you can see," she said, gesturing to the gold-leafed room. "I am fine. I am a Marcus."

"You’ve changed, Jennifer. I hope you’re actually okay."

Jennifer had finally looked at him then, her gaze piercing. "Why did you give your daughter to my father? Why did you agree to this?"

"I had no choice," Hale whispered. "When Williams Marcus wants something, who in Havenport can stop him?"

Jennifer fell silent, her fingers beginning to rub against each other. a nervous habit she’d had since she was a child. "I can't promise she’ll be okay, Hale. To be honest, I am disappointed in you. You turned out to be the final piece in my father's long-term plan."

"Caroline is strong," Hale defended, though his heart wasn't in it. "She will adapt. I just need you to support her."

"Support her?" Jennifer’s laugh was a hollow, brittle sound. "Hale, look at me. Look at how I ‘adapted.’ Your daughter is innocent. She doesn't understand the the trap she’s walking into. I’m worried about you. Are you sure you’re ready for the truth of what you’ve done?"

Hale felt a cold sweat break across his brow. "I thought... I thought giving her to Williams was the end of my debt. The final sacrifice."

"You're still my father's best assistant," Jennifer said, her eyes fixed on a point far beyond the room. "But your memory needs to be corrected. I am not the start of this situation. You are."

Hale frowned. "I don't understand."

"Think back, Hale. To twenty-five years ago. Do you remember my father’s half-sibling? The illegitimate one?"

"Yes," Hale said, his brow furrowing. "Clara. I remember her. I thought she disappeared with her son."

"She didn't disappear. She was hidden. My father’s illegitimate half-sister was ignored until she produced a son, a brilliant young man with more potential than a dozen legal heirs." Jennifer leaned in, her voice a sharp whisper. "Haven't you realized? You are that son, Hale. You are the illegitimate Marcus."

The words hit Hale like a physical blow to the chest. He felt the air leave his lungs. "No... that’s impossible. I was an orphan. My father was a clerk..."

"A clerk my father paid to vanish," Jennifer corrected. "My father knew who you were the moment you walked into his office twenty-five years ago. He watched you. He groomed you. He gave you a business to run because he wanted to see if the Marcus blood was strong in you. And when you had daughters... he realized he could bring the illegitimate line back into the fold without the scandal of a public acknowledgement."

Hale’s head spun. The 25-year conflict with the board members... the sudden resolution... the way Williams had always favored him despite the board’s protests. It wasn't about loyalty. It was about succession.

"Harrison is my son," Jennifer continued, her voice trembling. "But he is the legal heir. By marrying your daughter to him, my father is unifying the bloodlines. He is making the illegitimate, legitimate. Everything, your career, your marriage, your children, it was all a strategy to produce the 'perfect' Marcus successor. Harrison and Caroline aren't just a marriage; they are a merger."

Hale stumbled out of the car when they arrived home, his legs feeling like lead. Jake caught him, steadying him as they walked into the house.

"Dad? Are you okay?" Caroline asked, rushing forward.

He didn't answer. He refused the family doctor, insisting he only needed to lie down. But as the night wore on, his fever spiked. He lay in bed, delirious, the truth of his own identity burning through him.

"Mom..." he muttered, his eyes rolling back. "If only... if only Jane had taken it. She was built for this. She has the steel. But Caroline... our kind-hearted little girl... she can't face them. She doesn't know she’s walking into her own grandfather’s mouth..."

Caroline stood by the door, watching her father shiver.

The sun hung high over Havenport, burning off the morning mist until Diamond University’s campus glowed with a rare, golden heat. Normally, this was Caroline’s sanctuary, but today, the peace was shattered by a single figure standing in front of the lobby.

Harrison Marcus had tried to dress "casually" at Caroline’s request, but his version of casual was an error. He stood like a statue of marble and silk, his height and that unmistakable blue-eyed charm acting like a magnetic north for every girl in the vicinity. Groups of students were "lingering" near the bike racks, and more than a few professors were casting curious glances at the man who looked like he’d stepped off a yacht and onto a campus.

"Caroline, tell me you see that," Maya Santoso, Caroline's closest friend and startup partner, whispered. They were looking down from the second-floor glass gallery.

"I feel like disappearing," Caroline replied, her voice flat.

"Wait." Maya’s eyes widened, her sharp mind connecting the dots. "You’re staring at him with that specific look of dread... Caroline, don’t tell me that’s him. That’s the fiancé?"

