Cora stared at the phone. Then she snapped her head up to look at Callum.

"You're out of your mind," she said.

She threw the phone back onto the mattress and pulled his white shirt tighter around her thighs. "I am not marrying a stranger. We can issue a PR statement. We can say it was a misunderstanding."

Callum stood up slowly. He walked over to the minibar, turning his back to her. He poured a glass of ice water. "A statement doesn't fix a viral photo of you ripping my clothes off," he said, taking a sip. "My investors want a clean image. A secret, passionate romance is clean. A drunken hookup is a liability."

Before Cora could argue, the doorbell rang. It wasn't a polite chime. It was a frantic, aggressive pounding.

Callum sighed. He set the glass down and walked to the door, pulling it open.

A man burst into the room. He was sweating through a cheap, wrinkled grey suit. He pushed thick black glasses up his nose and waved a tablet in the air.

"The investors saw the photos, Cal!" the man yelled, his voice cracking with panic. "They just called me to invoke the morality clause! They are pulling the funding!"

This was Simon. He pointed a shaking finger at Cora on the bed. "Is this her? Is this the woman who just flushed our entire loan down the toilet?"

Cora flinched. The word 'loan' hit her like a physical blow. The guilt she had pushed down came rushing back, burning the back of her throat.

Callum ran a hand through his damp hair, looking stressed. "Back off, Simon. I'm handling it."

"Handling it?" Simon shouted, pacing the floor. "We borrowed money from dangerous people to fund this album! If the investors pull out because of this scandal, they will break our legs! The only way out is to tell the press you two have been secretly engaged."

"I am not participating in fraud," Cora interrupted, her voice shaking but firm.

Simon stopped pacing and glared at her. "Then I hope you have a spare hundred grand to pay off the loan sharks, lady."

Cora opened her mouth to reply, but her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

She reached for it. The caller ID read 'Brenda - Hodges Group'.

Cora hesitated, then swiped to answer. "Brenda?"

"Cora, thank God," Brenda whispered. Her voice was tight with anxiety. "Do not come to the office today. Bennett is on a warpath."

Cora's stomach dropped. "What happened?"

"He issued an internal directive this morning," Brenda said, her voice dropping lower. "He ordered that you are to accompany Caspian Thorne to the charity gala tonight. As his personal date."

The blood drained from Cora's face. Her fingers turned white as she gripped the phone. Caspian Thorne. The billionaire heir known in the New York social circles as a violent sadist. He had sent two of his previous dates to the emergency room.

"Bennett wouldn't do that," Cora whispered, though she knew it was a lie.

"Madam Justine signed off on it," Brenda added gently. "She told HR it was your duty as a ward of the Hodges estate to secure this networking opportunity."

Cora couldn't breathe. The walls of the penthouse felt like they were closing in. Bennett wasn't just rejecting her love. He was treating her like a piece of meat, trading her to a monster just to punish her for walking away last night.

"Okay. Thank you, Brenda," Cora said, her voice entirely devoid of emotion.

She hung up the phone. Her arms lost all their strength. The phone slipped from her fingers and bounced onto the carpet. She stared blankly at the wall.

Callum watched her. He walked over and dropped to one knee right in front of her. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

He didn't look like a panicked musician anymore. His eyes were steady, grounding. "What kind of trouble are you in, Cora?" he asked, his voice a low, hypnotic rumble.

Cora looked at him. He was a stranger. But he was a stranger offering a legally binding contract.

If she was a married woman, Bennett had zero legal or moral authority to force her into a matchmaking arrangement. Justine Hodges couldn't touch a married woman. It was the ultimate shield.

Cora dragged a breath of air into her lungs. Her eyes burned, but she refused to cry.

"How long?" Cora asked, her voice hard. "How long does this PR marriage need to last?"

Callum's pupils dilated slightly. He kept his face perfectly neutral. "One year."

Cora locked her jaw. She pressed her hands together, her knuckles white. She lowered her hands.

"Fine," Cora said.

