I sat in my car outside Howard Enterprises, gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white. The pain of Spencer's betrayal still burned fresh, a constant ache in my chest that wouldn't subside. But something else had risen from the ashes of my broken engagement—a cold, calculated desire for revenge.

Wells Howard. Spencer's biggest business rival. The man who had been trying to outmaneuver the Morrison Corporation for years.

The perfect weapon for my revenge.

I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror, smoothing my hair and straightening my shoulders. I needed to look composed, confident—not like a woman whose wedding had been stolen the day before. Taking a deep breath, I stepped out of my car and strode toward the gleaming glass tower.

The receptionist's eyes widened in recognition. "Ms. Collins? I thought you were getting married this weekend."

"Plans change," I replied coolly. "I need to see Mr. Howard. It's urgent."

"He's in a meeting, but—"

"Tell him it's Emerson Collins, and it's about Spencer Morrison."

Ten minutes later, I was escorted into Wells Howard's corner office. He stood as I entered, tall and imposing in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. His dark eyes studied me with undisguised curiosity.

"Emerson Collins," he said, his voice deep and measured. "Shouldn't you be at your wedding rehearsal?"

"There is no wedding," I stated flatly, meeting his gaze. "And I have a business proposition for you."

He gestured to the chair across from his desk. "I'm listening."

I sat down, crossing my legs and leaning forward slightly. "Marry me."

Wells froze, his expression shifting from surprise to confusion. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me correctly. I want you to marry me—this weekend. The venue is already booked, the guests invited." I maintained steady eye contact, refusing to show any hesitation. "Spencer held a wedding ceremony for another woman yesterday, using my dress, my venue, everything I had planned."

Understanding dawned in his eyes, followed by something else—anger? Sympathy? It was hard to tell with Wells Howard.

"And you want to marry me to get back at him," he concluded.

"Precisely." I reached into my purse and pulled out a folder. "I've prepared a contract. This would be a business arrangement, beneficial to us both. You get to humiliate your biggest rival and gain access to connections through my family that would advance your business interests."

Wells took the folder but didn't open it. Instead, he studied my face with unexpected intensity.

"Why me?"

"Because you're the person Spencer would least want me to marry," I answered honestly. "And because you're the only one with enough power and influence to pull this off on such short notice."

He set the folder on his desk and leaned back in his chair. "And what do you get out of this, besides revenge?"

"A clean break. No one pitying the jilted bride." I swallowed hard. "And the satisfaction of watching Spencer realize what he's lost."

Wells stood and walked to the window, his back to me as he gazed out at the city skyline. The silence stretched between us, and I fought the urge to fill it with more justifications.

Finally, he turned. "I'll do it."

I blinked, surprised by his quick agreement. "You will?"

"On one condition." He approached me, his expression serious. "This won't be just for show. If we're doing this, we're doing it right. A real marriage, at least on paper. No secret arrangements to dissolve it after a few weeks."

"Why would you want that?" I asked, genuinely confused.

Something flickered in his eyes—something I couldn't quite identify. "I have my reasons. Do we have a deal?"

I stood, extending my hand. "Deal."

His hand closed around mine, warm and steady. "I'll have my team handle everything. The wedding will proceed as scheduled—just with a different groom."

---

The next forty-eight hours passed in a whirlwind. Wells' efficiency was astounding—he arranged for a new suit, coordinated with my stunned but supportive parents, and ensured every detail was perfect. I'd expected to feel hollow, going through with a wedding born of revenge rather than love, but instead, I felt strangely empowered.

And then came the moment I'd been waiting for.

I stood hidden in a side room of the Rosewood Estate, peering through a crack in the door as Spencer arrived in his tuxedo, confusion etched on his face as he noticed the changes to the décor—subtle adjustments Wells had insisted on making to put his stamp on the event.

"What's going on?" I heard Spencer ask one of the ushers. "Where's Emerson?"

"The bride is getting ready," the usher replied, guiding him toward a seat—not at the altar where he expected to stand, but among the guests.

The look of dawning horror on Spencer's face as Wells took his place at the front of the aisle was everything I'd hoped for.

