Transcription
My high school sweetheart left me standing at the altar. Fine. I turned around and married his sworn enemy instead.
On the biggest day of my life, my fiancé sent me a single text saying, "I'm sorry," and vanished. The room was about to erupt into chaos. I was seconds away from becoming the joke of the century. Then, his nemesis, Julian, a man wearing a midnight blue custom suit that looked so good it should be illegal, stepped in front of me. Voice low, he said, "The wedding goes on. The groom is switching to me." My brain short-circuited. I said yes.
"But can someone explain why, on our wedding night, in a so-called luxury mansion, there isn't even a bed in the guest room?"
"Julian, I've got money to burn."
"Me? You burnt it all already."
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At my wedding to Brad, his mortal enemy, Julian, showed up wearing a blindingly expensive tuxedo that probably cost more than a Ferrari. The instant he walked in, the grand ballroom chandelier seemed to dim. Every wad of light was sucked straight into him. I squinted, champagne flute in hand, and strolled over. "Mr. Thorn, what wind blows you here today?"
He gave me a sideways glare. His unfairly handsome face spelled out, "Do not touch me," in all caps. I rolled my eyes. "What? You here to impress someone? That outfit is a peacock's dream. Who exactly are you fawning your feathers for?" His gaze flicked over my pricey wedding gown, then he delivered five words: "Money's burning a hole."
"Fine. Your funeral. I couldn't be bothered," and spun around to hunt for my groom. I combed every corner of the bridal suite. No Brad. My stomach dropped. I pulled out my phone. Top of the chat sat a message sent 10 minutes earlier: "Layla, I'm sorry. I've realized I love someone else. I can't selfishly wreck your life." Underneath was a selfie of him and Chloe at the airport, glued together like stickers. Chloe, my former best friend, in the photo. She cuddled against Brad, grinning like she'd won the lottery. All my blood rushed to my head, then drained to my toes. The phone slipped and shattered on the marble floor.
Outside, the MC kept calling for the procession. Gossip seeped through the door. "Where's the groom?" "Think something happened." "Swear I saw the Ashford hair leave with some girl." Today, Layla became the city's punchline. I inhaled, gathered my long train, and reached for the handle to announce the cancellation. The instant I yanked the door open, I smacked into a wall of chest. Julian. He must have moved like smoke. His brows were pinched. "What's wrong?"
No way I'd let him see me unravel, especially now. "Nothing major. Groom bolted. That's all." I forced a smile, uglier than a crying face. "Ceremony's off. You can head home. I'll mail your gift back." He didn't budge, just studied me, eyes unreadable. As I edged past, he caught my wrist. "The wedding goes on."
I blinked. "Meaning Brad's gone? Who exactly am I marrying?"
Word by word, like thunder in my skull, he said, "Groom is now me."
I wondered if my ears were pranking me. "Julian, are you ill? This is my wedding, not April Fools."
"I'm lucid." His stare drilled into me. "Layla, will you marry me?"
Around us, whispers grew. My parents' frantic voices floated in. I could already see tomorrow's news feed: "Aeris Dumped at Altar. Socialite Cinderella Turns into Pumpkin." I wouldn't let my family share the shame. Fury flared. Why should Brad and Chloe ride into the sunset while I burn? No, hell no. I stared at Julian and, possessed by impulse, nodded. "Deal. I'll marry you."
Surprise flickered across his face, then something bright ignited behind his eyes. He laced our fingers and towed me out of the suite. The MC exhaled when we emerged, then gawked, realizing the man at my side wasn't Brad. "Uh, why is the groom different?"
Julian lifted the mic, calm and commanding. "Guests, apologies for the hiccup. Brad cannot proceed for personal reasons." He paused, turned to me, and clasped my hand for the room to witness. "So, the groom from this moment forward is me."
Dead silence. Every jaw hit the floor. Mom and Dad shot up from the head table, eyes wide. I felt Julian's grip, slightly shaking. He's nervous? Really? Before anyone rebuked, he towed me up the aisle. The priest stammered, "Uh, so continue." Julian clipped, "And so, under a canopy of stunned stares, I married my sworn enemy." When rings were exchanged, he produced a diamond the size of a skating rink, sliding it on as if sized yesterday. I glanced at him; the tips of his ears blushed. Applause finally crackled. Awkward, confused, but applause.
