The Rolls-Royce glided to a silent halt. A tall figure emerged from the back seat-broad-shouldered, impeccably dressed, his every movement radiating the quiet authority of a man who commanded empires. His handsome features were sharp yet composed, the kind of face that belonged on the covers of business magazines. He was unmistakably Julian Crestwood, CEO of The Golden Crest, the city's most prestigious restaurant chain and the cornerstone of a powerful, revered family dynasty.

"What's wrong with you, young lady?" he asked, his deep voice carrying genuine concern beneath its natural command.

Tyla Parker turned toward him. Even in her dazed state, the sheer presence of the man-wealth and power distilled into human form-made her breath catch. Then recognition hit her.

"Julian... Julian Crestwood?" she whispered, the name slipping out before she could stop it.

He didn't respond immediately; his phone had already begun to ring. He answered with a curt nod to the caller.

"Speak."

His secretary's voice came through, tense. "Boss, Amber couldn't make it to the office to sign the marriage agreement."

Julian's jaw tightened. "What do you mean she couldn't make it? I had the registry open at this hour-something most people couldn't arrange in a lifetime. Find a replacement. I need someone willing to sign the contract tonight. Now."

He ended the call with a decisive tap.

That was when Tyla spoke, her voice surprisingly steady despite the chaos of the evening. "I'll do it."

Julian paused, turning his piercing gaze fully on her. He studied her for a long moment, as though weighing the sincerity behind her words.

"Are you certain?" he asked, his tone low and firm. "This isn't a decision to make lightly."

"Yes," Tyla replied without hesitation. "I'm ready. I'll sign it now."

He arched a brow. "Your name?"

"Tyla Parker."

Julian gestured subtly to his assistant, who had been waiting discreetly by the car. The man stepped forward at once.

"Run a quick background on Miss Tyla Parker," Julian instructed quietly.

The assistant nodded, tapped efficiently on his tablet, and moments later murmured the results into Julian's ear.

Julian's expression remained unreadable. "Very well. Get in the car."

Tyla obeyed, sliding into the luxurious leather seat. The drive to the registry office was smooth and silent, the city lights blurring past the tinted windows. They signed the papers with clinical efficiency; the officiant, clearly accustomed to accommodating the elite at odd hours, issued the certificate without comment. By the time they returned to the car, exhaustion and the remnants of alcohol overwhelmed Tyla, and she drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

...

When Tyla awoke, soft morning light spilled across an expansive, impeccably arranged bed. The sheets were silk, the room vast and tastefully opulent. For a heartbeat she panicked, clutching the covers to her chest, fearing the worst.

Her eyes landed on Julian, seated in a nearby armchair, a cup of coffee in hand, watching her with calm detachment.

"Relax," he said evenly. "Nothing happened between us last night. You were in no condition for anything but sleep."

Tyla sat up slowly, fragments of the previous night reassembling in her mind. The betrayal. The bar. The Rolls-Royce. The contract.

"We're... actually married now?" she asked, needing confirmation.

"Yes," Julian replied. "I intended to brief you on the terms last night, but you were, understandably, in no state for it. This is a trial marriage-six months."

"A trial marriage?" Tyla echoed, frowning.

"Exactly as it sounds. For the next six months, our marriage remains confidential. After that period, we decide whether to make it public-or dissolve it quietly."

Tyla absorbed his words, then tilted her head. "And the reason for the trial period? You want to... observe me? Make sure I'm not after your money?"

Julian's lips curved in the faintest hint of amusement. "Nothing so cynical, Miss Parker. It's simply practical."

Before she could press further, her phone buzzed on the nightstand. The name on the screen made her stomach twist: Jace.

She stared at it for a second, then answered with forced calm.

"Hello, Jace."

"Tyla, where are you?" His voice was casual, as if last night's betrayal had never happened.

"I got drunk," she lied smoothly. "My sister booked me a room at a lodge. I crashed there."

"Oh, good. Listen, I need a favor."

Tyla's grip tightened on the phone. "Are you at the registry office right now?"

"Of course not. We'll do that another time. Something bigger just came up-The Golden Crest reached out. They want to give us a contract. This could change everything for the restaurant, for us, for Edna too."

Tyla forced a smile he couldn't see. "Of course it could."

"So," Jace continued eagerly, "Edna fractured her wrist last night. She can't cook today. The Golden Crest executives are coming to sample our menu. I need you to step in for her-like you've done before."

Tyla closed her eyes, rage simmering beneath her calm exterior. "How did Edna fracture her wrist, exactly?"

"Now's not the time for questions, Tyla. Just get to the restaurant as soon as you can."

She inhaled slowly. "All right. I'll do it-for us, for Edna, for Parker's."

