Ethan slams his foot on the gas. The Ford lurches forward, merging seamlessly into the heavy Philadelphia traffic. I watch in the side mirror as Clarnce's furious figure shrinks and disappears.

I collapse against the headrest. A long, shaky breath escapes my lips. Cold sweat clings to my spine.

Ethan doesn't look at me. He keeps one hand on the steering wheel and uses the other to pull a clean tissue from the console. He holds it out to me. His movements are precise, almost mechanical.

"Thank you," I whisper, taking the tissue and dabbing the sweat from my forehead. "My mother... she was trying to force me to marry my cousin. He paid her."

Ethan's expression doesn't change. He just keeps his eyes on the road. "Disgusting," he mutters, the word clipped and cold.

He pulls the car to a stop across the street from City Hall. The massive stone building looms against the gray winter sky.

We step out of the car. The wind whips my hair across my face. As we cross the busy street, a delivery biker runs a red light, speeding directly toward me.

"Watch out."

Ethan's arm wraps around my shoulders. He yanks me hard against his chest.

The bike flies past, missing me by inches.

I am plastered against him. His chest is a solid wall of muscle. The heat radiating from his body seeps through my thin coat. I can smell that cedarwood scent again, intoxicating and entirely male. My heart stutters.

He releases me instantly, stepping back as if my touch burned him. He rubs his thumb against his index finger, a slight frown on his face.

"Stay close," he says, his voice devoid of emotion.

We walk into the grand lobby of City Hall. The marriage bureau is crowded with couples holding hands and kissing. Ethan and I sit on a wooden bench, a full two feet of space between us.

A bored clerk named Agnes hands us a stack of paperwork.

I chew on the end of my pen. I glance over at Ethan's form. Under 'Occupation', he writes Financial Analyst. It makes sense. He drives a Ford, wears a plain suit, and needs a fake wife. He's just a regular guy trying to appease his family.

Agnes reviews our forms. "That will be thirty-five dollars for the license."

I immediately dig into my canvas bag, searching for crumpled dollar bills.

Ethan beats me to it. He slides a plain, standard-issue credit card across the counter. "I've got it."

"We should split it," I insist, pulling out a ten and a five.

"Put your money away, Grace," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Agnes stamps the papers. "The judge can see you now for the ceremony. Do you have rings?"

I freeze. My stomach drops. "Rings? No. We didn't..."

The silence is agonizing. Agnes raises an eyebrow.

Ethan reaches into his coat pocket. He pulls out a plastic pull-ring from a water bottle he bought earlier. He looks at me, his dark eyes unreadable.

He steps closer. He takes my left hand. His fingers are warm and slightly rough. A shiver trails up my arm.

"With this ring," Ethan says, his voice dropping an octave, sounding incredibly smooth and convincing, "I thee wed."

He slides the plastic ring onto my bare finger. It fits perfectly.

My cheeks burn. I feel a sudden, terrifying flutter in my chest. I stammer through my vows, my voice barely a whisper.

"You may kiss the bride," the judge announces.

My eyes go wide. Ethan steps into my space. He cups my face with both hands. His thumbs rest gently against my cheekbones. He tilts his head down.

I close my eyes, my breath hitching.

I feel his lips press against his own thumb, which he has strategically placed right over my mouth. His warm breath fans across my nose. It's a fake kiss. A perfect illusion.

He pulls away. The judge claps. Agnes hands us the marriage license with a gold seal.

We walk out of City Hall. The cold air instantly shatters the illusion of intimacy. We are strangers again.

"Thank you," I say, bowing my head slightly. "I'll meet you here tomorrow at the same time to file the annulment."

"Tomorrow," Ethan agrees.

I turn and walk quickly toward the subway station.

Ethan watches her go. Once her small frame disappears into the crowd, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a sleek, encrypted satellite phone.

Ethan turns down a narrow, empty alleyway adjacent to City Hall.

