Jilted At City Hall, Married A Zillionaire

The fluorescent lights of the City Hall emergency clerk's office hummed loudly. The room smelled of stale coffee and bureaucracy.

The clerk, a tired woman with gray roots, stamped a document. Thud.

Officer Miller stood by the door, arms crossed, watching them like a hawk.

Jefferson slid a fountain pen toward Harper. "Sign."

Harper looked at the document. Marriage License. It looked so official. So final.

"I... I can't," she whispered. The memories of the morning rushed back. Bradford. The contract. The rejection. She couldn't do this again.

Jefferson leaned in. His wheelchair bumped her leg. "Sign it," he murmured, his voice low enough that Miller couldn't hear. "And I will cover the shortfall in the Luna family trust, the one created by your father's... indiscretions."

Harper's head snapped up. Her eyes went wide. "How do you know about that?"

Jefferson tapped his temple. "I know everything. Zero."

Harper stopped breathing. The blood drained from her face. But panic was a luxury. She forced a mask of confused indignation. "Zero? Is that my new net worth after today? You're going to have to be more specific."

Jefferson's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of surprise in their depths. He had expected terror, a confession. He got defiance. "Sign," he said, his voice hard, his bluff now a command. "Or go to jail tonight for the club, and I'll make sure the SEC gets an anonymous tip about the Luna trust's creative accounting tomorrow."

It was checkmate.

Harper bit her lip until it bled. She looked at Miller, then at the paper. Her hand shook as she picked up the heavy, cold pen.

She scribbled Harper Luna on the line.

Jefferson took the pen without a word and signed his name in sharp, aggressive strokes.

"Congrats," the clerk droned. "You're legal."

Miller scoffed. "I'll be watching you, Montgomery." He turned and walked out.

The moment the door closed, the air in the room changed. Jefferson released the tension in his shoulders. He turned to Harper, his face devoid of the fake warmth he'd shown earlier.

"My assistant will have the prenup addendum ready by morning. One year term."

Harper stared at the marriage license in her hand. "Where are we going?"

"The Hamptons," Jefferson said, turning his wheelchair toward the exit. "You need a shower. You smell like a distillery."

Harper sniffed her shoulder. He was right.

They walked out into the cold night. The adrenaline was crashing, leaving her exhausted.

Inside the car, Jefferson handed her a tablet. "Memorize this. It's my bio. Likes, dislikes, allergies."

"What do I have to do?" Harper asked, taking the device.

"Play the part," Jefferson said, looking out the window. "Be the perfect, adoring, slightly dim-witted trophy wife."

Harper felt a spark of indignation. Dim-witted? She suppressed a snort. "Fine," she thought. "I'll give you the performance of a lifetime."

The car merged onto the Long Island Expressway. Harper leaned her head against the cool glass. Within minutes, she was asleep.

Jefferson watched her reflection in the window. He drummed his fingers on his knee.

He didn't actually know she was Zero. He had seen a background check on the Luna family that mentioned the father's debts creating a trust shortfall, and a rumor about a hacker in the family. Calling her "Zero" had been a bluff. A cold read.

Judging by her masterful deflection, he hadn't just hit a jackpot. He'd stumbled upon a queen hiding amongst the pawns.