"Thank you, baby. I knew I could count on you."

Tyla ended the call, a cold, wicked smile curving her lips.

He had no idea what was coming-for him or his mistress.

She might have been a fool once.

But she had learned better.

Miss Parker rose from the bed, smoothing her hair and adjusting her clothes as she prepared to leave for the restaurant. Julian had overheard her conversation with Jace but remained silent on the matter. He was still unraveling the enigma that was his new wife.

"Leaving already?" Julian asked, his voice casual.

"Yes," she replied curtly.

"I'm giving you just three days to move your things here and live with me properly-as husband and wife should."

She turned to face him, her expression inscrutable.

"I thought it's a secret marriage?. No one is supposed to see us together, remember?"

Julian scoffed, setting his coffee cup down on the table with a deliberate clink.

"You are my wife," he whispered, his tone laced with authority. "You should obey your husband. From now on, I'll be keeping a close eye on you. You should have thought twice before signing those papers."

A chill raced down Tyla's spine. Had she made a terrible mistake by marrying him? Yet, even as doubt gnawed at her, she couldn't tear her gaze from his strikingly handsome face. "Understood, hubby," she whispered back, a hint of defiance in her voice.

"Good girl," Julian replied firmly, taking another sip of his coffee.

Tyla sauntered out of the room. One of Julian's guards gestured for her to enter the waiting car. From the window, Julian watched her departure, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other cradling his cup. He had his own preparations to make.

At the restaurant, Tyla Parker-now Tyla Crestwood,stepped into her impeccably organized kitchen. Every ingredient was meticulously arranged, ready for use. She wasn't here to help Edna or her scheming partner Jace. No, this was her chance to reclaim her former glory as a renowned chef.

She had to create a dish that would impress the executives of The Golden Crest, known for their discerning palates-especially the manager and the CEO. Wait... she was married to the CEO. Would Julian be among them today?

"Oh God, what have I gotten myself into?" she muttered.

Rumors painted him as the devil of the culinary world-ruthless and impossible to please. She needed something innovative, far removed from the flavors they were accustomed to. Then it came to her: the one recipe her late father had taught her, Souvenir d'Enfance (Childhood Memory)the very dish that had secured her victory at the prestigious Bon Appétit competition in France.

"Yes," she resolved. "That's the one."

The executives arrived earlier than anticipated. As they settled in, an intoxicating aroma wafted from the kitchen, teasing their senses.

"We can't judge a dish by its aroma alone," Mr. Jackson Crestwood, Julian's father and chairman of The Golden Crest, remarked with a chuckle.

Soon, the plates were presented. Tyla had arranged her creation with the exquisite, signature plating she alone mastered-elegant and evocative, a true work of art.

"Jace, you're about to witness what I'm truly capable of," Tyla thought with a sly inner chuckle.

Edna entered the kitchen, apron tied and a small bandage wrapped around her wrist.

"Hi, Tyla," she said, her greeting dripping with mockery.

"Edna, I hope you win that gold medal again," Tyla shot back sarcastically.

"Thank you, Tyla. One day, I'll repay you for all your 'good deeds,'" Edna replied with a saccharine smile-referring not to kindness, but to her evil intentions towards her.

Tyla curved her lips into a knowing smile. "No need to repay me, Edna. Consider today my gift to you." It was more like a threat but Edna wouldn't think Tyla would do anything to her.

Edna carried the dishes to the executives' table. The plating alone was breathtaking, enough to make mouths water. And the taste-divine. It transported them back in time, evoking the warmth of home and the innocence of childhood. The beef was succulent and moist, melting on the tongue with flavors that lingered like a cherished memory.

Edna watched with smug satisfaction, basking in what she believed was her triumph.

"This brings back the taste of home," Mr. Jackson Crestwood said, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "I can't remember the last time I savored something so comforting."

"This flavor... I've tasted it before, years ago," another executive murmured. "Where...?"

It hit him. "The Bon Appétit competition in France!"

"Ah, yes!" Mr. Crestwood exclaimed. "It was Tyla-the young chef who won that year. Her name escapes me now, but it is unforgettable. Did you create this?" He turned to Edna.

"Y-yes, sir," she stammered.

"Every chef leaves a signature in their cooking-that's what elevates them," Mr. Crestwood continued. "Tell us the name of this dish and share the recipe."

Edna froze. She hadn't anticipated questions. A true chef knows their creation inside out.

"Well... it's called..." she faltered.

Just then, Tyla emerged from the kitchen.

Jace tried to stop Tyla, but she slipped past him. With quiet determination, she walked to the table and faced the waiting executives.

