Flash Marriage To The Secret Billionaire CEO

"The protocol is active. Highest level." Harmon's voice was low, the gentle smile he'd worn while watching Erin gone, replaced by a mask of cool authority.

From the driver's seat of the Maybach, his chief assistant, Clyde Curry, nodded. "Yes, sir. All information regarding you and Ms. Mueller-forgive me, Mrs. Chandler-will be classified S-level."

Harmon's gaze sharpened, his eyes fixed on the screen where Erin was now peering into the empty fridge. "I want the 'Captain Harmon Chandler' identity to be flawless. AeroLux personnel files, payroll, flight logs. Make it airtight. And handle my communications-I want all my outgoing signals routed to match my supposed flight path. No mistakes."

"Understood," Clyde said, his fingers already flying across a tablet. "The salary will be wired from your personal account, routed through a third-party payroll service, into their joint account. On time, every week."

The car pulled away from the curb, gliding silently through the Brooklyn streets toward Manhattan. When it stopped in the private garage beneath the gleaming Chandler Group tower, the man who stepped out was not a pilot. He was an emperor returning to his throne.

Back in the apartment, giddy with a surreal joy, Erin propped her phone on the kitchen counter and video-called her best friend and business partner, Tessa Finch.

She held up her left hand, wiggling her ring finger. "I'm married!"

Tessa, mid-sip of coffee, choked. "You what? To who? Not that billionaire you're always complaining about, please tell me it's not him."

Erin laughed, a bright, bubbly sound. She recounted the entire insane story, ending with the most important part. "And he's not the billionaire! It's just a coincidence. He's a pilot, Tess! A captain for AeroLux!"

Tessa was silent for a moment, her expression a mixture of shock and suspicion. The sound of frantic typing came through the phone's speaker.

"Have you seen his driver's license? His social security number? Have you met his family?" Tessa's questions were rapid-fire, sharp with concern.

Erin's elation faltered. "No, but..." She realized how little she actually knew. "It was love at first sight, Tess. It just... felt right."

Tessa sighed, running a hand through her messy red hair. She knew better than to argue with Erin when she was in this state. "Okay. Just... be careful, E. Promise me. If anything feels off, you call me."

"I promise," Erin said, though she thought Tessa was being ridiculous.

After they hung up, a small seed of doubt had been planted. Tessa's questions echoed in her head.

She opened her laptop, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. This is stupid, she thought, but typed it anyway: "AeroLux Captain Harmon Chandler."

The search results were mostly articles about the other Harmon Chandler. But then she saw it. A link to an open-access employee forum for AeroLux staff. The post was titled "Annual Pilot of the Year Awards."

She clicked.

It was a group photo. A dozen pilots in crisp uniforms, smiling for the camera. And there, in the back row, slightly out of focus but unmistakably him, was Harmon.

A comment below the photo read: Captain Chandler is definitely the best-looking pilot in the fleet.

All of her anxiety vanished, replaced by a warm, foolish grin. She had been so silly to doubt.

She had no way of knowing that the forum post had just been activated by Clyde Curry, who used a long-dormant account to upload the pre-prepared photo and comment the instant her search registered on their monitoring software.

In the penthouse office overlooking the glittering expanse of Manhattan, Clyde stood before Harmon's desk. "Sir, her friend raised suspicions. We've handled it. Mrs. Chandler just searched your name and found the prepared materials."

Harmon didn't turn from the floor-to-ceiling window. He just gave a slight nod. "Good."

He opened a locked file on his desktop. It was filled with photos of Erin. From her awkward middle school pictures to her college graduation.

His finger traced the outline of a photo of her at thirteen, her hair in two braids, a gap-toothed smile on her face at some long-forgotten summer camp. His expression softened into something incredibly tender.

"Tessa Finch," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "Have the PR department look into her design studio with Erin. Find a suitable project for them."

Clyde's expression remained neutral. "A bribe, sir?"

"No," Harmon said, his eyes still on the picture of the smiling girl. "An investment. I want my wife, and her best friend, to have nothing to worry about."