Fake Marriage, Real Revenge

The civil affairs bureau was quieter than I expected when Kevin and I arrived the next morning. I'd barely slept, my mind racing with doubts and second thoughts about this impulsive decision. But as Kevin held the door open for me, his presence solid and reassuring, I felt a strange calm settle over me.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice low and steady.

I nodded, clutching my documents tighter. "As I'll ever be."

The process was surprisingly straightforward. Kevin had brought everything—not just his own paperwork, but even a small velvet box containing a simple but elegant ring.

"I hope you don't mind," he said as we waited for our number to be called. "I took the liberty of getting something that might work for today."

My breath caught as he opened the box. The ring was perfect—a delicate band with a single pearl, exactly my style.

"How did you know my size?" I asked, slipping it onto my finger.

Kevin's lips quirked up slightly. "You mentioned once that you wear a six. You were talking about a bracelet your mother gave you."

I stared at him, stunned that he'd remembered such a minor detail from our one conversation at the bar. As we approached the counter, Kevin's hand settled lightly at the small of my back—protective without being possessive.

"Marriage registration," he told the clerk, his voice carrying an authority that made everything seem perfectly normal.

The clerk glanced between us, then nodded. "Identification and documents, please."

As we signed the papers, I couldn't help but notice how Kevin's penmanship was as controlled as everything else about him—each letter precisely formed, nothing extraneous.

"Congratulations," the clerk said, handing us our marriage certificate. "Next!"

Kevin folded the certificate carefully and tucked it into his jacket pocket. "Phase one complete," he murmured, his eyes meeting mine with unexpected warmth. "Now for the real plan."

"Which is?" I asked as we stepped outside into the bright morning sunlight.

"We crash their wedding together," he said simply. "Not as the discarded ex, but as Ivy Armstrong, successful businesswoman who has clearly moved on to someone far more suitable."

---

"Try this one," Kevin said, holding up a sleek black dress with subtle gold accents.

The boutique was exclusive—the kind of place I'd never normally shop—with attentive staff who seemed to materialize whenever we needed assistance.

"I don't know," I hesitated, fingering the fabric. "Maybe something more... dramatic?"

Kevin shook his head. "Not dramatic. Powerful. There's a difference."

I took the dress into the fitting room, emerging minutes later to find Kevin waiting with a critical eye.

"Perfect," he said after a moment. "You look like someone who owns the room, not someone trying to be noticed."

I studied my reflection, surprised by how different I felt in the dress. It wasn't flashy or revealing—it was elegant, understated, and somehow made me feel taller.

"What do you think?" I asked, turning slightly.

"I think," Kevin said slowly, "that Hank will regret his choices the moment he sees you."

Something in his tone made me look up sharply. There was a gleam in his eye that suggested this was about more than just helping me save face.

As we continued shopping, Kevin's phone buzzed occasionally. Each time, he'd glance at it and make a brief comment that seemed unrelated to our task.

"The florist confirmed the arrangement," he mentioned casually as I emerged from trying on shoes.

"The what?" I asked.

"The florist for their wedding," he clarified. "I've been... making inquiries."

Before I could press further, he was already moving to the next task. "You need earrings," he decided, steering me toward another display.

---

"These are the Woods family's major investors," Kevin said later that afternoon, spreading documents across a table in his car. We'd stopped for coffee, and now he was laying out what looked like a comprehensive dossier.

I stared at the papers, my mind struggling to process what I was seeing. "How did you get all this?"

"I've been investigating since you called me," he admitted, his fingers tracing a line across one document. "The Woods family has been engaged in some questionable business practices. And Hank's startup? Funded almost entirely by your patent work."

My stomach clenched. "What?"

"Here," he pointed to a series of transactions. "Your technical specifications were registered under his name three months ago. He's been planning this for a while, Ivy."

I felt sick, remembering all the late nights I'd spent perfecting those designs, believing they were for our future together.

"There's more," Kevin continued, pulling out another set of papers. "Vendor contracts for the wedding. Interesting choice of venue—they booked it the same day they announced their engagement."

I looked up sharply. "That's impossible. That venue was booked solid for months."

Kevin's smile was slow and predatory. "Not if you have the right connections. Or the right amount of money."

His phone buzzed again, and he glanced at it before meeting my eyes. "I've acquired some leverage over several of the Woods family's business partners. By this time tomorrow, we'll be positioned to make maximum impact at their precious wedding."

I swallowed hard, suddenly realizing this wasn't just about saving my dignity anymore. This was war.