Parents dragged me aside the second we stepped down. "Layla, have you lost it? Explain!" Mom's eyes brimmed with tears. Before I could speak, Julian bowed. "Actually bowed. Mr. and Mrs. Vance, I'm sorry for the shock. Please believe my feelings for Layla are real." The sight of the rogue Mr. Thorne himself acting meek gave me goosebumps. Dodd studied him, sighed. "Your family is solid, boy. But marriage isn't a board meeting." "I know, sir. I'll spend my life proving it."
Thus ended the most absurd wedding the city had ever seen. After the last guest left, I sagged. Julian draped his tuxedo jacket over my shoulders. "Let's go home." Only then did it hit me. "Whose home?" He steered his neon yellow supercar to a standalone mansion in the city's most expensive district. Just the curb appeal screamed money. I figured maybe "money to burn" wasn't just bravado.
Until I stepped inside. The living room contained exactly one obscenely pricey sofa and coffee table set, and nothing else. Bare walls, naked floors, echo-level empty. "Recent remodel?" I managed. "Yeah, no cash left for furniture." I stared at the seven-figure car outside. "You drive that supercar but can't buy a lamp?"
"It's leased by Thorncorp, not me."
Upstairs, he pushed open the master suite door. "You'll sleep here." Inside, a king bed and a wardrobe. "End of inventory."
"Julian," I ground out, "where's the guest room? I'm not camping on a sofa."
He lounged in the doorway, unbothered. "Guest bed wasn't in the budget."
"Budget?"
He lifted both hands. "Cash flow issues. This is it."
I conjured a mental billionaire imposter. "Broke since prom? Whatever. We signed the license. Divorce tomorrow won't erase tonight." I stalked in. "Fine. You take the couch."
"Can't," he fired back. "Too short." He pointed at the acre-wide mattress.
"We'll manage." I laughed, cold and warning. "We married as a PR stunt 30 minutes ago. Don't push your luck."
The instant I finished speaking, a male voice ping-ponged inside my head. *She thinks I'm a creep. I just don't want her back hurting on that rock-hard sofa. How do I say I'll nap on the rug without looking pathetic?*
I froze. "Who said that?" Julian's lips hadn't moved.
The voice continued, *Bed's the size of a soccer field. Draw the Berlin Wall down the middle. Great, now I'm the wolf in a tux. Kill me.*
I gaped at him. His face was unreadable, stone cold, but the monologue kept coming. I cleared my throat, testing. "Forget it," I said out loud. "I'll grab a throw blanket downstairs." I pivoted. Panic spiked through whatever cosmic link we now shared. "No! All look like a folded umbrella down there." He lunged, hauling me back. "Wait!"
Out from the closet came a brand new duvet. He snapped it open and spread it on the carpet like a magician revealing nothing. "I'll sleep here," he said stiffly. Then he lay down, rigid as a board.
I squeezed my eyes shut. *She stays comfy, I stay noble. 10 points to Julian.*
I lost it. Laughter shook my ribs. My giggles ricocheted off the bare walls. He jackknifed up, cheeks blotched scarlet. "What's so funny? Is floor sleeping funny? I'm a joke now? Ugh, 0 out of 10. Julian shouldn't have played dead. What do I do now? Do I sit up? But if I sit up, it'll be even more awkward."
I swallowed a laugh and waved my hand. "It's nothing. I just think you're kind of cute."
Julian eyed me suspiciously. "Obviously unconvinced. Cute? Is that a new insult? Is she mocking me? Right, she has to be. Layla, you heartless brat! After everything I've done for you, you laugh at me?"
Watching his wounded puppy face while the soap opera monologue roared through his skull, I lost it completely. "Haha!" I couldn't hold back anymore. Julian's expression went black. He sprang off the floor, stomped over, and loomed above me. *Layla, I'm going to scold her. I'll show her I'm not messing around. I'll make her too scared to laugh.* He glared down, all thunder and fury. Then the voice in my head softened. *Forget it. She just got dumped by that jerk today. She must feel awful. Let her laugh if it helps. She looks beautiful when she laughs. Even prettier than in high school.*
My grin froze. High school? I studied Julian. We'd gone to school together, true, but we'd never clicked. He'd been the king of the campus; I'd been the girl who lived in the library. Different planets. How did we become mortal enemies? Oh, right. The game. Junior year championship. Our class versus his. Brad was our star, but Julian's team kept body-checking him. As cheer captain, I'd let a chant calling them the "dirty players." I called Julian the "ringleader of the bruise brigade." From that day on, it was war. College only widened the battlefield when our father's companies competed. Now, hearing his thoughts, could there have been a misunderstanding?
