Wrong contract marriage, right husband

The next morning, I walked into Thorne Tech for the last time.

I went straight to HR, signed my NDA, completed the offboarding paperwork, and handed over my badge.

Mandy hugged me in the lobby. "You walking out like that last night was legendary."

"Clara!" Liam's voice rang out from the end of the hall.

I sighed. I knew this was coming sooner or later.

I walked into his glass-walled office. We needed closure.

Liam looked disheveled. His tie was loose, and his eyes were bloodshot. He clearly hadn't slept well.

"Where are you staying?" he asked.

"That's none of your business," I said.

"You moved out. Cute little tantrum," he sneered, leaning against his desk. "When are you coming back? I have a trip to London next week. I need you to book the flights."

He genuinely believed this was just a tactic. He couldn't fathom that I would actually leave him.

"I'm not coming back, Liam. I submitted my resignation this morning. And I am married." I stated it simply.

Liam stared at me for a moment, blinked, and then burst out laughing.

"Married? This is your new strategy? You paid an actor to play along with you? Pathetic."

"Yes, it is."

He laughed harder, shaking his head. "To whom? Some homeless guy? A waiter you picked up at the dinner?"

"To someone who respects me."

Liam stood up and paced around the desk. "Stop lying, Clara. It's pathetic. You want to make me jealous. It won't work. I'm with Chloe."

"I don't care enough about you to make you jealous," I said.

His smile froze. He stared into my eyes and saw nothing. No love, no hate, just indifference.

"I have blocked you," I said. "Don't try to contact me again."

"You'll be back," he sneered, though his tone had noticeably lost its confidence. "You have no money. You can't survive in this city without me."

"My trust fund has been unlocked," I said deadpan.

Liam froze. He hadn't forgotten about that clause; he just always assumed I'd never have the guts to actually use it. He thought he was my only option.

"So you really did get married," he murmured.

"Who is he?" Liam snapped, jealousy instantly flaring. "Who is he?"

"Someone you can't touch." I was unwilling to give him Hayes' name, given how terrible his reputation was in New York high society.

Liam grabbed my arm. "Tell me his name."

The door burst open.

"Liam! We need to pick out floral arrangements!" Chloe rushed in, waving a magazine.

She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw us.

Chloe’s eyes narrowed as she saw Liam gripping my arm.

"What exactly is going on here?" she demanded shrilly.

I yanked my arm free and smoothed down my blazer.

"Ask your fiancé," I said. "Goodbye, Chloe."

I walked out without looking back.

Liam slumped into his chair, distracted.

Chloe hated being ignored more than anything. She slammed the magazine onto the desk. "What was she doing here?"

"She says she's married," Liam muttered, rubbing his temples. "Honey, she's trying to trick me. There's no way she got married."

Chloe gasped. She knew perfectly well that if I was married, the Vance family estate would pass to me.

She would be out on the street.

The next morning.

Gripping the steering wheel of my rental sedan, I drove into the Vance estate.

I parked by the fountain and walked up the steps. The housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, opened the door, her face pale.

"Miss Clara!" Mrs. Gable whispered anxiously. "You shouldn't be here. Your mother is resting. Miss Chloe... she's occupied."

"I'm not here for them," I said, brushing past her into the grand foyer. "I'm here for my father's first-edition architecture books."

"But Miss Chloe is in the East Wing," Mrs. Gable stammered. "In your old room."

I stopped on the first step of the grand staircase. "In my room?"

I walked up the stairs, my heels clicking rhythmically on the marble. I reached the second-floor landing and headed toward my childhood bedroom. The door was slightly ajar.

I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I heard it.

A sharp, exaggerated moan. Chloe.

Followed by a low, husky laugh. Liam.

My stomach churned. An intense wave of nausea hit me, and I had to grip the doorframe to steady myself.

They were in my room. In my bed.

I pushed the door. It swung open, hitting the wall with a loud bang.

The room was exactly as I had left it. But on the bed were two tangled bodies. Liam was on top, Chloe underneath him.

Chloe saw me first. She shrieked, scrambling backward and pulling up the duvet. But her eyes gleamed with a sick, twisted triumph.

Liam froze. He scrambled off the bed, stumbling as he pulled his pants up. A flash of embarrassment crossed his face before his trademark arrogance quickly returned. "Do you know how to knock? Jesus, Clara, you're psychotic."

