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Jamie Carter "You’re actually serious?" I repeated, my hand freezing in mid-air with my glass of scotch. Alexander didn't blink. He sat back on the leather sofa, perfectly composed, as if he had just proposed a standard corporate buyout instead of a legal union between best friends. "I am completely serious," Alexander said, his deep voice smooth and steady. "Think about it, Jamie. It makes more sense than any alternative Arthur suggested. I am not going to hire a stranger, hand them a nondisclosure agreement, and pray they don't sell stories to the tabloids. I trust you. My family knows you. And most importantly, the public already believes we have been in love for ten years." "Because of a lie you made up in college to protect me!" I reminded him, setting my glass down on the table with a loud clatter. My heart was pounding against my ribs. "Alex, marriage isn't just another public relations stunt. It's legal, it's binding, and it's messy." "It doesn't have to be messy," he argued, leaning forward. His dark eyes locked onto mine with that intense focus he used when winning over a reluctant board of directors. "We sign a legal contract prepared by Arthur. It protects your independence, guarantees you financial security, and gives me the paper I need to keep control of Wolfe Holdings. Once the merger is complete and the board's window to challenge me closes, we quietly divorce. Nobody gets hurt." I pulled my knees up to my chest, staring at him. Part of me wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it, but a deeper, hidden part of me felt a sharp pang in my chest. What Alexander didn't know—what no one knew—was that buried beneath ten years of platonic jokes and easy banter, I had spent half a decade secretly in love with him. Watching him date other people, playing the cool, unbothered best friend, had been hard enough. Becoming his actual husband, even on paper, felt like walking into a trap I built myself. "What about us?" I asked softly, dropping the playful tone. "What about our friendship, Alex? What happens when this fake marriage ruins the only good thing in our lives?" Alexander’s expression softened. He reached out, his warm, strong hand resting over my ankle for a brief moment before pulling back. "It won't. I won't let it. This is just a shield, Jamie. Exactly like university. I protected you back then; now you're helping me. We are a team." I took a deep breath, weighing the risks. If I said no, Alexander might get forced into a marriage with some scheming corporate heiress, or worse, lose his life's work to his uncle. I couldn't let that happen to him. "If we do this, we set strict ground rules," I said, pointing a finger at him. "Name them," Alexander replied instantly. "Rule number one: no controlling each other," I declared. "You don't get to dictate my life, and I don't dictate yours. Rule number two: no jealousy. We are business partners and friends, nothing more. Rule number three: no interfering if either of us wants to date someone privately. And rule number four: the moment your company is safe, we sign the divorce papers." Alexander nodded, his jaw set in agreement. "Fair. I agree to all of them." I looked at him, feeling a sudden wave of nervous energy, and tried to lighten the heavy atmosphere. I gave him a small, teasing smirk. "And rule number five: definitely no falling in love with your husband." "Agreed," Alexander said. He answered so fast, without even a split second of hesitation, that the word felt like a cold splash of water. It shouldn't have stung—I knew where I stood—but it did. I forced a bright smile onto my face to hide it. "Alright then, partner," I murmured. "I guess we're getting married." POV: Alexander Wolfe The next evening, I took Jamie to an high-end rooftop restaurant overlooking the harbor. If we were going to pull this off, the narrative had to be bulletproof. Arthur had already drawn up the preliminary paperwork, but the media needed a show. Word had leaked from my office that I was dining out tonight, which meant the press would be waiting outside. As we walked out of the restaurant toward my waiting car, a wall of cameras immediately flashed. Microphones were shoved over the security line. "Mr. Wolfe! Is it true the European merger is stalled?" a reporter yelled. Instead of walking past them, I stopped. I turned to Jamie, who looked slightly startled by the sudden halt. I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a small black velvet box. I had picked it up from the jeweler three hours ago—a simple, elegant platinum band set with a single, flawless diamond. It was classic, expensive, and impossible to miss. Jamie's eyes widened in genuine shock as I flipped the box open. "Alexander, what are you doing?" he whispered under his breath, his cheeks flushing red. "Making it real for them," I whispered back. I took his left hand. His skin was warm, his fingers slightly trembling in mine. I slid the platinum band onto his finger. It fit perfectly. I looked into his bright blue eyes and spoke clearly enough for the front-row reporters to capture every word. "Jamie Carter, you've been by my side for ten years. Marry me." The crowd of paparazzi erupted into a frenzied roar of shouts and flashing lights. Jamie blinked, staring down at the ring, then looked up at me with a soft, breathless laugh. "Yes," Jamie said, playing his part brilliantly. "Yes, of course." I pulled him into a quick, firm embrace, tucking his head against my shoulder as the cameras went wild. Holding him there, surrounded by the noise of the city, my hand rested against the small of his back. He felt warm, solid, and undeniably mine. By midnight, the internet had completely exploded. #WolfeCarterEngagement was trending worldwide. Social media was flooded with photos of the rooftop proposal, videos of me putting the ring on his finger, and speculative articles about our ten-year romance finally ending in a wedding. I sat in my bed, illuminated only by the light of my tablet screen. I scrolled through the images online. There was one photo in particular that caught my attention. It was a close-up shot of Jamie’s hand resting against my tuxedo jacket, the diamond ring shining brightly against his skin. His fingers looked delicate yet strong. I zoomed in on the photo, staring at the ring on his finger. A strange, tight sensation swelled in my chest. It was a sudden, heavy feeling of possessiveness that caught me completely off guard. The thought of that ring on his hand—the sight of him officially belonging to me in the eyes of the entire world—sent a wave of deep satisfaction through my veins. I stared at the screen for a long time, my thumb tracing the outline of his hand on the glass. It’s just because he’s my best friend, I told myself sternly, shutting off the tablet and tossing it onto the nightstand. I’m just glad the plan is working. That’s all this is. I closed my eyes in the dark, but the memory of his warm hand in mine refused to leave my mind.