"The name of the dish," she began, her voice steady, "is Souvenir d'Enfance-Childhood Memory. It's designed to soothe the mind, to strip away the weight of adult life and let us feel, even briefly, the joy and simplicity of childhood. My late father taught me this recipe before I left for the Bon Appétit competition in France. That dish won me the gold medal, and tonight I wanted to share it with all of you-so you could taste that same lightness, that same freedom from daily burdens."

A deep, resonant voice rose from the table. "Impressive."

Tyla's heart stuttered. She knew that voice instantly-Julian? He was here?

She looked up, searching the faces, but he turned his head away just as her gaze found him.

Mr. Jackson Crestwood leaned forward, studying her with sudden recognition. "Tyla Parker," he said warmly. "From the Bon Appétit competition in France. How could I forget? What happened? You haven't been cooking publicly for years."

"I have my reasons, sir," Tyla replied respectfully.

Mr. Crestwood's expression shifted as he turned to Jace. "Mr. Jace, we came here to finalize a contract. You told us Edna would be the face of the new restaurant-the head of the kitchen. So why was she trying to steal someone else's moment? The press is already circling for a story."

Jace opened his mouth, but no words came. Edna spoke first.

"She convinced me to stay out of the kitchen," Edna said smoothly, nodding toward Tyla.

A ripple of whispers spread through the room. All eyes turned to Tyla.

She hadn't expected this turn. Keeping her composure, she smiled faintly. "Edna fractured her wrist. I was asked to step in for her-as I've done before."

The whispers grew louder. Cameras flashed. So this isn't the first time?

Mr. Crestwood's brow furrowed. "You've been covering for her before?"

"Yes, sir," "This isn't the first time." Jace cuts in

He flashed a playful smile, as though lightening the mood. "Best friends shouldn't pick on each other like this-not when we have such an important deal on the table. Tyla isn't being fair here."

He turned to her, voice dripping with false disappointment. "You offered to help because you wanted to expose her? That's not right. You're my fiancée, Tyla. I have no reason to distrust you, but this behavior... If you're jealous that your friend is finally rising, you shouldn't handle it this way."

He paused, letting the words sink in. "You were so drunk last night that you pushed her down the stairs. That's how she broke her wrist. And now you volunteer to cook in her place-just to rob her of her own victory? Come on, Tyla. That's not nice."

Gasps and murmurs swept the hall. The narrative had flipped entirely; suddenly Tyla was the villain. Insults began to fly.

"She's heartless."

"Calls herself a friend and does this?"

"Trying to outshine her own best friend-pathetic."

Julian sat motionless, his face a mask of calm, but inside he was seething. He clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to intervene.

Edna allowed herself a small, wicked smirk. The plan had unraveled, but Jace had turned it perfectly to their advantage.

Mr. Crestwood looked at Tyla with open disgust. "Why would you do such a thing? If you want to build your own career, do it honestly-without dragging your friend down. I'm deeply disappointed."

Tyla stood frozen. This wasn't what she'd planned. Had Jace anticipated every move? Or had she simply been naive? Tears slipped down her cheeks unchecked.

One of the press photographers shoved a camera in her face, recording mercilessly. "You insolent bitch," he sneered. "Green-eyed monster. Attention-seeking little-"

A cold, commanding voice cut through the chaos. "Do you lack manners when speaking to a CEO?"

Every head swiveled. Julian rose from his seat and strode forward with lethal grace. The room fell silent under the weight of his presence.

He stopped in front of the photographer. "Your name?"

The man trembled. "M-Marcel."

"Marcel," Julian said, his tone icy, "you are forbidden from working anywhere in the United States from this moment forward. Your media page will be taken down-permanently."

Gasps echoed through the hall. They all knew who he was now: Julian, the industry devil.

Marcel dropped to the floor, begging, but Julian ignored him. He turned to face Jace with a disgust look on his face and then to Edna, if you fractured your wrist, while not sit back when someone else steps in for you? Rather you choose to come out with your friend's dish as though it was yours. He didn't say further in order not to raise suspicion. For a fleeting second, his eyes met Tyla's-intense, unreadable-before he turned and walked out of the restaurant without another word.

The room remained hushed, pity now directed at the ruined photographer.

Tyla stood tall amid the wreckage, a quiet pride warming her chest. He had protected her. That was what a man should do for his woman. Perhaps the rumors were true-he ruled through fear rather than love. Machiavelli would approve, she thought.

Her phone vibrated. A message appeared:

When you're coming home, let me know.

-Julian

A small smile touched her lips as she slipped the phone back into her pocket.

As she moved toward the exit, her gaze met Edna's and Jace's across the room. She held it steadily, her voice silent but clear in her own mind:

You think you've won today. But tomorrow is another story.