A black, armored Maybach 62S sits idling in the shadows. The rear door swings open. His executive assistant, K. Jennings, stands at attention.

Jennings takes the unbranded suit jacket Ethan strips off and tosses it directly into a nearby dumpster.

Ethan slides into the plush leather backseat of the Maybach. He loosens his tie, rolling his shoulders. The suffocating disguise of a middle-class worker falls away, replaced by the terrifying aura of the man who controls the Patterson Empire.

He pulls the marriage license from his pocket. He snaps a high-resolution photo with his phone and sends it to a contact labeled Eleanor.

Ten seconds later, the phone rings.

"You actually did it!" Eleanor's voice crackles through the speaker, breathless with laughter. "The heir to the Patterson fortune, married in a dingy City Hall!"

Ethan rubs his temples. "It's a piece of paper, Grandmother. It buys you peace of mind for your surgery. I am annulling it tomorrow."

"We'll see about that," Eleanor hums. "Bring the future Mrs. Patterson to the New York estate. I want to meet her."

"Goodbye, Grandmother." Ethan hangs up. He tosses the phone onto the seat. He looks at Jennings in the rearview mirror. "Run a full background check on Grace Glover. I want everything."

The subway ride to the Old City district takes forty minutes.

I walk down the cobblestone street toward Blooming Grace, the small flower shop I pour my soul into. I live in the tiny attic above it. It's my only safe haven.

I pull my keys from my bag. Before I can insert them into the lock, a screech of tires makes me jump.

A beat-up truck slams to a halt by the curb. Doris jumps out. Two massive men follow her-distant cousins from the Vaughan side of the family.

Doris kicks the glass door of the shop. It rattles violently.

"You little runaway whore!" Doris screams, pointing a thick finger at my face.

I back up quickly, retreating behind the wooden cash register counter. My hand drops below the counter, my fingers wrapping tightly around the cold metal handle of my heavy gardening shears.

Doris storms inside, her eyes darting to my hands. She sees the plastic ring.

"Where is Clarnce's ring?" she demands, her face turning purple. "He gave me twenty thousand dollars for you! You give me that money right now, or you're coming with us!"

"I don't have his money," I say, my voice shaking but my grip on the shears tightening. "And you can't force me to go anywhere. I'm married."

Doris pauses. Then, she throws her head back and barks out a harsh laugh. "Married? You expect me to believe that?"

I reach into my bag with my left hand. I pull out the marriage license and slam it onto the counter. The gold seal catches the light.

Doris stares at the paper. She reads the names. Her face drains of color, then flushes with a rage so intense she looks demonic. The realization that her twenty-thousand-dollar payday is gone snaps the last thread of her sanity.

"Smash it," Doris snarls.

She grabs a heavy ceramic pot holding a rare orchid and hurls it at the floor.

The ceramic shatters. Dirt explodes across the hardwood.

"No!" I scream, lunging forward.

One of the cousins shoves me hard in the chest. I stumble backward, crashing into a display shelf.

The two men tear through the shop. They flip tables. They stomp on the delicate roses I spent weeks cultivating. Glass vases explode against the walls. Water and crushed petals cover the floor in a slippery, tragic mess.

I scramble to the corner, throwing my body over a tray of succulents that belong to my sister, Eloise. A falling glass vase clips my hand.

A sharp pain slices across the back of my hand. Warm blood instantly wells up, dripping onto the green leaves of the succulents. I bite my lip so hard I taste copper. Tears of pure hatred blur my vision.

Outside, Greta, the owner of the convenience store next door, peers through the window. Her eyes go wide. She immediately pulls out her phone and dials 911. The two men are massive, their menacing postures silencing the few onlookers who had started to gather at the door, making it clear no one is to interfere.

Doris grabs a handful of my hair, yanking my head back.

"You call that bastard you married," Doris spits in my face. "You tell him he owes me twenty grand, or I will burn this place to the ground with you in it."