The elevator ascended silently to the penthouse floor of Howard Tower. Standing beside Wells, I felt like I was floating outside my own body, watching someone else's life unfold. Just days ago, I had been preparing to marry Spencer. Now, I stood beside his business rival, a platinum band on my finger that felt foreign and heavy.

Wells glanced at me, his dark eyes unreadable. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I replied automatically, the words hollow even to my own ears.

The elevator doors slid open to reveal a stunning penthouse apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. Modern furniture in muted grays and blues created a sophisticated yet comfortable atmosphere.

"Welcome home," Wells said quietly, stepping aside to let me enter first.

Home. The word caught in my throat. This wasn't home—it was an elaborate stage for my revenge against Spencer. Yet as I stepped into the spacious living area, I couldn't deny the small flutter of relief that I wouldn't be returning to my apartment filled with memories and wedding preparations.

"Your room is this way," Wells said, leading me down a hallway. "I had the guest suite prepared for you."

I followed him into a beautiful bedroom with its own sitting area and ensuite bathroom. Someone had already unpacked my suitcases, my clothes hanging neatly in the walk-in closet.

"I hope this is comfortable," Wells said, hovering in the doorway. "I want to be clear about something, Emerson. This may be a contract marriage, but I respect you. Your space is your own. I won't enter without your permission."

I turned to face him, studying the man I had impulsively married. In the soft evening light, his features seemed less severe than they had in his office.

"Thank you," I said finally. "We should probably discuss... ground rules."

Wells nodded. "Let's talk over dinner. The kitchen is stocked, or we can order in if you prefer."

---

Later, sitting across from Wells at the dining table with takeout containers between us, I found myself relaxing slightly for the first time in days.

"So," I began, pushing my noodles around with chopsticks, "about our arrangement..."

"In public, we present as a happily married couple," Wells said matter-of-factly. "In private, we're... roommates, for lack of a better term. I won't pressure you for anything more than you're comfortable with."

"And how long do we maintain this charade?" I asked.

Wells took a sip of his wine before answering. "I meant what I said before. This isn't just for show. We're legally married, and I'm not interested in a quick divorce that would make both of us look foolish."

"So we just... stay married? Indefinitely?" The absurdity of the situation suddenly hit me.

"For now," he replied calmly. "Let's give it six months. After that, we can reassess."

I nodded slowly. Six months seemed manageable. By then, Spencer would have thoroughly understood what he'd lost, and perhaps my heart would have begun to heal.

"One more thing," Wells added, his expression softening slightly. "I know this marriage began as revenge, but I'd like us to try being friends, at least. We're going to be sharing a life, even if only temporarily."

Friends. The concept seemed foreign in this context, yet not entirely unwelcome.

"I can try that," I agreed cautiously.

---

The next morning, I woke disoriented in the unfamiliar room. For one blissful moment, I forgot everything—Spencer's betrayal, my impulsive marriage, all of it. Then reality crashed back, and I buried my face in the pillow, fighting back tears.

A soft knock at my door pulled me from my thoughts.

"Emerson?" Wells called. "I'm heading to the office soon, but I made coffee if you'd like some."

I dragged myself out of bed and opened the door, conscious of my rumpled pajamas and messy hair. Wells stood there in a perfectly tailored suit, looking irritatingly put-together.

"Thank you," I mumbled, following him to the kitchen.

To my surprise, he handed me a cup prepared exactly how I liked it—with just a splash of cream and no sugar.

"How did you know?" I asked, taking a grateful sip.

"I pay attention," he replied simply. "I noticed at the wedding reception."

Something warm and unexpected unfurled in my chest at this small kindness. It wasn't grand or showy, just thoughtful in a way Spencer rarely had been.

"I have meetings all day," Wells continued, "but please make yourself at home. The housekeeper comes on Tuesdays and Thursdays. My assistant left her number on the counter if you need anything."

I nodded, clutching my coffee cup like a lifeline. "Thank you."

He hesitated at the door, looking back at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. "Emerson... I know this isn't what you planned for your life. But I promise you won't regret marrying me instead of him."

Before I could respond, he was gone, leaving me alone in the penthouse with my coffee and my thoughts, wondering what exactly I had gotten myself into.