Cora stepped out of the hotel lobby. She was wearing a cheap, fast-fashion floral dress Callum had ordered from a delivery service. The fabric scratched against her skin.

A massive, midnight-black Rolls Royce Cullinan glided to a stop right in front of her.

The tinted window rolled down. Callum was in the driver's seat, wearing a plain black t-shirt. He nodded toward the passenger side. "Get in."

Cora froze on the pavement. She stared at the chrome grille of the luxury SUV. "Are you kidding me?" she asked. "You're broke."

Callum let out a frustrated sigh and slapped the leather steering wheel. "It's a prop car. We rented it yesterday to shoot a music video. They charge by the hour, and I still have it until noon." He scowled at the dashboard. "The gas mileage on this tank is literally bankrupting me."

Cora hesitated, but the irritation in his voice sounded genuine. She opened the heavy door and climbed in. The smell of rich, untouched leather and expensive cologne filled her senses. She felt entirely out of place.

Callum shifted gears, and the massive car merged smoothly into the chaotic Manhattan traffic.

The cabin was dead silent. Cora turned her head, staring out the thick glass window. The city blurred as they drove. Her reflection in the glass looked pale and exhausted.

Her mind violently yanked her back to last night. The Hodges Group annual gala.

She remembered standing in the corner of the grand ballroom, wearing a rented dress she couldn't afford. She had watched Bennett standing by the champagne tower, surrounded by wealthy heirs and socialites.

She remembered Bennett's younger sister, Seraphina, laughing loudly. "Look at her standing there like a lost puppy," Seraphina had sneered to her friends. "She's just the dead butler's baggage. She actually thinks she belongs here."

Cora had held her breath, waiting for Bennett to defend her. He had been standing two feet away.

Instead, Bennett had taken a sip of his drink, his face completely bored. "Leave her alone, Sera. She knows her place."

Her place.

The words had sliced through Cora's chest like a rusty blade. Twelve years. Twelve years of organizing his life, anticipating his moods, loving him in pathetic, silent agony. And to him, she was just a piece of furniture that knew its place.

A sharp pain radiated from her palms. Cora looked down. She was gripping the seatbelt so hard her fingernails had broken the skin of her palms.

The car stopped at a red light. Callum didn't say a word. He reached out and turned the dial on the climate control, blasting warm air into the cabin.

He opened the center console, pulled out a bottle of Evian water, twisted the cap off, and handed it to her.

Cora took the bottle. Her cold fingers brushed against the warm, rough skin of his knuckles. The sudden heat jolted her out of her dark thoughts.

"Thank you," she whispered. She took a sip, forcing the lump in her throat down.

Callum kept his eyes on the road. "Whoever made you feel like you aren't worth anything," he said, his voice casual but laced with a hard edge, "is a complete and utter idiot."

The words hit Cora right in the center of her chest. Her throat tightened painfully. Tears flooded her eyes, hot and fast.

She didn't argue. She just turned her head back to the window. A single tear escaped, sliding down her cheek and dropping onto her hand. It felt like a physical release of twelve years of poison.

The Rolls Royce turned a corner. The grand, classical columns of the New York City Hall came into view.

Callum pulled the SUV into a temporary parking spot and killed the engine. He turned to her. "Ready?"

Cora took a deep breath. She reached into her cheap purse, pulled out a compact mirror, and quickly applied a layer of red lipstick. It was war paint.

She snapped the mirror shut. Her eyes were hard. "I have never been more awake in my entire life."

They pushed the doors open and stepped out onto the sidewalk. They walked side-by-side toward the massive stone steps.

Cora's phone vibrated violently in her purse. She pulled it out.

The screen flashed with the name: Bennett Hodges.

Yesterday, seeing that name would have made her heart race with hope. Today, it just made her stomach churn with nausea.

Cora didn't break her stride. Right in front of Callum, she pressed the red button, rejecting the call. Then she held the power button down and watched the screen go completely black.

She shoved the dead phone back into her purse and walked up the steps.

