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.

The engine of the white luxury sedan hummed with a suppressed power that mirrored the tension inside the cabin. Steven glanced at the rearview mirror, his brow furrowed. His boss, Harrison Marcus, was leaning against the leather seat, his eyes fixed on his phone with a focus that wasn't reserved for business.

"You shouldn't be heading home so soon," Steven said, his voice tight. "Don't you remember the schedule? We have the final wedding dress fitting at Dede James’s boutique in forty minutes. Your grandmother has already checked in twice."

"Reschedule it," Harrison replied without looking up. "I have an important matter to attend to. A personal one."

"Important?" Steven’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. "We cleared the entire afternoon. There are no meetings, Harrison. What could possibly be more important than the public face of the Marcus Group?"

"I need to speak with Tania," Harrison said, his voice final. "She’s been waiting for me since this morning. The fitting can wait. Caroline isn't going anywhere."

Steven felt a surge of genuine anger. He wasn’t just an assistant; he was the person paid to keep the Marcus legacy from eroding. He knew about Tania. She was a high school friend, a ghost from Harrison’s past that the Marcus family—specifically Williams Marcus—wanted buried. The rumors of their continued closeness were already circulating in the elite circles of Havenport, and if they reached the old man’s ears, the consequences would be catastrophic.

"I’m sorry, my friend," Steven said, his voice dropping into a firm, serious register. "I am paid by your family to ensure this transition is flawless. I have helped you hide many things, but I cannot help you ruin this. Not today."

"What are you doing?" Harrison asked as Steven began to slow the car.

"I'm finishing my work." Steven pulled the car over to a quiet, tree-lined curb on the outskirts of the university district. He put the car in park and stepped out, opening the rear door for Harrison.

"What is this? Are you seriously stranding me?" Harrison stood up, his blue eyes flashing with disbelief.

"You can't fire me, Harrison, but your grandfather can erase me," Steven said, a fake, chillingly professional smile appearing on his face. "If you want to see Tania, you can find your own way. But I am going to pick up your fiancé and take her to her fitting. Because that is the job."

"Steven, wait—"

"I suggest you don't use a Marcus driver to pick you up from here," Steven added, narrowing his eyes. "Unless you want the report to reach your mother before sunset. Good luck, Harrison."

Steven climbed back into the driver’s seat and sped away, leaving the heir to the Marcus fortune standing on a Havenport sidewalk, looking more like a lost boy than a titan of industry.

Back at Scripted Hearts, the digital sensor at the door chimed as Steven entered. He walked in to find the shop floor empty, but the sound of heated voices drifted down from the second floor. He climbed the stairs quietly, pausing at the landing.

Caroline’s team was in the middle of a full-scale interrogation.

"Are you pregnant? Be honest," Daniel asked, his voice echoing in the creative studio.

"How could she be pregnant?" Lily snapped. "Caroline is the most moral person I know. She doesn't even have a boyfriend."

"I told you guys a thousand times!" Caroline’s voice was strained, hitting that high-pitched note she reached when she was overwhelmed. "I’m not pregnant. It’s an arrangement! A family deal!"

"Arranged to a guy who looks like a movie star?" Lily countered, her oriental features sharp with curiosity. "Who could refuse that? If a man like that tells you to marry him, you don't say 'no,' you say 'what time?'"

"It’s not about being happy, Lily," Maya intervened, her voice the only one that sounded grounded. "It’s about duty. Caroline is doing what she has to do."

"Can you guys just stop?" Caroline pleaded. "I have a mountain of paper to cut and—"

She froze as her eyes met Steven’s. He was leaning against the doorframe, a sympathetic smile on his face.

"Is he the one?" Daniel asked, pointing at Steven with a clumsy, defensive gesture.

"That’s the assistant, you idiot," Lily whispered, elbowing him.

"I’m sorry to interrupt the... staff meeting," Steven said, stepping into the room. "But Caroline, we have a dress fitting. And we are already ten minutes behind."

Caroline sighed, grabbing her bag. "Right. The schedule."

"Are you going alone?" Daniel asked, standing up. He looked at Steven with a deep-seated suspicion. "Where’s the blue-eyed guy? The boss?"

"He had a scheduling conflict," Steven said smoothly.

"I’m going too," Daniel announced.

"Daniel, no," Caroline warned. "This is a private boutique."

"A man and a woman going alone to a dress fitting isn't proper," Daniel said, searching desperately for a reason to stay by her side. "I’ll be your... secondary assistant. I need to see the 'concept' for the invitation anyway."

Before Steven could protest, Daniel had already pushed past him and was heading for the stairs. "Assistant! Unlock the car!"

Steven looked at Caroline. She gave him a look of pure apology. "He’s stubborn. If we don't let him come, he’ll probably follow us on a bicycle."

The boutique of Dede James was a sanctuary of ivory silk and hushed whispers. It was the kind of place where the air itself felt expensive. Dede James was a legend in Havenport—a man with an LV scarf permanently draped around his neck and a client list that included every socialite from here to London.

When they entered, Dede rushed forward, his eyes lighting up as they landed on Daniel, who was wearing a wrinkled t-shirt and jeans.

"Oh! Mr. Marcus! At last!" Dede cried, throwing his arms around a very confused Daniel. "You are taller than the photos, and much more... rugged!"