While I was piecing that together, he silently scooped up the duvet, carried it to the...
The next morning, I shuffled downstairs with twin panda circles under my eyes. Julian was already dressed, seated at the dining table like a sculpture. Two plates of something tragic waited for us: charcoal black toast, sandwiches, and cups of radioactive green sludge. He slid one set toward me, fighting to look relaxed. "Eat up, please. Like it. I watched 30 tutorials for this. The blogger swore avocado banana smoothies are delicious."
Why is mine pawn scum green? Toast is a little burnt, but charcoal detoxes, right? I lifted the black shard, inhaled his hopeful internal screaming, and took a bite. Cough, cough. Dry, bitter asphalt. Julian leaned in, panicked. "Bad? Total failure? Chef persona inflowing. Should I order takeout? No, we're playing normal married couple."
I gulped the green swamp water to wash it down. Big mistake. Algae, dirt, and something metallic exploded on my tongue. My soul tried to vacate the premises. He couldn't take it anymore. He yanked both cup and sandwich away and chucked them into the bin. *Knew it. Unfollow, block, report that idiot food blogger. Phone out. Thumbs flying. Best brunch nearby. Reserve the venue now. Emery, make it happen. Wait, too obvious. Say we just happen to walk by.*
He cleared his throat. "There's a new cafe downstairs, supposed to be good. Want to try?"
I nodded. "Sure. Let's see how this penniless performance continues."
The empty cafe. The place he picked looked like a trendy bistro, except there was no line, only three occupied tables. Library quiet. A manager greeted us the second we crossed the threshold. "Mr. Thorne, your usual booth?"
Julian didn't blink. "Hmm, smart move. Had to clear the queue. Can't let my wife starve waiting. Manager's fired tomorrow."
Wasn't he told to fake ignorance? I pretended not to hear and slid into the window seat. He handed me a menu. "Anything you want. Order the whole darn menu if you like. I'll buy the building." I picked a few stables. The manager scribbled, then asked, "Mr. Thorne, shall the kitchen use the premium line like always?"
Julian speared him with a look. "Off to a coal mine for you." The man stammered, "I—I mean, our standards are always high, always."
I sipped my tea, shoulders quaking. "Julian, your acting needs work."
The food landed fast and tasted a million times better than the breakfast from hell. My phone buzzed. "Brat." I declined. He called again. I declined, then blocked. Silence restored across the table. Julian set his fork down. "That scum dares harass her? Hostile takeover timetable moved up." *No, too kind. I'll drive his company into the dirt. Make him growl. Chloe is on the list. Steal my girl's fiancé? Pay the price.*
His inner tirade sent a shamefully pleasant shiver through me. Having someone in my corner, even a secret billionaire playing broke, felt nice.
The broke groom. After brunch, he said he had to swing by the office. "You okay on your own?"
"I hired livin' help. Too flashy for ordinary newlyweds."
"Weekly cleaner? Yes, that's acceptable." I nodded. "Go ahead."
Alone in the cavernous penthouse, I scrolled the news. Hashtag #AerisDumped. #RivalStepsIn. #ThornVancePowerMerge. Comments ranged from sympathy to popcorn emojis. Peak drama. Soap writers taking notes. "Layla lucked out. Julian's way hotter than Brad." "Hot but hollow." "Thorncorp is broke. He needs her money."
A call from an unknown number interrupted. Chloe's sugar-coated voice oozed through. "Layla, don't blame Brad. We're in love." I almost gagged. "Get to the point, or I hang up."
"Enjoying your little victory?" Venom replaced sugar. "Brad says Julian is bankrupt. He married you for the Vance fortune, out of the frying pan into the fire, honey."
I yawned. "Are you done?"
"You—" Chloe cut in. "I don't care what you and Brad do. Keep him on a leash. Next call, I send lawyers." I hung up and flopped onto the sofa, laughing at the ceiling. Everybody swears Julian is broke, yet my penniless groom radiates money.
The doorbell rang in the afternoon. Expecting Julian, I opened it to a middle-aged woman instead. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Thorne. Mr. Thorne hired me to clean and cook." I let her in. She was quick and efficient. In no time, the house looked spotless. As she mopped, she struck up a conversation. "Mrs. Thorne, you and Mr. Thorne are so affectionate."