Caroline nodded slowly, the movement heavy with resignation. Maya was the only one who knew the truth about the arrangement—well, parts of it. She helped Caroline manage "Scripted Hearts," and she was the one who kept the books when Caroline was too busy designing. Seeing Harrison in the flesh, Maya’s usual carefree attitude vanished, replaced by a fierce, protective curiosity.

"You better get down there," Maya advised, patting Caroline’s shoulder. "Before someone tries to 'help' him find the library. Half the freshmen are already circling like sharks."

"I’m going," Caroline muttered.

As she neared the lobby, she stopped, hiding behind a large concrete pillar. The lobby was a hive of activity. She saw a group of girls approaching Harrison, their smiles bright and practiced.

Instead of walking up to him, she pulled out her phone and hit his contact.

"I see you," she said the moment he picked up, her voice a sharp whisper. "I’m going to walk past you in a second. Do not greet me. Just turn around and follow me like you’re a regular person."

"Excuse me?" Harrison’s voice was a low rumble on the other end. "Who do you think you’re talking to?"

"The man currently being hunted by the entire Design department," she retorted. "Stop talking to those girls. They aren't trying to help you find anything; they’re trying to find your Instagram handle. If you like the attention, stay there. If you want to leave, follow my lead."

"They were just being polite," Harrison said, though Caroline could hear the girls’ giggles through the phone. "I feel like a fraud standing here, Caroline. You took too long, and for the record—"

The call cut out as the girls grew louder. Harrison offered them a polite, practiced smile and they practically melted. Caroline felt a surge of irrational heat in her chest. She closed her phone, stepped out from behind the pillar, and walked past him without a single glance.

She felt him fall into step five paces behind her. She didn't stop until they reached the edge of the campus gardens, where the crowds thinned. Her phone buzzed again.

"Why are you calling?" she snapped, not turning around. "I’m right here."

"Because I don't like following," Harrison said, his voice closer than she expected. He had closed the gap. "Especially not you. Where is the car?"

"The parking lot. And why are you so obsessed with who walks in front? It’s a sidewalk, Harrison”

"The order of things matters," he said, moving past her to take the lead. "This time, I’m in front. I don't follow, Caroline. Not even for a 'stupid contract marriage,' as you so eloquently put it in your last text."

They reached the black luxury sedan idling in the shade. Steven was already in the driver’s seat, his expression a mask of professional patience. As soon as the doors closed, the cool, filtered air of the Marcus world reclaimed them, erasing the scent of sun-baked grass and student life.

Caroline took a deep, shaky breath, her anger simmering down into a dull ache. "I told you to be inconspicuous," she said, looking at Harrison’s outfit. He was wearing a navy polo that probably cost three months of her rent and a watch that could buy a house.

"I followed your request," Harrison countered, his jaw set. "I didn't wear a suit. I got out of the car. I stood under a tree like a common loiterer for two hours because your class ran late."

"You didn't even call to say you were there!"

"A person in class should have their phone off. I assumed you were being a diligent student. Or," his blue eyes narrowed, "I suspect you were actually hiding from me."

"I wasn't hiding."

"Do you have a boyfriend on campus?" Harrison asked suddenly, his tone shifting into something unreadable. "Is that why you’re so ashamed? You don't want the 'real' boyfriend to see the 'contract' one?"

"No! That’s not it at all," Caroline cried, frustrated by his leap in logic. "I just don't like to be the center of gossip. My friends will make a spectacle of it. And besides, why did you have to wear that 'Sky brand' stuff just to come to a university? It’s tacky."

"Sky brand?" Harrison echoed, looking genuinely perplexed. He turned to the front. "Steven, what is a Sky brand?"

Steven didn't miss a beat as he pulled the car into traffic. "Sir, it means your attire and general aura are... too high for the common ground."

Harrison looked down at his shoes, then back at Caroline. "What? This is casual. This is what people wear."

Steven and Caroline shared a synchronized sigh.

"Never mind," Caroline intervened, rubbing her temples. "Let’s just focus. Steven, you mentioned there were things to discuss?"

"Yes," Steven said, his tone turning business-formal. "Ypur grandparents, Mr. Harrison are growing impatient. They want the wedding concepts finalized by the end of the week. Specifically, the dress fitting this Saturday."

"I can't do Saturday," Caroline said firmly. "I have a routine meeting with my startup team. We have orders to fulfill."

"Mr. Harrison?" Steven prompted, clearly hoping his boss would take the reins.

"I remind you, Steven, not to call me 'Mr.' in a car with only three people," Harrison grumbled. "I am thirty and unmarried. You make me sound like my grandfather."

"You act like him," Steven muttered under his breath.

Suddenly, Steven swerved the car to the left, pulling over onto a quiet shoulder of the road. He put the car in park and turned around, his expression uncharacteristically sharp.

