My Fake Husband Is A Secret Billionaire

Caspian Sterling lowered his phone slowly. His sharp, predatory gaze swept over Clara. He took in her soaked denim jacket, her ruined makeup, and the slight shiver wrecking her small frame. His eyes were calculating, devoid of any warmth. He didn't ask for her name. He didn't introduce himself. "Give me your exact date, time, and location of birth," Caspian demanded. His voice was smooth but carried an undeniable weight of authority. Clara blinked, taken aback by the bizarre question. She had just proposed to a stranger on the steps of City Hall, and he wanted her birth time. "October twelfth. Eleven forty-two PM. Los Angeles, California." Caspian pulled up an app on his phone. His long fingers moved quickly across the screen, inputting her data. He stared at the results. The screen displayed a perfect match. The specific, highly unusual astrological criteria demanded by his eccentric grandmother's trust conditions were met flawlessly. Caspian locked his phone and slipped it into his suit pocket. He looked Clara dead in the eye. "I accept your proposal." Clara's breath hitched. Her reckless courage faltered for a fraction of a second. The reality of what she had just done crashed into her. She was actually doing this. Caspian didn't wait for her to process it. He motioned for her to follow him with a sharp jerk of his chin and began walking briskly toward the grand double doors of City Hall. Clara hesitated. Her wet sneakers felt glued to the concrete. Then, she bit the inside of her lower lip, forced her legs to move, and jogged slightly to keep up with his long, purposeful strides. They entered the brightly lit, bustling lobby of the government building. The air smelled of wet wool, floor wax, and the expensive, sharp cologne radiating from the man walking beside her. Caspian led her away from the crowds to a quiet corner near a row of vending machines. He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a neatly folded, pre-drafted legal document. He handed it to her. "This is a standard prenuptial and non-disclosure agreement. Read it." Clara took the thick paper. Her eyes scanned the dense legal jargon. The clauses were strict and unforgiving. Absolute privacy required. No financial claims on his assets during or after the marriage. A fixed two-year duration. She flipped to the last page. At the bottom, printed in bold, was the name: Caspian Sterling. She registered his name for the first time. It sounded wealthy, but the document vaguely listed his profession as an "executive." Caspian pulled a heavy, custom Montblanc fountain pen from his pocket and handed it to her. He watched her face closely, his eyes narrowing slightly, searching for any signs of greed or hesitation. Clara didn't ask for money. She didn't negotiate. She pressed the pen to the paper and signed her name quickly and decisively on the dotted line. She handed the pen and the document back to him. Caspian took the pen. A flicker of genuine surprise crossed his dark eyes, quickly masked by his usual clinical detachment. "Let's go," he said. They walked together to the clerk's counter and pulled a numbered ticket from the red dispenser. They moved to the waiting area and sat next to each other on a hard, uncomfortable wooden bench. An awkward, heavy silence stretched between them. Clara stared at the scuff marks on her wet shoes. Caspian stared straight ahead, his posture rigid. Suddenly, a loud, undeniable rumble echoed from Clara's stomach. She had skipped breakfast to pick up Leo's cake, and the adrenaline crash was making her physically hollow. Clara's face burned. A deep, humiliating blush crept up her neck. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing the floor would open and swallow her. Caspian slowly turned his head to look at her. His expression remained entirely unreadable. He didn't smile. He didn't mock her. He simply turned his gaze back to the digital number board. "Number eighty-four," a voice called out over the intercom. They stood up and approached the counter. Caspian handed over their IDs and the signed paperwork to a tired-looking clerk. The clerk adjusted her glasses, her eyes flickering from Caspian's immaculate suit to Clara's damp jacket and slightly smudged makeup, a clear sign she'd been caught in the earlier rain. She raised an eyebrow at their complete lack of romantic interaction. "Are you two doing a ceremony today, or just the paperwork?" the clerk asked, her tone laced with suspicion. Caspian didn't miss a beat. He smoothly leaned forward, his voice dropping to a convincing, intimate register. "Just the paperwork. We are having a small, private ceremony with family later this evening. We wanted to avoid the crowds." The lie was delivered flawlessly. The clerk nodded, satisfied, and directed them to a small side room to sign the official marriage registry book. Clara held the pen again. Her hand shook slightly as she signed her name next to Caspian's. The official stamped their documents with a loud thud, handing Caspian the finalized marriage certificate. They walked back out through the lobby and pushed through the double doors. They stood on the front steps of City Hall. The rain had finally stopped, leaving the Los Angeles air smelling like wet asphalt. Caspian reached into his pocket and handed Clara a sleek, matte black business card. It had no company logo, just a phone number printed in silver ink. "Text me your bank routing details for your monthly compensation," Caspian said. His tone was entirely businesslike. He didn't wait for her to say goodbye. He turned and walked down the steps, heading toward a sleek black sedan parked illegally at the curb. Clara stood alone on the wet stone steps, clutching the edge of her damp jacket. She watched the taillights of his car disappear into the traffic. She looked down at her left hand. She was now a married woman.