"Me? Do we look like a loving couple?"
"Of course. Mr. Thorne called to remind you you have a sensitive stomach. Dinner had to be light, and he even listed all the foods you don't eat." I froze. How does he know about my stomach and my tastes? I thought back through all the years we'd been frenemies; we'd never actually eaten at the same table. Could it be he's been watching me for a while? The moment that idea surfaced, my heartbeat went off rhythm again.
The kitchen chef at dusk. Julian came home. He shrugged off his suit and, like it was the most natural thing, walked into the kitchen to help the cleaning lady prep. I leaned in the doorway, watching him in a white shirt, sleeves rolled up, rinsing vegetables. It felt unreal. "Is this still the lofty, untouchable Julian?"
*She keeps staring. Does she think I look extra hot washing vegetables? These tomatoes are gorgeous. I'll scramble them with eggs in a minute. She always seemed to like that dish, right? Brad's pet project. Legal is already on it. By the time I'm done, he won't have underwear left. Upon and Chloe, the wannabe, had the nerve to ring my wife? Tomorrow, every one of her endorsement deals evaporates.*
Listening to those ruthless, almost childish thoughts, I couldn't help curling my lips. This man is a textbook case of "mouth says no, body says yes." Dinner was lavish: four dishes and a soup, all seasoned exactly the way I liked. I buried my head in my bowl. Julian kept piling food onto my plate. "Eat more. You're too thin. Eat. Get stronger. The cook's tomato egg really is better than mine. Looks like my kitchen dreams are dead. I'll let her keep the job. Still, once I practice, I'll cook for her every single day."
A mouthful of soup almost went down the wrong pipe. "Brother, please spare me and spare the kitchen."
The secret studio. After the table was cleared, the cleaning lady left. The big house was ours again, just the two of us. The air turned awkward. I sat on the sofa, scrolling my phone. He sat at the other end with financial news. Neither of us spoke. *Should I start a conversation about stocks? No, she'd be bored. Her work, right? She designs jewelry. Got it.*
Julian set the tablet aside and cleared his throat. "I've got a top-of-the-line jewelry bench in my study. Want to see it?" My eyes lit up. I'm a jewelry designer, but with all the wedding prep, I hadn't visited my studio in weeks.
"Where's your study?"
He led me upstairs and opened the door beside the master suite. It was huge: wall-to-wall bookcases, a massive mahogany desk, and on the side desk sat a brand-new German Pro workstation, the exact kit I had drooled over for months but couldn't justify buying. "How did he...?" I whispered. "You're a finance guy, why own this?" I had to ask.
Julian's gaze drifted. "Gift from a friend. No use to me, so it's just collecting dust." *As if I'd confess. I special-ordered it ages ago. Been waiting for her to use it.*
"Nice save, Julian." Watching him, I tasted every flavor of emotion. So he'd already prepared a place for me. How many things has this man done for me behind the curtain? I walked over, my fingertips brushed the cool steel. "Then I won't stand on ceremony. Go ahead." I slid into the chair. He settled on the nearby sofa with his financial reports. I pulled out paper and pencil and began to sketch. At first, I felt self-conscious, but soon the world shrank to lines and stones. Silence broken only by pencil whispering over sheet and the occasional rustle of his documents. No strain, no pretense, just flow. I drew until my neck ached. When I finally paused, I realized he'd fallen asleep. He lounged on the sofa, head tilted, brows slightly knit, as though even sleep wouldn't soften his guard.
*Is Layla still drawing? Isn't she tired? Her neck must hurt. I want to knead those muscles so bad. Can't. Might wake her. She looks mesmerizing when she works. So sleepy. Didn't sleep last night either.*
His sleeping face plus the running commentary made my chest go soft. I lifted a light throw from the chair and draped it over him. As I straightened, his eyes snapped open. We froze, gazes locked. His were fogged with leftover dreams, then sharpened. "I fell asleep."
"Hmm." I withdrew my hand. "You're zonked. Maybe go to bed."
He glanced at the throw, and I swear his mouth curved. "She tucked me in. She cares." Happy standing. He raised both arms in a lazy stretch. "Come on, let's hit the sack," he said it like we'd been married 20 years, instead of 24 hours.