Caroline had to bite her lip to keep from erupting into laughter. Daniel stood stiffly in the designer’s embrace, looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

"Sorry, Dede," Steven intervened, gently detaching the designer. "This is Daniel, a friend of the family. Mr. Harrison is delayed. This is the bride-to-be, Miss Caroline Hale."

Dede’s gaze shifted to Caroline, and his professional mask settled back into place. "Ah, the girl of the hour. Come, come. We have much to do, and very little time to make you look like a Marcus."

They were ushered to the VVIP suite on the second floor—a room of plush velvet sofas and mirrors that seemed to stretch into infinity. Caroline was led away to the dressing rooms while Steven and Daniel were served espresso by a silent, elegant attendant.

After twenty minutes, the curtains swept open.

Caroline stepped out in the first dress—the one she had chosen. it was simple, a white A-line with a single ribbon at the back and minimal beading. It was beautiful, but in the vast, gilded room, it looked plain.

Dede James furrowed his brow. "It is a lovely dress for a gardener’s wedding, Miss Caroline. But for the Marcus gala? You would be invisible. Let us try the 'Imperial' line."

The second transformation took longer. When the curtains opened again, the room went silent.

The dress was a masterpiece of intricate brocade. It had a high, regal neckline of sheer lace that extended down her arms, but the bodice was structured, revealing a hint of the transformation Mia had hinted at during the makeup session. The skirt was a voluminous cloud of silk that seemed to float as she moved. She looked like a princess emerging from a winter frost.

Steven stood up, his phone out, frantically taking photos. "Grandma is going to love this," he muttered.

Daniel, however, didn't move. He sat on the edge of the sofa, his heart visibly sinking. Seeing Caroline in that dress made the reality of the situation hit him like a physical weight. She wasn't just his friend or his business partner anymore. She was being polished into a diamond that would be set in a crown he could never touch.

"You look..." Daniel started, then stopped. "You look like you’re leaving us, Caroline."

Caroline looked at him in the mirror. "It’s just a dress, Daniel."

"It’s not," he whispered. "It’s a uniform."

Steven’s phone buzzed—a sharp, insistent ring. His face went pale. "Grandma is asking for a video call. Now. Where is Harrison?"

He stepped away, his voice hushed and panicked. "Harrison, you have to get here! I don't care if you’re eating with the Queen! Grandma is in the WhatsApp group, and she’s asking for a live feed!"

Ten minutes later, the door to the suite burst open. Harrison Marcus strode in, looking disheveled and out of breath. He was followed by a woman—graceful, blonde, and looking entirely out of place in a wedding boutique. Tania.

Steven’s eyes widened. "Why did you bring her here?"

"I used her car," Harrison hissed, adjusting his tuxedo jacket. He had apparently changed in the car. "I didn't have a choice."

"You're giving me a migraine," Steven groaned.

Tania sat on the sofa next to a glowering Daniel, while Harrison stepped onto the pedestal next to Caroline. He was a vision in black wool and silk, the perfect counterpoint to her white lace.

Dede James was in heaven, fluttering around them, adjusting the hem of the dress and the lapel of the tuxedo. "Perfect! The height, the symmetry! You look like a painting!"

As the cameras clicked, Caroline felt the old familiar vertigo. The salesperson had forced her into four-inch heels to "complete the silhouette." Her feet were screaming, and the weight of the dress felt like it was dragging her down.

"Smile, Caroline," Harrison whispered through gritted teeth. "Grandma is watching."

"I’m trying," she hissed back. "I can’t feel my toes."

The photoshoot was grueling. Harrison had to hold her shoulder several times to keep her upright as the designer demanded "more emotion" and "closer proximity."

The climax came when Dede asked Caroline to step forward and turn. As she moved, one of her heels caught the heavy silk of her own train. Her balance vanished.

"Caroline!" Daniel shouted, leaping from the sofa before anyone else could react.

He caught her mid-air, his arms wrapping around her waist as she tumbled off the pedestal. For a heartbeat, the room was silent. Daniel held her close, his face inches from hers, his concern raw and unfiltered.

Harrison, who had been standing right beside her, stood frozen for a second too long. When he finally reached out, Daniel had already secured her.

Harrison’s face turned a dark, dangerous shade of red—not from concern, but from a sudden, sharp sting of possessive jealousy. He looked at Daniel, then at Caroline, then back at the silent Tania on the sofa.

"I’ve got her," Daniel said, his voice low and challenging. "You can go back to your 'other' meeting now."

Harrison steeled himself, stepping forward to take Caroline from Daniel’s arms. "I’ll take her from here. She’s my fiancé."

The word felt like a lie, but as he gripped Caroline’s arm, Harrison realized that for the first time, he didn't want the contract to be the only thing holding them together. He looked at the high heels discarded on the floor—a threat to her safety, and a symbol of the world he was forcing her to walk in.

"Get her some flats," Harrison commanded the shop assistant, his voice echoing in the plush room. "I don't care how it looks in the photo. I won't have her falling again."

As Caroline sat down, her breath returning, she looked at the three men in the room: Steven, the keeper of the schedule; Daniel, the friend who had caught her; and Harrison, the man who was finally, painfully, realizing that he might actually care if she fell.