"I request permission to leave work early today," Steven said, staring Harrison down.

"Request denied," Harrison replied instantly. "You have a schedule to maintain."

"You’re really out of line today, Harry," Steven said, dropping the formal "sir" entirely.

Caroline’s jaw dropped. Harry?

"Oh, sorry, Miss Caroline," Steven said, noticing her shock. "You must be confused. Harrison and I went to the same university. I was his senior by two years."

"Wait... you were his senior?"

"Yes," Steven said with a dry, wicked smile. "Back then, no one dared to be his friend because he was prickly and arrogant. I was the only one brave or stupid enough to handle him. And now, after a decade of trying to escape his orbit, I’ve been forced to become his assistant just to keep him from accidentally starting a war."

"Steven was forced into an assistant role," Caroline muttered, looking at Harrison. "And I was forced into a wife role. We should start a club."

"Don't let him fool you," Harrison said, looking uncomfortably cornered. "Steven loves the paycheck. Now, can we please drive? Caroline is about to faint from hunger; I can hear her stomach from here."

"Aargh... I am hungry!" Caroline admitted, her outburst finally breaking the tension.

They ended up at a white-themed restaurant on the Havenport docks. They ate in a silence that was surprisingly comfortable, born from a shared, ravenous hunger.

As Caroline finished her cupcake, she looked at the two men. Steven was busy taking notes on a tablet, while Harrison was watching a group of students at a nearby table. They were laughing, taking selfies, and sharing a giant bowl of fries. Harrison’s gaze was curious, almost longing, as if he were observing a different species.

"What kind of wedding do you actually want, Caroline?" Steven asked, breaking the quiet.

"Something simple," she said, her voice small. "Close family. A few friends. No cameras. No 'Sky brands.'"

"Impossible," Harrison said, his voice returning to its boardroom chill. "The Marcus Group doesn't do 'simple.' There will be at least one gala for two thousand stakeholders. It’s a merger, Caroline. We have to treat it like one."

Caroline’s heart sank. "Two thousand people? I’ll be a widow in two years, Harrison. Why do we need to perform for two thousand people?"

Harrison caught the flash of pain in her eyes.

"How old are you, exactly?" he asked, his voice softening just a fraction.

"I’ll be twenty in three months," she answered.

Harrison paused. She was so young. At twenty, he had been in London, already being groomed for the CEO position. She was a child, yet she was running a business and facing down a dynasty. She just needs a mentor, he thought. She has the spark, but she’s being smothered.

"Steven," Harrison said, his mind clicking into gear. "The wedding invitations. Grandpa wants them to be special, right?"

"He mentioned it," Steven agreed.

"Caroline, I want 'Scripted Hearts' to design the invitations. Personally."

Caroline shook her head. "No. I can't. I won't do it."

"Why not?"

"It’s a rule in design," she said, her voice trembling. "You never design for yourself. Especially not for a project you... you don't believe in."

"I’m sure your team can handle the bulk," Harrison pushed, his business instincts taking over. "This is an opportunity, Caroline. The Marcus wedding invitations will be seen by the most influential people in the country. This will upgrade your brand overnight. You’ll go from a campus startup to a national name."

"I am the only designer on my team, Harrison. The others handle assembly and logistics."

"Then push yourself," he said, his blue eyes challenging her. "If this marriage ends in a divorce, what will you have left? A failed startup? Or a brand that the whole world knows? Use us, Caroline. If you’re going to be a Marcus, even for a moment, use the name to build your own mountain."

Caroline looked at him. For the first time, she saw the CEO, the man who knew how to find leverage in any situation. "How many invitations?" she asked Steven.

"At least two thousand. For the main gala."

Caroline felt a wave of vertigo. Her largest order to date had been three hundred, and that had nearly broken her. "Two thousand 3D, hand-assembled invitations? That’s impossible in this timeframe."

"Don't worry about the cost," Harrison said, leaning in. "We will pay double. Triple. Whatever it takes to hire extra hands for the assembly. Just give me the design. Show the world what a paper heart can actually do."

Caroline looked out at the students laughing in the sun. She thought about her dreams, about Maya, and about the "widow" she would become at twenty-two.

"Okay," she said, her voice steadying. "I’ll do it. But Harrison?"

"Yes?"

"If I do this, you stay away from the studio. I don't want Sky brands ruining the ink."

Harrison smirked, a real, dimpled smile that actually reached his eyes. "

The white luxury sedan pulled away from the university gates, its tires whispering against the asphalt of Havenport’s main thoroughfare. Through the rearview mirror, Harrison watched Caroline’s receding figure.