Back in the bedroom, the duvet still split the mattress like a DMZ. Yet tonight, the usual tension was gone. In fact, I was almost eager for the next internal broadcast. *She doesn't hate me so much today. Good sign. Where should I take her tomorrow? She likes galleries. Pretty sure I own shares in that downtown museum. Have them close it for us. Just the two of us. Art and quiet.*
Listening to him plan my entire next day, I smiled despite myself. This man is unbearably cute.
The next morning, I was still half asleep when frantic ringing yanked me awake. I sat up, groggy. The space beside me was empty. *Who the hell shows up at dawn? Don't they know my wife is sleeping? If they've woken her, I'll bury them.* Julian's mental curses floated upstairs as he headed down. I threw on a silk robe and followed.
Two uninvited guests stood on the stoop: my ex, Brad, and his brand-new soul mate, Chloe. Brad looked wrecked: sunken cheeks, shadowed eyes. Chloe clung to his arm, makeup flawless, her gaze pure venom. Julian blocked the doorway, his face thunder black. "What do you want? How dare these two morons darken my threshold? Want me to end them?"
When Brad spotted me, his eyes lit up. He tried to push past Julian. "Lila, just let me explain!" Julian shoved him back, shielding me. "She doesn't want your garbage. Scram. Get away from my wife."
Seeing her act falter, Chloe produced instant tears. "Lila, we're sorry, truly. Brad hasn't eaten or slept. He's so worried about you."
I almost laughed. "Worried about me? Try worried about his failing company. Apology unnecessary," I said, stepping around Julian. "How's the wedding prep? Need my check in the mail?"
Brad's face caved. "Lila, don't be like this. I know you're angry." He reached for my hand. One glare from Julian, and he retreated.
"Listen, Lila," Chloe ripped off the mask, finger jabbing at me. "Don't flatter yourself. Brad crawling back is your jackpot. You really think Julian is some prince? He's broke. She yanked a folder from her designer bag and flung it open. Papers fluttered across the tiles. "See for yourself. Thorn Holdings is insolvent. This mansion, the cars, rented props. He married you to loot the Vance family fortune and plug his black hole."
I eyed the balance sheets, one brow raised. "Nice homework."
Julian's expression iced over further. "She actually snagged those numbers? Impressive. Too bad they're the decoy set I leaked to the press. Bait taken. Honestly, she's a little dumb." I nearly snorted. "Fake figures, of course."
Brad gaped at the printouts, then looked up at Julian with open disgust. "I can't believe you'd sink so low, trying to swindle Lyla." Finding moral high ground, he appealed to me. "See, he's a fraud. Divorce him. Come back to me. I won't hold your mistake against you."
"Hold my mistake?" I studied his self-righteous face, revolted. Before I could answer, Julian's laugh cracked like a whip, cold, mocking. "Oh, I'm the fraud? The black card revelation?" He bent, gathered the pages, and flicked off imaginary dust. "Look in the mirror, a runaway groom and his home-wrecking bride telling me what honor is." He stepped forward, the air shrank around him. "What's in my accounts is none of your business. What matters is how I treat my wife." He shot Brad a sideways glance. "Unlike certain people who used my supplementary black card to buy his fiance's birthday presents."
Brad's face bleached paper white. "I blinked. "What card?"
"The unlimited black card I shoved on him in high school to buy Lyla gifts. He maxed it on himself and other women." *Would have wrecked him then if not for her.* A roaring filled my skull. I remembered back at university, Brad showered me with designer bags, jewelry, claimed he'd earned every penny waiting tables. I had melted, touched by his hard work. Now, the joke was cosmic. I met his eyes, mine icing over. "Brad, what exactly was that card you used?" He shrank, mouth gaping, no word escaping. "I don't know what you mean."
"Funny," Julian drawled, raising his phone. A voice memo from five years ago. He hit play. "Hey, Julian, Lila's birthday is coming up, and I'm broke again. Could you let me use that card a bit longer? This is the last time. You're the best." The recording was crystal clear. Brad's voice was unmistakable. My heart submerged in cold water and hardened. All those treasured tokens of love were just another man's charity, and I, fool of the decade, wore them like vows.
Chloe's jaw dropped. She gawked at Brad as though he were roadkill. "Brad, didn't you swear every dollar came from your own hustle?"
Brad panicked completely, grabbing my arm. "Lila, listen to me. It's not what you think."
