My Fake Bankrupt Husband Is A Tycoon

Ethan slams his foot on the gas. The Ford lurches forward, merging seamlessly into the heavy Philadelphia traffic. I watch in the side mirror as Clarnce's furious figure shrinks and disappears.

I collapse against the headrest. A long, shaky breath escapes my lips. Cold sweat clings to my spine.

Ethan doesn't look at me. He keeps one hand on the steering wheel and uses the other to pull a clean tissue from the console. He holds it out to me. His movements are precise, almost mechanical.

"Thank you," I whisper, taking the tissue and dabbing the sweat from my forehead. "My mother... she was trying to force me to marry my cousin. He paid her."

Ethan's expression doesn't change. He just keeps his eyes on the road. "Disgusting," he mutters, the word clipped and cold.

He pulls the car to a stop across the street from City Hall. The massive stone building looms against the gray winter sky.

We step out of the car. The wind whips my hair across my face. As we cross the busy street, a delivery biker runs a red light, speeding directly toward me.

"Watch out."

Ethan's arm wraps around my shoulders. He yanks me hard against his chest.

The bike flies past, missing me by inches.

I am plastered against him. His chest is a solid wall of muscle. The heat radiating from his body seeps through my thin coat. I can smell that cedarwood scent again, intoxicating and entirely male. My heart stutters.

He releases me instantly, stepping back as if my touch burned him. He rubs his thumb against his index finger, a slight frown on his face.

"Stay close," he says, his voice devoid of emotion.

We walk into the grand lobby of City Hall. The marriage bureau is crowded with couples holding hands and kissing. Ethan and I sit on a wooden bench, a full two feet of space between us.

A bored clerk named Agnes hands us a stack of paperwork.

I chew on the end of my pen. I glance over at Ethan's form. Under 'Occupation', he writes Financial Analyst. It makes sense. He drives a Ford, wears a plain suit, and needs a fake wife. He's just a regular guy trying to appease his family.

Agnes reviews our forms. "That will be thirty-five dollars for the license."

I immediately dig into my canvas bag, searching for crumpled dollar bills.

Ethan beats me to it. He slides a plain, standard-issue credit card across the counter. "I've got it."

"We should split it," I insist, pulling out a ten and a five.

"Put your money away, Grace," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Agnes stamps the papers. "The judge can see you now for the ceremony. Do you have rings?"

I freeze. My stomach drops. "Rings? No. We didn't..."

The silence is agonizing. Agnes raises an eyebrow.

Ethan reaches into his coat pocket. He pulls out a plastic pull-ring from a water bottle he bought earlier. He looks at me, his dark eyes unreadable.

He steps closer. He takes my left hand. His fingers are warm and slightly rough. A shiver trails up my arm.

"With this ring," Ethan says, his voice dropping an octave, sounding incredibly smooth and convincing, "I thee wed."

He slides the plastic ring onto my bare finger. It fits perfectly.

My cheeks burn. I feel a sudden, terrifying flutter in my chest. I stammer through my vows, my voice barely a whisper.

"You may kiss the bride," the judge announces.

My eyes go wide. Ethan steps into my space. He cups my face with both hands. His thumbs rest gently against my cheekbones. He tilts his head down.

I close my eyes, my breath hitching.

I feel his lips press against his own thumb, which he has strategically placed right over my mouth. His warm breath fans across my nose. It's a fake kiss. A perfect illusion.

He pulls away. The judge claps. Agnes hands us the marriage license with a gold seal.

We walk out of City Hall. The cold air instantly shatters the illusion of intimacy. We are strangers again.

"Thank you," I say, bowing my head slightly. "I'll meet you here tomorrow at the same time to file the annulment."

"Tomorrow," Ethan agrees.

I turn and walk quickly toward the subway station.

Ethan watches her go. Once her small frame disappears into the crowd, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a sleek, encrypted satellite phone.