Nora's POV
The eviction notice burns in my pocket like acid.
I stare at my computer screen, pretending to work while my paralegal boss drones on about filing deadlines. My brain won't cooperate. Thirty days. That's all I have before I'm homeless. Again.
Six months ago, I was Nora Chen, investigative journalist. I exposed corruption. I changed lives. Now? I'm the girl who photocopies documents for minimum wage while her journalism career rots in a grave Marcus Trent dug with lies.
My phone buzzes. Maya's name flashes across the screen.
Emergency! Need witness for City Hall wedding in 45 minutes. You're my only hope!
I glance at my boss. He's not looking. I grab my purse.
Bathroom, I mutter, already halfway to the door.
The subway smells like regret and old coffee. I squeeze between a sleeping businessman and a woman with seventeen shopping bags, trying not to think about the fact that I ate ramen for breakfast. Again. The bills in my apartment—the apartment I'm losing—could fill a bathtub. Student loans. Credit cards. The medical debt from when I had pneumonia and no insurance.
All because Marcus destroyed me.
My chest tightens. Stop. Don't think about him. Don't think about how everyone believed his lies because his family owns half of Connecticut. Don't think about how your best friend Jennifer sided with him instead of you. Don't think about—
The train lurches to a stop.
I sprint up the stairs and burst through City Hall's doors, gasping for air.
Chaos. Pure, absolute chaos.
Couples everywhere—nervous grooms, crying brides, flower girls running wild. Officials shout names. Babies scream. Someone's playing violin music from a phone. My head spins.
Nora! Maya waves frantically from across the room. Thank God!
I push through the crowd, dodging a man carrying a tower of gift boxes. Maya hugs me so hard my ribs crack.
You're a lifesaver, she breathes. They said I needed a witness or they'd cancel—
Next couple! An officiant barks from a doorway. We're running behind schedule!
Maya's groom—Kevin? Keith?—grabs her hand and pulls her toward a different official on the left. That's us, babe!
I freeze, confused. Wasn't I supposed to stand with them?
Move it, lady! Someone shoves me from behind.
I stumble forward, directly into a wall.
Except it's not a wall. It's a chest. A very solid, very expensive-suit-covered chest.
Strong hands grip my shoulders, steadying me. The world tilts. I look up.
My breath stops.
He's tall. Dark hair perfectly styled. Sharp jawline that could cut glass. But his eyes—stormy gray, intelligent, cold—pin me in place like a butterfly on a board. He looks at me like he's calculating my net worth and finding it lacking.
Careful, he says. His voice is deep, commanding, the kind that makes boardrooms go silent.
I should step back. Thank him. Walk away.
Instead, I stand there like an idiot while my brain short-circuits.
He smiles. It's not a friendly smile. It's the smile a shark gives before it strikes. Dangerous. Predatory. Like he knows something I don't.
I— My voice cracks. Sorry, I was supposed to—
Something drops. My ID card hits the floor between us.
He bends smoothly, picks it up. Studies it with those calculating eyes.
Nora Chen, he reads aloud.
My stomach drops. How did I—when did I—
Dominic Ashford and Nora Chen! The officiant waves impatiently from the doorway. You're up! Let's move, people!
Wait. What?
There's been a mistake, I start to say.
But Dominic Ashford—whoever he is—hands my ID to the officiant with casual confidence. His hand finds the small of my back, guiding me forward with gentle, unbreakable pressure.
No mistake, he murmurs near my ear.
Every nerve in my body screams warning. This is wrong. This is crazy. I need to stop this right now.
The officiant shuffles papers, barely looking at us. Sign here. Here. Initial here.
Someone puts a pen in my hand.
The room spins. Dominic signs his name with bold, confident strokes. The pen appears in front of me again. My fingers move on autopilot. This isn't real. This is some bizarre stress dream brought on by ramen and eviction notices.
Do you, Dominic Ashford, take this woman
This is actually happening. Oh God.
I do. His voice is steady, certain.
And do you, Nora Chen
Say no. Stop this. Walk away.
take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?
Dominic's gray eyes meet mine. They're not cold anymore. They're burning with something I can't read. Intent. Purpose. Danger.
My mouth opens.
I do, I hear myself say.
By the power vested in me by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife!
Husband and wife.
The words echo in my skull like gunshots.
Dominic leans in. His lips hover inches from mine. My heart hammers against my ribs. This can't be—we're not actually
He stops. Turns his head. His mouth brushes my ear instead.
Play along, he whispers, or I'll have you arrested for corporate espionage.
Ice floods my veins.
Corporate espionage.
He knows. Oh God, he knows about the investigation. He knows I've been digging into Ashford Industries for three weeks. He knows everything.
Dominic straightens, shaking the officiant's hand like we didn't just commit fraud in a government building. His grip on my elbow is gentle but unbreakable as he guides me outside into blinding sunlight.
The moment the door closes behind us, I rip my arm away.
What the hell did you just do? My voice shakes with fury and terror.
He reaches into his jacket. Pulls out a business card. Hands it to me with that shark smile.
Dominic Ashford, CEO, Ashford Industries.
My world tilts sideways.
The company I've been secretly investigating. The company where Marcus works as CFO. The company whose financial records I've been illegally accessing for weeks.
We need to talk, Mrs. Ashford, he says softly. About your little investigation. About Marcus Trent. And about the very interesting marriage we just accidentally entered into.
His eyes gleam with dark amusement.
After all, you can't investigate your own husband. That would be a conflict of interest.