"Get lost," I flung his hand off, voice as sharp as ice. "Brad, from this second on, we are done. Stay out of my sight. Otherwise..." I paused, glancing at Julian beside me. "I can't promise what my husband might do."
Julian cooperated perfectly, producing his signature "Don't mess with me, wife is so badass, I'm crazy in love." *She called me husband. She called me husband! Have to record this. Ringtone material.*
"Me, buddy? Could you read the room? During the most savage showdown of my life, do you really have to throw a rave in your head?"
The early championship. Brad and Chloe were escorted out by security. I collapsed on the sofa, mind spinning. The revelation about that supplementary black card had sucker-punched me. I'd always believed that my years with Brad, though ending in ashes, had at least held real moments. Now I saw the whole thing was staged. Every kindness came with a price tag drawn on Julian's account.
Julian brought me a glass of warm water. "Stop replaying it. It's my fault. Should never have given him that card. I only wanted to see her smile. How did it mutate into this? Will she blame me for hiding it?"
I lifted my gaze, worry clouded his face. I shook my head. "I don't blame you. If anyone, I blame myself for being blind." Julian, I studied him. "Why are you so good to me?" I'd been dying to ask. From that high school basketball game to the black card, all the way to this insane wedding, every move looked like sabotage, yet every outcome felt like a rescue.
The question caught him off guard. His eyes darted everywhere. *Here it is. The ultimate boss. What's the right answer? Straight up: I love you? Too seismic, she'll bolt. I'm civic minded? I'd laugh myself off the stage. I'm obscenely rich already? Used that line.* After an internal meltdown, he offered, "I enjoy helping people."
"Me?" *Call the press. The city's coldest tycoon is secretly a philanthropist.*
I switched tactics. "What about the championship game? Why did you purposely slam into Brad?" That collision lit the feud, and I'd never let it go.
Julian looked even guiltier. "Crap. He still remembers. Can I admit I saw her cheering for Brad? Lost my mind with jealousy and steamrolled him? Nope. Never. Way too pathetic." He coughed and lied solemnly. "His handles were trash. He clogged the lane."
I chuckled. "Sure. Keep scripting. Good thing I have embedded subtitles." Let's see how long the fairy tale lasts. Silence returned. I'd learned that if I stayed silent, Julian could go full MIME while his mental pop-ups never paused. *Is she still thinking about that loser? Brad must fix her mood stat. Art exhibit? Yes.* He shot up. "Changed clothes. We're leaving."
Where? The museum. As expected, the downtown gallery was closed to the public. Only Julian and I wandered the cavernous halls. Masterpieces glowed in soft light. Peaceful, perfect. Exhibitions always soothed me. Julian shattered me without a word. "Van Gogh's Starry Night. Her favorite. Snagged it at the last auction just to share this moment. She outshines the canvas." Before the painting, his silent praise warmed my cheeks. This man elevated crushing to an art form.
I turned to him. "Julian, thank you for everything."
He blinked, ears flushing. "Thank me for what?" he muttered. "Transfer me the ticket price later." *She thanked me. Does this mean she likes me a bit? Stay cool, Julian. Don't grin like an idiot.*
Watching him fight a smile dissolved the last of Brad's storm clouds inside me. Maybe marrying him wasn't a disaster after all.
The proposal. Outside, night had fallen. He took me to the city's most exclusive hidden restaurant. Venue reserved again. He told the manager, "The usual," yet pretended it was his first visit to me. I nearly laughed out loud. Such a contradiction wrapped in Italian wool. After dinner, we strolled by the riverside. The night air swept gently off the water.
"Lila," Julian said suddenly. "Hmm?"
"When do you want to pick up our marriage certificate?" I froze. We'd staged the wedding ceremony, yet legally, the paperwork wasn't filed. We were technically still strangers in the eyes of the law. I searched his face. Nervous hope flickered in his eyes. *Will she say yes? What if she's only using me to troll Brad, planning to bail once the media cools? No way. Lock her down now.* His silent panic made me playful.
"Pick it up?" I dragged the words out. "Haven't decided yet. Maybe when I'm in a spectacular mood."
His expression darkened instantly. *She doesn't want to legalize it. I'm just a pawn. Lila, you heartless woman.* The internal wailing screamed "abandoned husband vibes." I bit back laughter. "In a rush?"
