The elevator reached the ground floor. Harper straightened, smoothing her skirt, her mask of control sliding back into place.
"Tomorrow morning," she said. "Ten o'clock. Don't be late."
"I won't be."
Harper walked away without another word. Julian watched her go, then pulled out his phone and stepped into a quiet corner of the lobby.
Marcus answered on the first ring. "How'd it go?"
"I just met Clark Thorne face to face."
A pause. "And?"
"He's everything we thought he'd be. Arrogant. Predatory. And he definitely knows about the marriage clause. He showed up at the lawyer's office and threatened Harper's lawyer the second he could get him alone."
"Wait, how would you know that if you weren't in the room?"
Julian smiled slightly. "Because I planted a listening device in the conference room while everyone was distracted by the paperwork."
Marcus laughed. "You work fast."
"I have to. The wedding's tomorrow. After that, I'll be living in Harper's house. Full access to her records, her schedule, her security codes." Julian paused. "Clark's going to investigate me. He's probably already started."
"Let him. The Jay Miller cover is solid. Three years of tax returns, employment history, and even a credit score. He won't find anything."
"Good." Julian glanced toward the elevator where Harper had disappeared. "Because if this falls apart before I get inside that house, we lose our only chance to stop him."
"Be careful," Marcus said quietly. "Clark's dangerous when he's cornered."
"So am I."
Julian ended the call and walked out of the building into the afternoon sunlight. Tomorrow he will marry Harper Thorne. Tomorrow he would become her husband, move into her home, and begin the final phase of a three-year investigation.
Tomorrow, the real work begins.
The courthouse was exactly as soulless as Julian had expected. Grey walls, fluorescent lighting, and a waiting area filled with people who all looked like they'd rather be anywhere else. A new day, but the same cold tension clung to the air.
Julian stood near the window in his new suit, watching the street below. Harper had sent the suit to his apartment last night with a note: Something appropriate for tomorrow. The fitting was already arranged based on your measurements from the restaurant uniform.
The suit fit perfectly. Off-the-rack from a decent department store, nothing extravagant, but well-made. Harper had been practical even in this.
He heard footsteps and turned. Harper walked toward him in a simple cream-colored dress that probably cost more than most people's cars but looked understated enough to pass for modest. Her dark hair was pulled back in a low twist, and she wore minimal jewelry. A bride trying not to look like a bride.
"You look nice," Julian said.
Harper glanced at him, something unreadable in her expression. "So do you. The suit fits well."
"Thank you for sending it."
They stood in awkward silence until Richard Moss arrived, followed closely by Maya Chen, Harper's assistant. Maya looked at Julian with open curiosity and something that might have been concerning.
"This is Maya," Harper said. "She'll be our other witness."
"Nice to meet you," Julian said, shaking her hand.
Maya's grip was firm, her dark eyes assessing. "You too. Harper's told me almost nothing about you, which I find fascinating."
"Maya," Harper said warningly.
"What? I'm just being honest." Maya smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Take care of her, okay?"
"I will," Julian said, and meant it more than he probably should.
Judge Patterson was a woman in her fifties with kind eyes and an efficient manner. She led them into a small ceremony room that smelled faintly of industrial cleaner and old paper.
"This won't take long," she said. "We'll keep it simple and legal. Are we ready?"
Harper nodded. Julian did the same.
The judge began reading from a script she'd probably recited a thousand times. Julian barely heard the words. He was too focused on Harper, standing beside him with perfect posture and absolutely no expression on her face.
This should have been one of the most important days of her life. Instead, it was a business transaction conducted in a room that felt more like a DMV than a place where people made lifetime commitments.
"Do you, Harper Elizabeth Thorne, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
Harper's voice was steady. "I do."
"And do you, Jay Miller, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
Julian met Harper's eyes. "I do."
The judge smiled. "The rings?"
Harper produced two simple gold bands from her purse. They exchanged them in silence, the metal cool against Julian's finger.
"By the power vested in me by the state, I now pronounce you husband and wife." Judge Patterson looked at Julian. "You may kiss the bride."
Julian saw Harper tense. They hadn't discussed this part. Of course, the judge would expect a kiss. What bride and groom didn't kiss?
He stepped closer, his hand gentle against Harper's cheek. Her skin was soft, and he could feel the rapid pulse in her throat. She was nervous.
Julian leaned in and pressed a brief, chaste kiss to her lips. It was over in seconds, nothing more than a formality.
But Harper's lips were warm, and he could smell her perfume, something subtle and expensive. For just a moment, Julian forgot this was a performance.
Then he stepped back, and the moment was gone.
"Congratulations," Judge Patterson said warmly. "May you have a long and happy marriage."
Richard and Maya clapped politely. Harper smiled, a brittle thing that didn't reach her eyes.
They signed the marriage certificate in silence.
Mrs. Harper Miller, the document read. She stared at it for a long moment before signing her name.
"Well," Richard said as they walked back into the hallway. "That's done. Harper, if you need anything…"
"I won't," Harper interrupted gently. "But thank you, Richard. For everything."
The old lawyer nodded, his concern obvious. Then he left, and it was just the three of them in the courthouse hallway.
Maya hugged Harper tightly. "Call me if you need me. Anytime."