I stood in the doorway, feeling absolutely nothing. No heartbreak, just a profound, suffocating sense of filth. "This is my room," I said flatly. "You're disgusting."

Chloe smirked, clutching the sheet tighter around herself. "Liam just wanted to see where you grew up, Clara. Don't be such a prude."

I calmly walked into the room. I bypassed the bed and walked straight to the antique writing desk. On it sat a massive crystal vase holding withered hydrangeas that had been rotting for weeks. The water at the bottom was brown, slimy, and reeked of decay.

I picked up the vase.

"What are you doing?" Liam asked, taking a step back.

Without hesitation, I swung my arm in a wide arc.

The foul, brown sludge flew through the air, splashing directly onto the bed, over the pillows, across the sheets, and right into Chloe's chest and face.

"Ah!" Chloe shrieked, thrashing wildly as the freezing, rotting water hit her. The stench of dead plants instantly filled the room.

Liam wiped a splash of brown slime from his cheek, his face turning purple. "Are you insane? You crazy bitch!"

I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed a number I had saved specifically for this. "Biohazard Cleaning Services? I need a Level 3 decontamination crew at the Vance Estate. East Wing, second floor. Everything in the room is severely contaminated. Please bring the industrial incinerator."

I hung up and looked Liam dead in the eye. "Get out. You are trespassing."

"You can't kick us out," Liam sneered. "Your mother—"

"My mother is a guest," I cut him off. "I am the homeowner. And I am taking out the trash."

The hallway door burst open. Beatrice stood there in a silk robe, her face a picture of shock. "What is that smell?" she snapped.

When she saw Liam and Chloe covered in slime, she raised her hand and marched toward me to strike me.

I caught her wrist mid-air. My grip was like iron.

"Don't," I said low, my eyes burning with ice-cold fury. "Don't touch me. If you dare touch me, I will revoke your residency rights before sunset."

Beatrice froze, staring at my face.

The compliant, desperate girl she once knew was completely gone.

I shoved her wrist away. "You have five minutes to get your guests out of my house. The cleaning crew will be here momentarily."

Twenty minutes later, a bright yellow truck rumbled up the driveway with "Extreme Clean Team" painted on the side.

I stood on the front steps, watching two men in full hazmat suits march upstairs.

Moments later, Liam stumbled out the front door wearing an ill-fitting tracksuit borrowed from Arthur, clutching his ruined bespoke suit in his hands.

He stopped in his tracks as the crew dragged his king-size mattress out onto the second-floor balcony. With a heavy grunt, they heaved the mattress over the railing.

It plummeted and landed with a massive thud right next to Liam's Aston Martin, kicking up a cloud of dust and feathers.

"My bed!" Chloe shrieked from the doorway, clutching a mud-splattered Hermès Birkin bag.

"You'll pay for this!" Liam roared at me. "I'll sue you for property damage, the legal papers will bury you."

I looked at him with utter disdain. "Go ahead. Sue me. I'm sure Thorne Tech's shareholders would love to see the discovery documents detailing how their CEO broke into a private residence to have sex in his ex-girlfriend's bed."

Liam's mouth snapped shut. He knew I was right. A PR crisis like that would ruin his upcoming board vote.

He stormed toward his car. "Chloe, get in."

My stepfather, Arthur Mercer, stepped onto the porch. "Clara... you didn't have to do this. We're family."

"There is no 'we'," I said. "And I think you should know, the trust's legal team flagged several questionable fund transfers over the past few years. With my authorization, they can launch a full forensic audit. I'd love to know where my dividends went."

Arthur swallowed hard. He weighed the risks. He knew exactly what the audit would find—embezzlement to fund Chloe's lavish lifestyle.

"Alright," he said hoarsely. "An official truce. Dinner at Le Coucou this Friday, with the Hayes family. I'm planning to arrange an engagement between Julian Hayes and Chloe."

Julian Hayes?

The man I fake-married?

My mind went blank and my heart pounded, but I kept my face perfectly impassive.

If I attended that dinner, they would absolutely expect my fake husband, Julian Hayes, to be there.

If I went and "Julian" actually showed up, the charade would be over.

They would find out I married a fictional person.

Worse, the real Julian Hayes would be there, and my lie would be exposed in the most humiliating way possible.

But I had broken from the family; I couldn't show any sign of weakness now, or I would be ruined.

My lie was about to collide head-on with reality.

"I'll be there," I said softly.

I had the house, and I had the money.

But come Friday, I was going to have to walk through the fire.