2

Alexander Wolfe The view from the top floor of Wolfe Tower usually gave me a sense of absolute control. Today, it felt like a cage. I paced back and forth across the polished mahogany floor of the main boardroom. Across the long table, Arthur Vance was calmly laying out a series of thick legal documents. Arthur was over sixty, had been my father’s attorney for decades, and rarely showed any emotion. The grave look on his face told me everything I needed to know before he even opened his mouth. "Explain it to me again," I said, my voice cold and hard. "And make sure it makes sense this time." Arthur adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses and tapped a page in the contract. "It is quite simple, Alexander, even if it is outdated. When your grandfather drafted the founding charter for Wolfe Holdings, he included a stability clause regarding the Chief Executive position." "A stability clause," I repeated, scoffing. "Yes," Arthur continued. "To hold the controlling voting shares during a major structural change—such as the European merger you have been chasing for three years—the CEO must be legally married. Your grandfather believed a married man was less likely to make reckless financial gambles." I slammed my palm onto the table. "That is insane! I have built this company into an empire over the last seven years. My single status has never affected my ability to make money." "It does not matter what you or I think," Arthur said quietly. "The board of directors is looking for any reason to challenge your control. If you do not meet the terms of the charter before the final merger documents are signed next month, the voting power shifts to your uncle. And you know what he will do to this company." My jaw tightened. My uncle would tear Wolfe Holdings apart and sell the pieces for a quick profit. I could not let that happen. "So find a loophole," I ordered. "There is no loophole, Alexander. I spent all night looking," Arthur said softly. "You must be legally married within thirty days." "I am not marrying some random socialite just to appease a dead man's outdated contract!" I snapped, turning back toward the window. The thought of bringing a stranger into my life, letting them sign a marriage license, and giving them access to my world made my stomach turn. I trusted very few people, and the list of people I actually cared about was even shorter. "Then find someone you trust," Arthur suggested, closing his folder. "Draw up a strict prenuptial agreement. Keep it private, sign the papers, complete the merger, and quietly dissolve the marriage in a year or two. It is a business transaction, Alexander. Treat it like one." I dismissed Arthur a few minutes later, but his words hung heavy in the air all afternoon. A business transaction. It sounded simple, but the reality was repulsive. I hated having my personal life controlled by boardroom politics. By eight o'clock that evening, I was sitting on the leather sofa in my penthouse apartment. The dim lighting and quiet room did little to soothe my mood. The door unlocked, and Jamie walked in without knocking. He had his own key code, as he had for years. He was wearing a oversized gray sweater, his hair slightly messy from a long day in his art studio. He carried a take-out bag from our favorite Thai restaurant. "You looked like you were going to murder someone on the news today," Jamie said, tossing his keys onto the counter and setting the food down. "What happened? Did the stock market crash?" "Worse," I grumbled, pouring two glasses of scotch. I handed one to him as he sat down on the opposite end of the couch. "My grandfather was a controlling lunatic who managed to ruin my life from beyond the grave." Jamie raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of the amber liquid. "Alright, I'm intrigued. What did the old man do?" I explained the situation to him. I told him about the European merger, the board of directors waiting for me to fail, and the ridiculous stability clause in the company charter that required me to be married to keep my controlling shares. "So," I concluded, leaning my head back against the couch, "I have less than a month to get legally married, or I lose Wolfe Holdings." Jamie stared at me for a moment, then burst out laughing. It was a bright, genuine sound that filled the quiet room. "You're laughing?" I asked, looking over at him with a frown. "Of course I'm laughing!" Jamie wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. "Alexander Wolfe, the most powerful bachelor in the city, trapped by a marriage clause. It sounds like the plot of a terrible romance movie." "It is not funny, Jamie. Arthur wants me to hire a stranger and sign a fake contract." Jamie shook his head, still smiling. He leaned back against the cushions and tossed his hands up casually. "Well, why hire a stranger? You’ve spent ten years pretending I’m your boyfriend. You might as well marry me." The room went completely silent. Jamie was clearly joking. He had that playful glint in his blue eyes, waiting for me to chuckle along with him. It was a logical joke, given our history. But as I looked at him—sitting there in his comfortable clothes, completely relaxed, the one person in the world who asked nothing from me and knew every single one of my flaws—the noise in my head stopped. It made total sense. Jamie was my best friend. I trusted him with my life. He already knew how to handle the press, he knew how to act around my high-society peers, and we had already built a decade-long public narrative together. The media wouldn't even suspect it was fake; they would just think we finally decided to settle down. "Okay," I said quietly. Jamie paused, his glass halfway to his mouth. The smile on his face flickered. "What do you mean, 'okay'?" "I mean okay," I said, setting my glass down on the coffee table. I turned my body to face him directly. "Let's do it. Let's get married." Jamie froze. The playful tone vanished from his face, replaced by complete bewilderment. He looked at me, searching my face for any sign of a joke, but my expression remained dead serious. Jamie swallowed hard and stared at me, his voice barely above a whisper. "You’re actually serious?"