The taxi idled at the wrought-iron gates of the Bartlett estate.

The guard peered into the back seat. His lip curled when he saw the cab.

"Ms. Bartlett," he said into the intercom. "And... a guest."

"Husband," Aisha corrected loudly. "Open the gate, Jerry."

The gate creaked open.

They drove up the winding driveway. The mansion loomed ahead, a monstrosity of stone and ego.

"Remember," Aisha whispered, gripping Dominic's hand. "You're an entrepreneur. You're struggling, but you have 'potential'. Don't let them intimidate you."

Dominic looked at the house. He estimated its value at maybe twelve million. He had bought a penthouse in Tokyo last week for twenty.

"I'll be brave," he said deadpan.

They walked into the foyer. Laughter drifted from the drawing room.

They entered. Gretta was holding court, surrounded by a few socialites. Cathie was standing by an easel, displaying a painting.

"And this," Cathie was saying, "is my latest piece. I call it 'Storm'."

Aisha gasped. "That's mine."

The room went silent.

Aisha marched forward. "I painted that three years ago. The signature is under the frame tape."

Cathie's eyes widened, then filled with instant, practiced tears. "Aisha? You're... you're hallucinating again. Mom, she's having an episode."

Gretta rushed forward, her face a mask of concern. "Oh, honey. Did you take your meds? Look at your pupils."

She reached out to grab Aisha's arm.

Aisha slapped her hand away. "Don't touch me."

"Enough!"

Barry Bartlett stood in the doorway of his study. His face was purple with rage.

"You show up here, looking like a streetwalker, smelling like..." He sniffed. "Hot dogs? And you accuse your sister?"

"She's not my sister," Aisha spat. "And I'm here to tell you that the trust is mine. Paragraph 14 is satisfied."

She grabbed Dominic's hand and pulled him forward.

"Meet my husband."

Barry stared. He looked Dominic up and down-the leather jacket, the messy hair, the worn boots.

"This?" Barry laughed. It was a cruel, barking sound. "You married a hobo?"

Dominic stepped forward. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't look angry. He just looked... bored.

"Mr. Bartlett," Dominic said. "I'd appreciate it if you spoke to my wife with respect."

Barry stopped laughing. There was something in Dominic's tone-a steel core wrapped in velvet-that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

"Get out," Barry whispered. "Security!"

"We're leaving," Aisha said. She held up her phone. "But I've already emailed the marriage certificate to the trustees. If you try to stop the payments, I'll sue you for breach of fiduciary duty. And I'll do it loudly."

She turned on her heel. "Come on, Dominic."

They walked out.

Dominic glanced back at Barry. He offered a small, polite nod.

It was the nod of a predator acknowledging prey.

"That went well," Dominic said as they sat in the back of another taxi.

Aisha was shaking. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving her cold.

"He's going to come after us," she said. "He'll try to prove the marriage is a sham. He'll investigate you."

"Let him," Dominic said. "He won't find anything." Because I have a team of cyber-security experts erasing my digital footprint as we speak.

"We have to be careful," she said. "We have to live together. Really live together. If he sends a PI..."

"I'm looking forward to it," Dominic said.

Aisha looked at him. "Why are you so calm? My father destroys people for sport."

"Maybe I like sport," he said.

Aisha's phone rang. It was Barry.

She put it on speaker.

"Aisha," Barry's voice was dangerously calm. "I've spoken to the lawyers. The marriage stands. For now."

Aisha let out a breath.

"But," Barry continued. "I need to know who this man is. If he's going to be part of this family, he needs to be vetted. Bring him to the Founder's Dinner next Friday."

Aisha froze. The Founder's Dinner was the most exclusive event of the year. The sharks of Wall Street, the old money families, the press.

"If he embarrasses us," Barry said, "if he holds a fork wrong, if he opens his mouth and sounds like the gutter trash he is... you will annul this marriage. Or I will bury you in litigation until you're eighty."

Click.

Aisha dropped the phone. She buried her face in her hands.

"We're dead," she moaned. "It's a black-tie gala. You... look at you."

She gestured to his leather jacket.

Dominic looked down at himself. "What's wrong with me?"

"You need to know which fork is for salad and which is for fish. You need to know how to discuss emerging markets. You need to know how to tie a bowtie."

Dominic smiled. "I'm a quick learner."

"We have one week," she said, her eyes frantic. "One week to turn you into a gentleman."

" My Fair Lady," Dominic mused. "I always liked that movie."

"This isn't a movie, Dominic! This is my life!"

He reached over and took her hand. His thumb traced the back of her knuckles. The touch sent a jolt of electricity up her arm.

"Aisha," he said softly. "Trust me. I won't let you down."

For the first time in two days, looking into his storm-gray eyes, she believed him.

The next morning, Aisha was still asleep in the small bedroom of her rented apartment.

Dominic slid out of the sofa bed in the living room. He dressed quickly, not in the clothes Aisha had bought him, but in a bespoke Italian suit he had stashed in a gym bag.

He slipped out the door.

A black Maybach was waiting around the corner.

Chester opened the door. "Good morning, sir. You look... rested."

"I slept on a mattress with a spring poking into my kidney," Dominic said, sliding into the leather seat. "It was fantastic."

Chester handed him a tablet. "The Bartlett file."

Dominic scanned it as the car purred toward the Financial District.

"Barry Bartlett is leveraging the company to Silas Thorne," Dominic noted. "Thorne is a vulture. He'll strip the assets and fire the employees."

"Yes, sir. And Thorne is demanding Aisha as part of the deal. He wants the family name to legitimize his takeover."

Dominic's eyes went cold. The temperature in the car seemed to drop ten degrees.

"Kill the deal," Dominic said.

Chester blinked. "Sir?"

"Fields Global will acquire Bartlett Enterprises. Hostile takeover. Use the shell companies so they don't trace it back to me."

"But sir, Bartlett Enterprises is a sinking ship. It's a bad investment."

"I don't care about the profit," Dominic said, looking out the window at the passing skyline. "I care about the captain."

He arrived at Fields Tower. He walked through the lobby, and the air changed. Employees straightened their ties. Conversations stopped.

He took the private elevator to the 50th floor.

The boardroom was full. Men in five-thousand-dollar suits sat waiting.

Dominic walked in. He didn't apologize for being late. He sat at the head of the table.

"The Thorne merger is dead," he announced. "We're buying Bartlett."

A murmur of protest.

"Dominic," one of the older board members said. "This is personal. We know about the girl."

Dominic turned his gaze on the man. "If you know about the girl, then you know I don't lose. Do it."

His phone buzzed. A text from Aisha.

Where are you? We need to start lessons. I bought flashcards.

Dominic smiled. A genuine, soft smile that terrified the board members more than his anger.

On my way, he typed. Just running an errand.

He stood up. "Meeting adjourned. I have to go learn how to use a salad fork."

He left the room, leaving twelve of the most powerful men in New York completely bewildered.