The Secretary's Fake Rockstar Husband

The ceremony room was depressing. It was a small, windowless box with beige walls, a few rows of folding chairs, and a plastic archway decorated with dusty, fake white roses.

An elderly officiant in a black robe stood behind a wooden podium. He pushed his reading glasses up his nose and gestured for them to stand on the taped marks on the carpet.

The officiant began reading the standard vows. His voice was a monotonous drone.

Cora's heart started to pound. The reality of the situation was crashing down on her. She was marrying a man she met yesterday. Her lungs felt tight.

She turned her head to look at Callum. He wasn't looking around the cheap room. He was staring straight at the officiant, his profile sharp and intensely focused. He looked like a man signing a billion-dollar merger, not a fake marriage certificate.

"Please exchange the rings," the officiant said.

Cora froze. Rings. They didn't have rings.

The silence in the room stretched. Outside the open door, Simon was pacing frantically, chewing on his thumbnail.

Callum didn't miss a beat. He reached over to his left hand and slid a simple, unadorned silver band off his pinky finger.

He took Cora's left hand. His thumb brushed over her knuckles. "Just for now," he whispered.

He slid the ring onto her ring finger. His large, warm hand steadied hers, his thumb gently pressing against her trembling knuckles. Time seemed to slow as the metal slid over her skin. It was heavy and ice-cold, sending a sudden, sharp shiver up her arm that settled deep in her chest. As the ring turned slightly past her knuckle, she caught a fleeting glimpse of the inside of the band. There were faint, worn-out letters engraved in the metal, so faded they were completely illegible. A sudden wave of quiet understanding washed over her-this wasn't just a prop; it was a detail that perfectly matched the story of a struggling artist's sentimental keepsake. She swallowed hard, her pulse fluttering against her throat. It fit perfectly.

"By the power vested in me by the State of New York," the officiant droned, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Cora's breath hitched. She hadn't thought about this part. She assumed they would just shake hands.

Callum turned to fully face her. He lifted both hands and gently cupped her face. His thumbs rested lightly on her cheekbones.

He leaned down. He stopped when his lips were a fraction of an inch from hers. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her mouth.

"Play along," Callum murmured, his voice a dark velvet whisper. "We have to make this look entirely real." Before her mind could process the shift in his tone, the air between them vanished. A sharp, electric tension coiled in her stomach. She looked up, her breath catching as she met his pitch-black gaze. There was no escape, no room for hesitation.

Cora closed her eyes. Her eyelashes fluttered against her skin.

Callum's mouth covered hers.

It wasn't a fake, polite peck. It was a deep, consuming kiss. His lips were firm, parting hers with a dominant, possessive pressure that sent a shockwave straight to her core. Her knees went weak. Her hands instinctively flew up, gripping his waist to keep from falling.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes were pitch black. Cora was gasping for air, her face burning hot.

The officiant slammed a small wooden gavel onto the podium. "Done."

Midtown Manhattan. The top floor of the Hodges Group headquarters.

Bennett Hodges sat behind a massive, custom-built mahogany desk. His face was a mask of cold fury.

Felicity, the senior administrative assistant, stood rigidly in front of the desk, clutching an iPad to her chest.

"She didn't clock in, sir," Felicity said, her voice trembling slightly. "Cora is a no-show."

Bennett let out a harsh, mocking laugh. He picked up his Montblanc fountain pen and slammed it down onto the desk. The sharp crack echoed in the massive office.

"She's throwing a tantrum," Bennett sneered. He adjusted the cuffs of his bespoke suit jacket, a habit he had whenever he felt the need to assert dominance. "She thinks ignoring the charity gala arrangement and skipping work will force my hand."

"Her phone is completely turned off, Mr. Hodges," Felicity added.

Bennett stood up. He walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the city like a god observing ants. A dark, twisted sense of control flared in his chest. Cora was finally trying to fight back. It was pathetic.

"Call payroll," Bennett ordered, not turning around. "Freeze her quarterly performance bonus. Effective immediately."

Felicity gasped softly. "Sir, that's her entire savings for the quarter."

Bennett turned his head, his eyes dead and cold. "Do it. Without that money, she can't make rent in Brooklyn. Give her three days. She'll be crying at my door, begging for her job back."

Felicity nodded quickly and practically ran out of the office.

Bennett walked over to his espresso machine. He poured a shot of black coffee. He took a sip, the bitter liquid burning his throat. He smiled. He had her exactly where he wanted her.