The Secretary's Fake Rockstar Husband

Cora stared at the phone. Then she snapped her head up to look at Callum.

"You're out of your mind," she said.

She threw the phone back onto the mattress and pulled his white shirt tighter around her thighs. "I am not marrying a stranger. We can issue a PR statement. We can say it was a misunderstanding."

Callum stood up slowly. He walked over to the minibar, turning his back to her. He poured a glass of ice water. "A statement doesn't fix a viral photo of you ripping my clothes off," he said, taking a sip. "My investors want a clean image. A secret, passionate romance is clean. A drunken hookup is a liability."

Before Cora could argue, the doorbell rang. It wasn't a polite chime. It was a frantic, aggressive pounding.

Callum sighed. He set the glass down and walked to the door, pulling it open.

A man burst into the room. He was sweating through a cheap, wrinkled grey suit. He pushed thick black glasses up his nose and waved a tablet in the air.

"The investors saw the photos, Cal!" the man yelled, his voice cracking with panic. "They just called me to invoke the morality clause! They are pulling the funding!"

This was Simon. He pointed a shaking finger at Cora on the bed. "Is this her? Is this the woman who just flushed our entire loan down the toilet?"

Cora flinched. The word 'loan' hit her like a physical blow. The guilt she had pushed down came rushing back, burning the back of her throat.

Callum ran a hand through his damp hair, looking stressed. "Back off, Simon. I'm handling it."

"Handling it?" Simon shouted, pacing the floor. "We borrowed money from dangerous people to fund this album! If the investors pull out because of this scandal, they will break our legs! The only way out is to tell the press you two have been secretly engaged."

"I am not participating in fraud," Cora interrupted, her voice shaking but firm.

Simon stopped pacing and glared at her. "Then I hope you have a spare hundred grand to pay off the loan sharks, lady."

Cora opened her mouth to reply, but her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

She reached for it. The caller ID read 'Brenda - Hodges Group'.

Cora hesitated, then swiped to answer. "Brenda?"

"Cora, thank God," Brenda whispered. Her voice was tight with anxiety. "Do not come to the office today. Bennett is on a warpath."

Cora's stomach dropped. "What happened?"

"He issued an internal directive this morning," Brenda said, her voice dropping lower. "He ordered that you are to accompany Caspian Thorne to the charity gala tonight. As his personal date."

The blood drained from Cora's face. Her fingers turned white as she gripped the phone. Caspian Thorne. The billionaire heir known in the New York social circles as a violent sadist. He had sent two of his previous dates to the emergency room.

"Bennett wouldn't do that," Cora whispered, though she knew it was a lie.

"Madam Justine signed off on it," Brenda added gently. "She told HR it was your duty as a ward of the Hodges estate to secure this networking opportunity."

Cora couldn't breathe. The walls of the penthouse felt like they were closing in. Bennett wasn't just rejecting her love. He was treating her like a piece of meat, trading her to a monster just to punish her for walking away last night.

"Okay. Thank you, Brenda," Cora said, her voice entirely devoid of emotion.

She hung up the phone. Her arms lost all their strength. The phone slipped from her fingers and bounced onto the carpet. She stared blankly at the wall.

Callum watched her. He walked over and dropped to one knee right in front of her. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

He didn't look like a panicked musician anymore. His eyes were steady, grounding. "What kind of trouble are you in, Cora?" he asked, his voice a low, hypnotic rumble.

Cora looked at him. He was a stranger. But he was a stranger offering a legally binding contract.

If she was a married woman, Bennett had zero legal or moral authority to force her into a matchmaking arrangement. Justine Hodges couldn't touch a married woman. It was the ultimate shield.

Cora dragged a breath of air into her lungs. Her eyes burned, but she refused to cry.

"How long?" Cora asked, her voice hard. "How long does this PR marriage need to last?"

Callum's pupils dilated slightly. He kept his face perfectly neutral. "One year."

Cora locked her jaw. She pressed her hands together, her knuckles white. She lowered her hands.

"Fine," Cora said.