Cora pushed through the heavy glass doors of the City Clerk's office. The massive room was packed with people. The air was loud with chatter, crying babies, and the hum of fluorescent lights.

Callum walked beside her, his tall frame easily parting the crowd. They pulled a paper ticket from the dispenser and sat down on a hard wooden bench in the corner.

A minute later, the glass doors banged open. Simon ran in, panting heavily. He was clutching a cheap, flimsy cardboard folder with a faded logo on it.

Simon collapsed onto the bench next to Callum. "The parking meters around here are a literal robbery," he gasped, wiping sweat from his forehead.

He opened the folder and pulled out a stapled stack of papers. He shoved them into Cora's hands. "Standard procedure," Simon said, his voice grating. "I had my lawyer draft this up overnight. Prenup."

Cora looked down at the document. She flipped to the second page. The legal jargon was dense, but the core message was clear: complete separation of assets. In the event of a divorce, the wife had zero claim to Callum's future music royalties, copyrights, or any property acquired during the marriage.

Instead of feeling insulted, Cora felt a massive wave of relief wash over her. The tight knot in her stomach finally loosened. This proved Callum wasn't a con artist trying to steal her meager savings. It was exactly what he said it was-a business transaction.

She didn't even bother reading the rest. She pulled a cheap ballpoint pen from her purse and signed her name on the last page.

Callum watched her. His jaw tightened. He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he stared at her signature. He looked genuinely annoyed by how easily she trusted a legal document.

Simon snatched the papers back, checked the signature, and let out a massive sigh of relief, hugging the folder to his chest like it held a million dollars.

"Number 142," a robotic voice echoed from the overhead speakers.

Callum stood up. "That's us."

They walked up to a plexiglass window. A middle-aged clerk with a deeply bored expression held out her hand. "IDs."

Cora handed over her New York driver's license. Callum slid a slightly battered passport under the glass.

The clerk typed aggressively on her keyboard. She didn't look up. "Marriage license fee is thirty-five dollars. Cash or card."

Callum reached into his back pocket. His fingers slid inside, grasping a worn, battered leather wallet he had meticulously prepared for this exact charade. He pulled it out, opening it with a perfectly calculated look of embarrassment to reveal a pathetic lack of funds. The frayed edges of the leather seemed to scream poverty.

Behind them, Simon let out a nervous, jagged cough. His face turned paper-white. He stared at Callum with wide, panicked eyes, terrified that the clerk would somehow see through the elaborate facade they were building. He chewed on his lower lip, a bead of sweat tracing down his temple.

Callum sighed, leaning into his role with absolute precision. He let a flicker of genuine chagrin cross his handsome face. He patted his front jeans pockets, digging around awkwardly. He pulled out a crumpled ten-dollar bill and a few singles. It wasn't even twenty bucks.

The clerk tapped her long acrylic nails against the desk. The couple in line behind them groaned impatiently.

Callum turned to Cora. He offered a sheepish, incredibly charming smile. "I left my other wallet in my other jeans," he said softly.

Cora looked at the crumpled bills in his hand. Any lingering doubt she had vanished completely. No mastermind scammer would be this pathetically broke.

She unzipped her purse, pulled out her debit card, and slid it under the glass. "I've got it."

The clerk swiped the card, printed a receipt, and shoved a thin piece of paper toward them. "Congratulations. Next."

Cora picked up the marriage license. It felt weightless, yet it was the heaviest thing she had ever held.

Callum looked down at her. "When my first royalty check clears, I promise I'll pay you back the thirty-five dollars."

Cora let out a sudden, genuine laugh. It was the first time she had smiled in 48 hours.

Simon stood a few feet away, hiding his face behind the cardboard folder, looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

The clerk pointed a pen toward a hallway. "Ceremony room is down the hall to the left."

Callum reached out and took Cora's hand. His palm was hot, his fingers wrapping firmly around hers. The physical contact sent a jolt of electricity up her arm.

Cora's shoulders stiffened, but she didn't pull away. She let him lead her down the hallway.