"Yes!" he ground the word out. "Dying here. I'd haul her to City Hall tonight if I could stamp her name on my household register. Then she can't disappear."
Watching him pout, I cracked. "Tomorrow," I said.
He snapped upright, disbelieving. "9 a.m. sharp." I grinned. "Whoever's late is a dog."
The legal vows. At 8:50 the next morning, I stood outside City Hall. Julian was already there, white shirt pressed, hair perfect. Clearly more formal than our gallery date. He brightened the instant he spotted me. *She came. She actually came. No trick. My wife's going legit.* His mental fireworks were almost audible.
"Got the ID documents?" I asked.
"Right here." He produced two files like treasure. We went in. Photos, forms, oaths. 15 minutes total. When the clerk slid the brand-new marriage certificates across the counter, reality felt surreal. Married again to my teenage nemesis. Julian rotated the certificate, a grin reaching his ears. "Hee hee. Wifey. Lawfully wedded wifey. Lila is mine." His goofy elation made me laugh.
Outside, he declared we needed to celebrate. "Fancy Michelin feast? Private jet? World tour?"
"No, too flashy. Maintained low-key couple image." After a fierce internal debate, he announced solemnly, "I will personally cook you the ultimate matrimonial feast."
My smile froze. "That's not necessary." Memories of his last kitchen experiment and offense to taste buds everywhere still scarred me.
"Absolutely necessary," he insisted. "Studied cooking videos till 3 a.m. Failure impossible. Let her savor the flavor of my heart." Facing that determination, I surrendered. "Fine. How lethal could it be?"
The feast. Back home, he charged into the kitchen. Clangs and sizzles drifted out, along with the play-by-play. *Step 1: Descaling the fish. Ugh, slippery little traitor. Step 2: Heat oil to 70 percent. What does 70 percent hot even mean? Ouch! Oil splash! Can't yelp. Lila will laugh.* Listening nearly gave me a panic attack, yet I stayed put. An hour later, Chef Julian unveiled his a marginally normal-looking steamed fish, a suspiciously colored pepper steak stir-fry, and a pot of pitch-black broth.
"Taste," he offered, chopsticks like Olympic medals. I sampled the fish: raw in the middle. The pepper steak: salt of salt. Finally, I eyed the soup. "What is this?"
"Corn and pork rib stew," he boasted. "Simmered a whole hour." I regarded the herbal medicine resemblance and quietly set the spoon down.
"Julian," I said gently, "maybe we order in?"
His face caved. "Failed again. Zero culinary genes. Can't even feed her. What kind of husband am I?" The thought balloons radiated self-loathing. I softened. I scooped a spoonful of the tar-like liquid and swallowed. Burnt, bitter chaos invaded my tongue, but I kept a neutral face. "Unique flavor profile," I lied.
Hope reignited in his eyes. "Really? Really? She drank it? Called it tasty? Kind of? She must love me. Why else endure toxic sludge?" Going to tear up seeing him verge on an emotional meltdown, I quickly "still the fish needs five more minutes in the steamer. Team effort." I was afraid that if I didn't tell him the truth right now, tomorrow he'd dare to cook me a full Thanksgiving banquet.
The daily routine. The days after we picked up our marriage certificate were calm and sweet. Julian kept playing the part of the bankrupt heir, but his actions screamed billionaire. Every morning, he dropped me off at my studio, and every night, he picked me up. He stopped insisting on cooking himself and delegated the kitchen to the housekeeper, but he still studied recipes every day, texting them to her so she'd make whatever I was craving. When I sketched till midnight, he'd sit beside me in silence, sliding a mug of hot milk into my hand. He never said "I love you," yet everything he did shouted it. And I... I grew used to having him around, used to falling asleep to the goofy running commentary inside his head, used to his domineering, gentle protection.
Then came the call from my father. "Lila, bring Julian home for dinner." The parents' approval. My parents hadn't objected to the marriage, but worry still lingered. I was their only daughter, and I had married on impulse. I told Julian. He instantly tensed. "Meeting the parents? Already so soon? What do I wear?" That million-dollar couture was too flashy. Something low-key, relatable. Gifts? Dad likes tea, Mom loves opera. Time to break out the vintage Dahong Pao and that rare opera vinyl I just bit on. Watching him tear through the closet while drafting mental shopping lists was hilarious and touching. "Relax," I said. "It's just a casual family dinner."