The wail of police sirens pierces the air. Red and blue lights flash against the broken glass of my shop.

Two patrol cars screech to a halt outside the shattered storefront. Four officers, body cameras blinking red, pour out of the vehicles.

Lead Detective Gale Henderson draws his baton. "Philadelphia Police! Everyone freeze and put your hands where I can see them!"

The two Vaughan cousins drop the broken shelves and immediately drop to their knees, lacing their fingers behind their heads.

Doris lets go of my hair. Her face transforms instantly. She forces tears into her eyes and throws herself toward Gale.

"Officer! Thank god you're here!" Doris wails, grabbing Gale's uniform sleeve. "My daughter is out of control! She attacked me!"

Gale steps back, peeling her hands off his uniform with a look of utter disgust. His sharp eyes scan the devastation of the flower shop. He takes in the overturned tables, the crushed flowers, and the shattered glass.

Then, his eyes land on me.

I am huddled in the corner, clutching the succulents. Blood is streaming down the back of my hand, soaking into the sleeve of my cheap sweater.

Gale's expression softens. He gestures for his officers to secure Doris and the men. He walks over to me, crouching down to my level.

"Ma'am, do you need an ambulance?" Gale asks gently.

I shake my head. I grab a wad of paper towels from the counter and press it hard against my bleeding hand. The sting makes me wince.

"No," I say, my voice surprisingly steady. "I want to press charges. Destruction of property, trespassing, and assault."

Doris screams from across the room. "It's a family dispute! I'm her mother! I can do whatever I want to her property!"

"It's my property," I say coldly. "And she is not my family anymore. I am married."

My good hand reaches into my bag. I pull out the crumpled marriage license and hand it to the detective.

Gale takes the paper. He scans it, a routine procedure. His eyes drift to the 'Husband' section.

Gale stops breathing.

His pupils dilate. He stares at the name. Ethan Patterson. He stares at the signature. The aggressive, sharp strokes of the pen.

Gale's brain short-circuits. He knows that signature. He lived in the same dorm room as that signature for four years at Columbia University. That is the signature of the most ruthless billionaire in New York.

Gale slowly raises his head. He looks at me. He takes in my bloodstained sweater, my pale face, and the cheap plastic ring on my finger.

The richest man in America married this girl? Today?

Gale clears his throat, fighting to keep his face neutral. He hands the paper back to me with a newfound, profound respect. "Understood, Mrs. Patterson."

Gale turns on his heel. He walks out of the shop, stepping behind the patrol car, completely out of my line of sight.

He pulls out his personal cell phone and dials a number that only five people in the world have.

Ethan picks up on the second ring. "What."

"Are you out of your mind?" Gale hisses, keeping his voice low.

In the back of the Maybach, Ethan frowns. "What are you talking about, Henderson?"

Gale lets out a breathless laugh. "I'm standing in a destroyed flower shop in Old City. Your new little wife is bleeding from the hand, and her mother just tried to extort her. Did you really get married?"

Silence. Dead, heavy silence on the other end of the line.

Then, the sound of a leather portfolio being slammed shut.

"Address," Ethan says. His voice is a weapon.

Gale gives him the address and hangs up. He walks back into the shop. "Cuff the mother," he orders his officers.

Doris realizes he is serious. She throws herself onto the floor, kicking and screaming like a toddler. "You can't arrest me! I know my rights!"

As the officers struggle to lift her, the sound of tires grinding against the curb echoes through the open door.

The sleek, black Maybach screeches to a halt.

The rear door flies open. Ethan steps out. The air around him seems to drop ten degrees. His face is a mask of pure, unadulterated fury.

I look up. When I see his tall, broad frame stride past the police tape, the wall I've built around my emotions cracks. My throat tightens.

Ethan ignores the police. He ignores Doris. He walks straight to me.

His dark eyes lock onto the blood soaking through the paper towels on my hand. The muscle in his jaw flexes so hard it looks like it might snap.