Fake Marriage Ruined, She Married The Tycoon

Christi pushed open the frosted glass door of the VIP waiting room at the Manhattan West Private Clinic. She wore an old, seemingly cheap but well-tailored trench coat, deliberately looking small and out of place in the luxurious room.

Jensen was sitting on the plush velvet sofa, typing rapidly on his phone. When he heard the door, he immediately dropped the phone and manufactured a look of deep, exhausted affection.

He stood up and reached out to hug her. "Where were you last night? You didn't come back to the estate. You know how worried my mother gets." His tone carried that familiar, subtle layer of guilt-tripping.

Christi expertly twisted her shoulder, dodging his embrace. She made her eyes wide, forcing her breathing to become shallow and erratic. She let her body tremble visibly.

She reached into her cheap handbag, pulled out her phone, and slammed it onto the glass coffee table. The screen displayed the high-definition photo of him kissing Fallon.

Jensen's pupils contracted to pinpricks. The color drained from his face for a fraction of a second, but his narcissistic brain instantly kicked into survival mode.

He stepped closer, grabbing Christi's shoulders tightly. "Christi, look at me. This is a misunderstanding. Fallon was drunk from the gala. She tripped, and I caught her. It's just business etiquette."

Christi laughed internally, but outwardly, she let two perfectly timed tears roll down her cheeks. "Do you think I'm stupid, Jensen?"

Jensen's grip tightened, his fingers digging painfully into her collarbone. He adjusted his silk tie with his free hand. "You're stressed. You've been acting paranoid lately. Are you sure you're taking your anxiety meds? If this gets out, it ruins the family stock. It ruins the life I provide for you."

Christi forced her shoulders to shake harder. She grabbed the hem of her coat, twisting the fabric in her fists, playing the role of the terrified, dependent woman perfectly.

Seeing her physical submission, a flash of arrogant triumph crossed Jensen's eyes. His voice softened into a sickeningly sweet purr. "I'll make it up to you, baby. What do you need?"

Christi looked up, her eyes red. She kept her voice meek, trembling. "I need security. I want an independent trust account in my name."

Jensen frowned instantly. His hand dropped from her shoulder. He never allowed her to have financial independence. That was how he controlled her. "We share everything, Christi. You don't need-"

Christi immediately reached for the phone on the table. "Maybe I should ask Gilda about this 'business etiquette'. Or the New York Times."

Jensen's jaw clenched. He was in the middle of a massive C-round merger. A scandal right now would cost him billions.

"How much?" he hissed through his teeth.

Christi looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. She held up her fingers. "Six million."

Jensen almost choked. Six million was exactly the budget he had set aside to buy Fallon a high-end piece of jewelry at tonight's auction.

"That's just a fraction of your bonus from last year," Christi whispered, her voice cracking. "Is my peace of mind not worth that much?"

Jensen stared at her. He calculated the risk. He firmly believed Christi was too stupid and too cowardly to actually leave him. Giving her the money would shut her up until the merger was done.

He pulled out his checkbook, his fingers stabbing aggressively at the paper. He wrote out a six-million-dollar cashier's check and tore it out. "Keep your mouth shut."

Christi took the check. She inspected the signature and amount carefully. Then, right in front of him, she tapped the screen of her phone and hit 'Delete' on the photo.

Jensen let out a heavy breath, adjusting his cuffs. "I have a board meeting. Do your checkup." He turned and practically ran out of the room.

The second the door clicked shut, the pathetic, trembling look vanished from Christi's face. Her features turned to ice.

She reached into her bra and pulled out the physical SD card. She had only deleted the cloud copy.

She took a photo of the check and dialed her private assistant, Mia Stone. "Mia. Route this into an offshore account and wash it into my personal ledger. Keep it off the Rivera radar."

In the upper corner of the room, the security camera silently rotated, zooming in on her face.

Miles away, in the Apex building security room, Cornelius watched the monitors. A low, dark chuckle vibrated in his chest as he watched his 'poor, helpless' fiancé extort six million dollars in under five minutes.

He pressed the intercom button. "Leo. Call the Bvlgari flagship on Fifth Avenue. Tell them a very important guest is about to arrive. Give her whatever she wants."