"No way," he said gravely. "First formal visit. This is war. This decides my lifetime happiness. I must win the in-laws." I let him have his way. A very nervous Julian steered a discreet black Audi towards my parents' mansion, the backseat stuffed with extravagant gifts. Mom and Dad blinked at the hall. "Come for a meal? Why bring all this?" Mom scolded, though her smile betrayed her. Dad kept his stern face and summoned Julian to the study. I tried to follow, but Mom tugged me back. "Let the men talk." I perched on the sofa, ears pricked, but the soundproofing was perfect. Nothing. Luckily, I had Julian's thoughts on surround sound.
*Father-in-law's aura is crushing. What if he orders me to divorce Layla? Over my dead body.* Dodd's stern voice drifted out. "Julian, tell me straight. How is your company really doing?" Clearly, the rumors had reached him. *Boss level. Tell him I'm richer than Bezos? He'll think I'm arrogant. Keep pretending I'm broke? He'll think I can't provide.* After an internal tug of war, he chose a middle road. "Uncle, we hit some turbulence, but the crisis is behind us. I swear I can make Layla happy. She'll never suffer an ounce of grief." His voice was steady, sincere. Dodd stayed silent so long my heart clenched. Then he sighed. "That child has been spoiled. She's stubborn. From now on, I'm counting on you."
I froze. Was that approval? Julian froze. "He said yes. I passed. Knew no father could resist this perfect son-in-law."
The first real kiss. On the drive home, he buzzed with exhilaration. "Parents conquered. Now for my wife. When can I erase the no-man's-land between our pillows? Tonight feels right. Maybe a hint?" He cleared his throat. "We've been married a while now. How am I doing as a husband?"
I batted my lashes. "Doing in what sense?"
He panicked. "As a husband! Praise me! Declare me the best hubby alive!"
I feigned thought. "Hmm, decent. Just decent." He wilted. "I rate exemplary, and she says decent? Does she want more initiative?" He broke, coasted to the curb, unbuckled, and leaned over. My heart hammered. What was he doing? One hand braced against my headrest, the other tipping my chin. He erased every inch of air between us. I could count his lashes. "Lila," he rasped, "I think we could be closer." Going for the kiss. *She's not pulling back. She wants it too. Heartbeats spiking worse than signing a billion-dollar deal.* Carrying his jittery thoughts, I let my eyelids fall. His lips met mine, soft, searching, laced with longing. Nothing like the forehead peck he'd given before. This was tentative, hungry, and steeped in years of restraint. The man who burnt toast kissed like a dream. When we parted, we were both breathless. He rested his forehead against mine. *I saw stars. She didn't push me away. She kissed back. Is this real? Lila, your mind now?* he whispered. I cut him off, brushing another kiss to his lips. Sealed. His mind exploded into the most spectacular barrage of joy I've ever heard. I kissed him back, heart liquid.
The happy ending. Julian finally abandoned his bankrupt playboy act. He started taking me places that screamed money: his private island, a garage crammed with limited-edition hypercars, insisting they were all rented. I played along, pretending to be shocked. "Thought you were broke?" He kept a straight face. "Market picked up." *She bought it. Genius me. Pre-marital assets are hers now anyway.* I cherished his adorable lies.
Brad and Chloe made a few more pathetic attempts, but Julian swatted them aside. Brad's company imploded, the chain reaction snapping their cash flow. He filed for bankruptcy overnight. Chloe ditched him faster than a stale trend. I saw Brad next in a tabloid: gambling debts, broken leg, unrecognizable from the golden boy I once knew. No glee, just the chill of how fast tides turn. All the grime washed away in satisfying karmic fashion.
On my 26th birthday, Julian reserved the entire amusement park and staged a sky-splitting fireworks show. He hugged me from behind, chin on my shoulder. "Happy birthday, Lila. 10 years. I've loved her since that high school game when she cheered for someone else. I envied. I burned. I fell. Every dumb stunt was to catch her attention. Luck finally tipped my way. I didn't lose her." Tears blurred the colored sparks. That basketball match wasn't the start of our strife; it was the prelude to his love story. I turned, rose on my toes, and kissed him. "Julian, I love you too." He went rigid, then crushed me to him as though merging our bones. *She said it. She loves me. This is real.* His mind exploded into the most spectacular barrage of joy I've ever heard. I kissed him back, heart liquid. I once thought my mind-reading was fate's cheat code. Now I know my true luck.