So your name is Lena Marks. You're twenty-four. A final-year psychology student. That explains the curiosity."
Ethan didn't look up from the file in front of him, his voice calm but firm. Then his eyes met mine.
"Hope you know I'm not forcing you into this."
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. It didn't feel like force—not exactly—but it didn't feel like freedom either.
"Any past or present relationship I should know about?"
His question caught me off guard.
"You have nothing to worry about," I said quickly.
"Oh, I think I do. The last thing I need is some jealous boyfriend ruining our little arrangement."
I avoided his gaze, fingers curling into the fabric of my skirt.
"There's no one," I muttered.
"Ever?"
I paused. The silence spoke more than words. "Yes."
He leaned back in his chair, blinking slowly. "Wow. Just wow. When you think you've seen it all…"
"Are you seriously virgin-shaming me right now?" The words flew out before I could stop them.
Ethan's brow quirked, but instead of offense, amusement flickered in his eyes. "Oh no. I was doing the opposite, really."
Beside him, Christian leaned in to whisper something to the lawyer. The man—middle-aged, impeccably dressed—nodded with a faint smile that felt rehearsed.
"The lawyer will walk you through where to sign," Ethan continued smoothly. "If you have questions, direct them to me. Not that you will."
I stared down at the contract again. Paper and ink, spelling out three months of pretense. Of living in the same house. Playing house.
Of being his wife in name… and nothing else.
"Lena," Ethan called, snapping me from the spiral in my head. "At least think of your brother. We both need this to happen."
I forced myself to breathe. "Okay. I hear you."
"Be quick. You'll need to shop for your wedding gown before nightfall. Everything has to be done between now and tomorrow."
My head spun. Wedding gown? Already?
"And Christian," Ethan turned to him, "you wouldn't want my wife-to-be working as my secretary."
"On it," Christian replied, already tapping away on his phone. "Drafting the handover now."
Ethan looked at me again, this time with less of the boss and more of the man. "Use my black card. Get whatever you need. I need this to be convincing. And in three months... we go our separate ways."
I picked up the pen, hands trembling just slightly.
"Three months," I whispered.
Ethan gave a small nod, unreadable as ever.
"Three months of marriage. Alone."
And I signed.
---
As I set the pen down, Ethan stood and held out his hand. I took it reluctantly, unsure what came next.
"Let's go play happy couple," he said, with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
And just like that, my real life ended...
And my fake marriage began.
---
The secretary desk sat unusually empty on Monday morning. No scribbled post-its. No familiar scent of vanilla coffee Lena always carried with her. Just a neat nameplate that read Lena Marks – Executive Secretary and a vacant chair.
Whispers had started early.
"She didn't even hand over."
"Think she got fired?"
"Didn't she just start?"
"I heard she ran away—like, literally ran off."
But when the open draft email mysteriously left on her work computer auto-saved with the header Notice of Position Change, curiosity reached new heights. It was unsigned. Blank beneath the subject. Suspicious.
Then came the email.
A formal, company-wide announcement:
> Subject: Internal Staff Update & Personal Announcement
Dear All,
Effective immediately, Lena Marks will no longer serve as executive secretary to Mr. O'Martin. We wish her well in her new role.
Kindly join us in congratulating Mr. Ethan O'Martin and Ms. Marks on their recent union.
— Christian Hughes, Executive Assistant to the CEO.
Union?
"Union as in... like marriage?" one intern squealed.
"No way. It's a prank," someone muttered.
"They barely spoke two full weeks ago!"
But it wasn't a prank. The whispers turned to wide-eyed stares as Christian confirmed it the next morning with a calm, corporate smile and two words:
"It's true."
---
The wedding was small but extravagant. Reserved, elegant, and over-polished like everything Ethan touched.
The bride arrived in a champagne silk dress, custom-made with such elegance it betrayed how quickly it was stitched. Lena walked down the aisle looking the part—serene, graceful, composed—but her fingers dug deep into the bouquet as if trying to steady her world.
Audrey had been wheeled to the front row, smiling weakly as he clutched the small oxygen support in his lap.
"You look like mom today," he whispered when she knelt beside him briefly.
"Too much?" Lena asked, forcing a teasing tone.
"No," he smiled. "Just right. You always were the strong one, L."
Her heart twisted. If he only knew.
As she stood beside Ethan, the room hushed. The officiant's voice felt distant—muffled by the weight in her chest.
Her mind screamed: This isn't real. This isn't love. This is survival.
And yet, when Ethan turned to her and gently lifted the veil, something in his gaze lingered. He hadn't smiled at all—he wasn't the type. But he didn't look away.
Their lips barely brushed. Polite. Mechanical. The applause sounded hollow.
She smiled. She had to.
Later that evening, as the photographers packed up and the guests left, Lena excused herself and fled to the powder room.
She locked the door. Slid down the wall. Let the tears silently roll.
She was married.
To a man who didn't love.
To a man who needed a wife only on paper.
To a stranger who might have just saved her brother's life.
But destroyed hers in the process.
Outside, Ethan waited in the car, checking his watch once. Just once.
The role had been filled. The house had been built.
But inside Lena...
It had never felt emptier.
---
As the door cracked open and she stepped back into the hallway, Lena found Ethan waiting—not by the car—but by the powder room door.
"I thought you left," she whispered, startled.
"I almost did," he replied coolly, pocketing his phone. "But then I realized… it's our wedding night."
Lena blinked.
Ethan leaned closer, voice low. "Let's go home, Mrs. O'Martin."
And suddenly, the game was no longer pretend.
---