"She’s… different," Harrison muttered, leaning back into the leather upholstery.

"Who? Caroline?" Steven asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Yes. Most women in her position would have demanded I drive her to her doorstep. They would have manufactured a reason to keep me in the car for another twenty minutes. But she just waved and told me she had an app for that." Harrison sighed, rubbing his temples. "Steven, do you realize I lose my composure every time I’m within ten feet of her? I find myself standing in lobbies, arguing over who walks first, and pulling her hand like a teenager. It’s unprofessional."

"Maybe because she’s your future wife, Harry," Steven said. "You’re getting carried away because for the first time in your life, someone isn’t reading from your script."

Harrison looked out the window. Usually, he was indifferent but with Caroline, he felt a strange, prickly energy. He felt... childish.

"By the way," Harrison said, shifting the subject. "Next time you feel the need to show off, remember to clarify that I wasn’t your junior. We were in the same graduating class."

"I have to look cool occasionally," Steven laughed. "It’s hard being the assistant to a child prodigy."

"I don't know," Harrison admitted. "I told myself I’m helping her so she has a viable business to lean on when we eventually part ways. A sort of... severance package. But honestly? I want to see if she can actually do it. She’s got the heart; I want to see if she can find the steel."

"Spoken like a true Marcus," Steven teased. "Always looking for the ROI, even in a marriage."

While Harrison was contemplating business strategies, Caroline was sprinting toward a two-story shophouse on the edge of the arts district. The sign above the door, crafted in elegant, laser-cut wood, read: Scripted Hearts.

She burst through the door, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "I can’t believe I’m this late! I’m going to kill someone!"

The first person she saw was Daniel, sprawled across a giraffe-patterned floor pillow near the display cases. He was an English Literature major with a penchant for overnight gaming marathons and a chronic inability to find a comb. He looked like he had just regained consciousness.

"Wake up!" Caroline cried, giving his foot a sharp kick. "The client will be here in an hour! Why aren’t you cleaning?"

"Relax, boss," Daniel groaned, rubbing his eyes. "Look around. We’ve been possessed by the spirit of productivity. It’s already done."

Caroline paused, her eyes scanning the room. For the first time in the history of the company, the shop was immaculate. The first floor, the "Minimalist Front" was a wash of white and light wood, designed by Caroline’s siblings, Jake and Jane, as a "pity gift" to keep the business from looking like a dorm room. The product displays were lit with soft LEDs, showing off 3D cards that looked like miniature architectural wonders.

She ran upstairs to the second floor. The creative workshop, usually a war zone of paper scraps, beads, and hot glue, was organized with terrifying precision. The meeting room, with its zebra-print rug and glass whiteboard, was free of charging cables and empty coffee cups.

"Who did this?" Caroline whispered.

"We did," a voice called out. Dea and Lily stepped into the room.

Dea was the co-founder, the pragmatic "Social Welfare" heart of the operation. While Caroline provided the designs, Dea managed the BISA Community, a network of low-income mothers who performed the delicate, hand-assembly work for the cards. Lily, on the other hand, was the marketing shark. With an oriental elegance and a perfectionist’s eye for detail, she was the one who closed deals with high-end wedding planners.

"You’re meeting your 'big fish' client today," Lily said, opening her laptop. "I’ve prepared the deck. I’m not sure about the profit margin yet, but the branding potential is through the roof."

"And I’ve cleared the schedule for the BISA community," Dea added. "If this order is as big as you say, we’re going to need every mother in the district on the assembly line."

Gus, the IT guy they called 'Gus,' arrived last, looking like he’d just run a marathon. "Sorry! My professor made me do his research data again. That man is a vampire."

"Are you paid?" Lily asked, not looking up from her screen.

"Yes, but—"

"Then don't complain," she snapped. "Money is money."

The team was complete: Five young people from different worlds, tied together by paper and glue. Daniel returned from the downstairs bathroom, smelling of soap and looking suspiciously human.

"Okay, team," Caroline said, her voice trembling slightly. "This client isn't like the others. He’s... intense. He’s 'Sky brand.' Don't be intimidated by the suits or the blue eyes."

"Blue eyes?" Lily perked up. "Is he a foreigner?"

"Just... be professional," Caroline pleaded.

The white sedan pulled up ten minutes early. Harrison stepped out, and for a moment, the street seemed to go quiet. He was wearing a casual linen shirt and dark trousers, but even without the suit, he radiated the kind of "old money" power that made people move out of his way.

Steven followed him, grinning. "Nice place. Has a very 'indie' vibe."

