They sat back down. The adrenaline was slowly leaving Imogen's system, leaving her shaky and cold.

"Thank you," she whispered. She stared at his hands. They were elegant, long-fingered. No dentist had hands like that. "You saved me."

"He seems like a charming individual," Gael said, signaling a waitress to bring a glass of water.

"He's my ex. My parents... they like him because he has money. Or they think he does." Imogen took the water with trembling hands. "I can't believe you did that. You could have been hurt."

"I work out," Gael lied effortlessly.

"For a dentist, you're very... intense."

Gael leaned forward. "Imogen. I have a confession."

Her heart sank. Here it comes. He's a serial killer. Or he's married.

"I'm not a dentist," he said.

Imogen stared. "What?"

"Dr. Aris is a colleague. He was called into an emergency surgery and asked if I could meet you so you wouldn't be stood up. I shouldn't have let it go on this long." He paused. "I work in IT. Backend developer."

Imogen let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. The story was plausible, a neat explanation for the mix-up. And yet, the faint memory of that silent, expensive car still lingered. An IT guy? She looked at his calm demeanor, the way he handled Chad with brutal efficiency. It didn't quite add up. But what other choice did she have? Believe the lie and get out, or question it and go back to Rick and Linda? Desperation made the choice for her. "Oh. Oh, thank god."

Gael frowned. "Thank god?"

"I hate dentists," she admitted. "The sound of the drill... it freaks me out." She smiled, a genuine, small smile that transformed her face. "IT is good. IT is safe. You just... type code, right?"

"Right," Gael said. "Lots of typing. Very boring."

"Boring is good," Imogen said fiercely. "I want boring. I want a life where nobody throws bottles and nobody screams."

She looked down at her hands. "Does this mean... you're still interested? Even after seeing the baggage I come with? Even though this was a mix-up?"

Gael looked at the bruise on her cheek. He thought about the sketchbook in his apartment. He thought about the board meeting he was missing right now, and how much he hated the sharks in suits who wanted to marry him off to some senator's daughter to merge assets.

He needed a shield. She needed a sword.

"I'm interested," Gael said.

"Really?"

"But I have conditions."

"Name them."

"We get married. Legally. As soon as possible. My... family... is pressuring me to settle down. If I show up with a wife, they back off."

"Done," Imogen said immediately. "I need the marriage certificate to get a new passport without my parents' signature. They're holding my documents hostage."

Gael's jaw tightened. "They're holding your documents?"

"Yes. It's complicated."

"We'll get them back," Gael said, a dark promise in his tone that Imogen missed. "Condition two: We live together. It has to look real."

Imogen hesitated. "Live together? In your... apartment?"

"It's a two-bedroom," Gael lied. He had ten bedrooms. "You'll have your own space. I work long hours. You'll barely see me."

"Okay," Imogen nodded. "Okay. I can do that."

"Condition three," Gael said, his voice dropping lower. "This is a contract. A partnership. No emotional entanglements. No... expectations."

Imogen looked at him. He was handsome, strong, and apparently kind. It would be hard not to have expectations. But she was broken, and she had nothing to offer a man like him but debt and drama.

"Agreed," she said. "Strictly business."

"Wait," Imogen said, panic rising again. "Money. I... I can't pay you much. I have about forty dollars to my name right now. But once I get a job at a firm, I can pay you a monthly stipend. For... rent and services."

Gael stared at her. She was offering to pay him.

"How much?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"I can promise... ten thousand dollars? Over two years?" She looked terrified that he would laugh.

"Ten thousand," Gael repeated. That was roughly what he spent on wine in a month.

"I know it's not a lot," she rushed to explain. "But I'm a good architect. I mean, I will be. I just need a chance."

"I don't want your money, Imogen," Gael said.

"No! I have to pay. I pay for everything. I don't take charity." Her chin went up. The pride was palpable.

Gael realized this was non-negotiable for her. She needed to feel like she wasn't being rescued. She needed to feel like she was buying a service.

"Fine," he said. "Ten thousand. Payable when you land your first big job."

"Deal." She stuck out her hand.

He took it. Her skin was rough from cleaning chemicals, her grip firm. As their hands touched, a waitress arrived with two coffees he hadn't ordered.

"Here you are," the waitress said, placing them on the table. "Compliments of the house. For... the entertainment." She gave Gael a nervous, admiring glance before scurrying away.

Imogen pulled her hand back, a flush creeping up her neck. The entire cafe had watched their drama unfold. She took a sip of the hot coffee, letting the warmth steady her nerves. "So," she began, trying to reclaim some sense of normalcy. "Your family. The ones who are pressuring you. Are they… a lot?"

"You have no idea," Gael said, a hint of genuine exhaustion in his voice. "They're well-meaning but suffocating. They think a man isn't complete without a wife and 2.5 kids. They keep trying to set me up with their friends' daughters."

"I know the feeling," Imogen muttered, thinking of Linda and Dr. Aris. "Except in my case, it's less about my happiness and more about my market value."

The bitterness in her voice was sharp. Gael looked at her, his expression unreadable. He saw the intelligence warring with the exhaustion in her eyes, the resilience holding the broken pieces of her together. This was more than a shield. This was a woman who knew how to survive a war.

"They won't be a problem for you," Gael said, his tone firm. "I'll handle my family. You just have to handle… being seen with me occasionally."

"I think I can manage that," she said, a ghost of a smile on her lips. For the first time, the arrangement felt less like a desperate bargain and more like a strategic alliance.

They walked out into the cool air. The rain had stopped, leaving the pavement slick and black.

Gael gestured toward the street. "I'll get you a cab."

"You're not… driving?" Imogen asked, a flicker of that earlier suspicion returning.

"Car's in the shop," he lied smoothly. "It's an old Honda. More trouble than it's worth." He hailed a yellow taxi with an ease that felt practiced.

"Where are you staying?" he asked as the cab pulled up.

"I... I'm between places," Imogen evaded. "I have a shift at the hospital tonight. Private caretaking. I sleep there sometimes."

Gael frowned. "You're homeless."

"I'm resourceful."

"You're staying with me tonight," he said.

"We're not married yet."

"Imogen, look at you." He gestured to her shivering form. "You have no luggage. You have no coat. You're coming with me."

"I can't," she said. "I really do have a shift. It's a VIP patient at Lenox Hill. The pay is double because she's apparently a nightmare."

Gael stiffened. "Lenox Hill? Who's the patient?"

"Some rich old lady. Beatrice... something. Fuller, I think?"

Gael felt the blood drain from his face. Beatrice Fuller. His grandmother.

Of course. His grandmother went through nurses like Kleenex. She was currently recovering from eye surgery and was terrorizing the staff.

"You're taking care of Beatrice Fuller?"

"Yeah. Do you know her?"

"The name sounds familiar," Gael said, his voice tight. "Rich family. Big in... construction or something."

"Great," Imogen rolled her eyes. "Another entitled snob. Just what I need."

Gael suppressed a smile. "She's not that bad. Once you get past the yelling."

"How would you know?"

"I... read about her. In the paper."

"Well, I have to go. I can't be late." She turned to leave.

"Imogen," Gael called out.

She turned back.

"Tomorrow morning. 8 AM. City Hall. Bring whatever ID you have."

"I'll be there," she said. "And Gael?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For the job. For the arm-breaking."

"Don't mention it."