The Wall Street Tyrant's Fake Wife

The heavy silence in the study was deafening. The only sound was the ragged, uneven breathing coming from the leather chair.

Silas's hands shook violently as he reached across the desk. His fingers brushed against the copy of the marriage certificate. He picked it up. His eyes filled with tears, the moisture spilling over his wrinkled cheeks and dripping onto his collar.

He looked up at Jalynn. His chest heaved. "Why?" he choked out. "Why would you sacrifice your entire life for this company?"

Jalynn looked at her father's broken posture. A sharp, physical pain twisted in her chest. Her ribs felt tight. She knew she could never tell him the truth about the contract. The guilt would kill him faster than his heart condition.

She walked quickly around the desk and dropped to her knees beside his chair. She reached out and grabbed his cold, trembling hands. She squeezed them, trying to force her own body heat into his skin.

Jalynn took a deep breath. She forced the muscles in her face to soften. She pulled up a bright, sickeningly sweet smile. She even managed to push a faint blush into her cheeks.

"Dad, look at me," Jalynn said softly. "It's not a sacrifice. Deryl and I... we're in love."

Silas stared at her. His brow furrowed in deep confusion. He knew the reputation of the Wall Street tyrant. Deryl Atkins didn't love anyone.

Jalynn swallowed the bile rising in her throat. She started spinning the lie. "We met at the charity gala three months ago. The one you couldn't attend."

She kept her voice light and breathless. "He was so different from what the papers say. We talked for hours. He started sending flowers to my apartment. He was relentless, Dad."

She squeezed his hands tighter. "When he found out about the company's trouble, he was furious that I didn't tell him. He insisted on injecting the capital. He said he couldn't stand to see me stressed."

Silas searched her eyes. He was looking for a crack in the story. Jalynn kept her gaze steady, pouring every ounce of fake adoration she could muster into her expression.

Slowly, the tension in Silas's shoulders began to release. He let out a long, heavy sigh. He turned his hand over and patted the back of her knuckles.

"The families in that circle are ruthless, Jalynn," Silas whispered. "You have to protect yourself."

Jalynn nodded quickly. "I will. He treats me like a queen, Dad. You don't need to worry about me."

She needed to change the subject before he asked for more details. "How bad is the actual cash gap right now?"

Silas rubbed his eyes. "Gideon's threat is gone, but the real problem is the supply chain. Crowe Holdings is our core supplier. Walter Crowe called this morning. He's preparing to cut off all raw materials by tomorrow."

Jalynn's stomach tightened. Deryl's initial wire transfer was massive, but it was only meant to cover the bank loans. It wouldn't be enough to buy out a new supplier on short notice. She had to handle Walter Crowe herself.

"Don't worry about Walter," Jalynn said, her voice firm. "I'll use the Atkins connections to set up a meeting with him. I'll fix it."

She helped her father stand up. His weight leaned heavily against her shoulder. She walked him slowly up the stairs to the master bedroom on the second floor.

She waited until he swallowed his heart medication and fell into a deep sleep. Then, she backed out of the room and quietly pulled the door shut.

Jalynn walked down the hall to her own bedroom. She pushed the door open and collapsed onto the massive bed. She stared blankly at the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

She lifted her left hand. The moonlight coming through the window hit the diamond ring. The stone looked like a chunk of ice. The metal band felt incredibly heavy, dragging her hand down into the mattress.

The more lies she told, the more her skin crawled. The physical need to break out of this suffocating persona was making her chest ache.

She sat up abruptly. If she spent one more minute playing the gentle, obedient virgin, her brain was going to snap.

Jalynn walked into her walk-in closet. She shoved the racks of pastel dresses and modest skirts out of the way. The hangers clattered loudly against the metal rod.

She reached into the very back corner, behind a row of old yearbooks, and pulled out her emergency escape kit from her college days-a tiny, black slip dress and a high-quality, ash-blonde wig. The fabric of the dress was thin and clung to every curve. She grabbed a pair of sky-high stilettos covered in rhinestones.

She stripped off the tweed suit and threw it on the floor. She pulled the black dress over her head. She sat at her vanity and aggressively applied thick, dark eyeliner, smoking it out until her eyes looked dangerous. She painted her lips blood red.

She picked up the ash-blonde wig with its loose, messy waves. She pulled it over her dark hair, adjusting the lace front until it looked seamless.

She looked in the mirror. The woman staring back was wild, reckless, and completely unrecognizable. Jalynn smiled. The tightness in her chest finally loosened.

She grabbed her keys, snuck down the back stairs, and slipped out the side door into the night. She needed the loud, chaotic energy of the underground to burn off the suffocating pressure of her new life.