They entered the shop, triggered the automatic greeting sensor, a gadget Gus had rigged to play a cheerful chime.

"Welcome to Scripted Hearts," the digital voice sang.

Harrison looked around the first floor, his brow furrowing. "It’s a shame," he whispered to Steven.

"What is?"

"The display. The lighting is three degrees too warm, and the focal points are scattered. They’re selling art as if it’s stationery."

"Their market is millennials, Harry. They want 'authentic,' not 'corporate perfection,'" Steven whispered back.

Caroline appeared at the top of the stairs, her ponytail bobbing. "Please, come up. My team is ready."

Harrison followed her up the narrow wooden staircase. At the base of the stairs, he stopped. "Shoes off?"

"The second floor is a creative zone," Caroline said. "We use puzzle mats for the assembly area. No shoes."

Harrison hesitated, looking at his custom-made Italian loafers. With a sigh of resignation, he slipped them off, feeling incredibly vulnerable in just his socks. He followed her onto the second floor, where the floor was covered in soft, interlocking foam mats. Caroline pointed to a set of cushions around the oval table.

"Sit, please."

Harrison sat, his long legs feeling awkward as he tried to find a comfortable position on the floor. Steven, ever the diplomat, grabbed a second cushion to pad his boss’s seat.

"This is the team," Caroline began, her voice gaining strength. "Dea handles production and the BISA community. Lily is marketing. Gus is IT and insights. And Daniel... Daniel handles content and materials."

"Nice to meet you," Harrison said, his voice regaining its CEO authority. "I am Harrison Marcus, a potential..."

He felt a sharp, agonizing pinch on his thigh. He glanced at Caroline, who was staring at him with a murderous, wide-eyed look that clearly said: Do not say fiancé.

"...customer," he finished, his voice tight with pain. "And this is Steven. He handles the logistics of my... events."

Steven took over, laying out the requirements with surgical precision. Two thousand invitations. Eight weeks. Custom 3D pop-up elements. A budget that was triple their standard rate to account for the "impossibility" of the timeline.

"Even without the triple pay, we’re interested," Daniel said, leaning back. "But why the rush? Are you trying to get married before the world ends?"

"Daniel!" Dea hissed, looking like she wanted to crawl under the table.

"It is a high-profile event," Harrison said, ignoring the jab. "The timeline is non-negotiable. I am sure you are aware of your own limitations, but I am also aware of your founder’s potential. I am betting on the brand."

He turned his blue eyes toward Caroline, cornering her. "Are you sure your team can handle this? Because once we sign, a Marcus contract is a blood oath. If you fail, it’s not just a refund. It’s a mark on your reputation."

"We won't fail," Lily said, her eyes fixed on Harrison. She seemed less interested in the contract and more interested in the way the sunlight hit Harrison's jawline. "This is the opportunity we’ve been waiting for to systemize our growth."

"Gus?" Caroline asked.

"The website can handle the RSVP integration. I’ll just need to pull a few all-nighters."

"Dea?"

"Two thousand is a lot," Dea said thoughtfully. "But if we involve the BISA mothers from the neighboring districts, we can scale. The Social Welfare Agency will help us with the oversight. It’s doable, Caroline. But only if you’re sure."

Caroline looked at her friends. She looked at the shop they had built with nothing but passion and scraps of paper. Then she looked at Harrison, the man who was both her captor and her benefactor.

"I’m sure," Caroline said.

"Good," Harrison said, standing up. He looked down at the team, his expression unreadable. "I look forward to the first prototype."

Before they could wrap up, Daniel spoke again, his voice echoing in the quiet room. "I’m just curious, though. Why are two guys handling the wedding invitations? Usually, the bride is the one who comes in here and screams about the shade of ivory. You guys seem... weirdly invested."

The room went deathly silent. Dea, Lily, and Gus all stared at Daniel with expressions of pure horror. Harrison’s face turned a brilliant, uncharacteristic shade of red. He coughed, looking at the floor mats.

"I... I prefer to have things done correctly," Harrison stammered, his usual eloquence deserting him. "Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have another meeting."

He practically bolted for the stairs, Steven trailing behind him and trying to stifle a laugh. Caroline escorted them down to the car, the cool evening air of Havenport hit them as they exited the shop.

Harrison stopped by the car door, looking at Caroline for a long moment. "Your friend Daniel... he’s a liability."

"He’s the heart of the team," Caroline countered. "He asks the questions no one else dares to."

"Well, tell him to keep his questions to himself until the invitations are printed." Harrison climbed into the car, the window sliding up and obscuring his face.