"I will."
Maya released her and turned to Julian. "Hurt her, and I will destroy you. I don't care how nice you seem."
Julian believed her. "Understood."
Then Maya was gone too, and Julian and Harper stood alone in the grey hallway, newly married and complete strangers.
"So," Julian said. "Should we... go home?"
Harper looked at him, and for just a second, something vulnerable flickered in her eyes. Then it was gone.
"Yes," she said. "Let's go home."
Harper's mansion was everything Julian had expected and nothing like what he'd prepared for. The security gate opened to a tree-lined drive that curved through perfectly manicured grounds. The house itself was modern glass and stone, all clean lines and expensive restraint.
Julian pulled his car, a ten-year-old Honda he'd bought specifically for this role, into the circular drive behind Harper's Mercedes. He'd left Lumière this morning with one duffel bag containing everything "Jay Miller" owned.
Inside that bag, hidden in a false bottom, was two million dollars' worth of surveillance equipment.
Harper stood at the front door, waiting. "I'll give you a quick tour."
The interior was just as impressive as the exterior. High ceilings, art that was probably worth more than Julian's fake identity earned in a year, furniture that looked uncomfortable and expensive. Everything was perfect.
Everything was empty.
"Kitchen," Harper said, gesturing to a chef's dream of marble countertops and professional-grade appliances. "You'll have full access, as we discussed."
"Thank you."
She led him through the house quickly, pointing out rooms without really explaining them. The living room she clearly never used. The dining room with a table that could seat twelve but probably never had. A library filled with books that looked unread.
"My study," Harper said, stopping at a closed door near the back of the house. "This is off-limits. It's where I work, where I keep confidential documents. The door stays locked."
Julian nodded. "Of course."
They climbed the stairs. "This is my room." Harper indicated a door at the end of the hall. "Also off-limits."
"Understood."
She opened a door three down from hers. "And this is yours."
The guest room was nice. Impersonal, but nice. A queen bed with expensive linens, a desk, and an en-suite bathroom. Everything a person could need and nothing that would make them feel at home.
"The security code for the house is 4729," Harper said. "Don't share it with anyone."
Julian committed it to memory instantly. "I won't."
Harper stood in the doorway, clearly unsure what to say next. "I have work to do. Make yourself comfortable. If you need anything..."
She trailed off, not actually offering help.
"I'll be fine," Julian assured her. "Thank you, Harper."
She left without another word.
Julian waited until he heard her study door close and lock. Then he closed his own door and pulled out his phone.
Marcus: Status?
Julian: I'm in. Give me two hours to set up.
He unpacked the duffel bag carefully, extracting the surveillance equipment from its hidden compartment. The devices were state-of-the-art, nearly invisible once installed. Cameras no bigger than a shirt button. Listening devices that could pick up a whisper from thirty feet away.
Julian moved through the house like a ghost. He planted cameras in the living room, the kitchen, and the hallway outside Harper's study. Audio devices in the main rooms where conversations might happen. He was careful, professional, leaving no trace of his presence.
The only room he didn't touch was Harper's bedroom. That felt like a line he shouldn't cross, investigation or not.
He returned to his room and opened his laptop, watching as each device came online, transmitting to Marcus's secure server. Perfect.
Julian: All systems operational. Beginning surveillance now.
Marcus: Good. Be careful. Clark's PI filed a request for Jay Miller's employment history this morning. He's already investigating.
Julian smiled slightly. Let him investigate. He'd find exactly what Julian wanted him to find: a perfectly ordinary chef with a perfectly ordinary life.
He unpacked the rest of his bag, hanging clothes in the closet, arranging toiletries in the bathroom. Making Jay Miller's presence feel real.
Then he went to the kitchen and started cooking.
If he was going to live here, he might as well eat well.
Harper had been in her study for three hours, reviewing quarterly reports she'd already reviewed twice, when she smelled it.
Garlic. Herbs. Something rich and savory that made her stomach growl.
She'd forgotten to eat lunch. Again.
Harper tried to ignore it, but the smell kept drifting under her door, impossible to dismiss. Finally, she gave up and walked to the kitchen.
Julian stood at the stove, stirring something in a large pot. He'd changed out of his wedding suit into jeans and a simple t-shirt. He looked comfortable in her kitchen in a way that made her feel like an intruder in her own home.
"I made extra," he said without turning around. "If you're hungry."
Harper hesitated. She should go back to her study, maintain the boundaries she'd established. This was a business arrangement, not a real marriage.
But she was so tired. And it smelled so good.
"What is it?"
"Coq au vin. Classic French." Julian glanced over his shoulder. "It's actually better the next day, but I figured we could both use a decent meal."
Harper found herself sitting at the dining table she never used while Julian plated food with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd done it a thousand times. Chicken in a rich wine sauce, roasted vegetables that were perfectly caramelized, and fresh bread that looked homemade.
"Did you make the bread?" she asked.
"This morning, while you were getting ready. I hope that's okay."
Harper cut into the chicken. It was perfect. Everything was perfect.
They ate in silence for a while. Harper couldn't remember the last time she'd had a meal this good at home. She usually lived on takeout eaten at her desk.
"Where did you learn to cook like this?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.
Julian smiled slightly. "Different places. I've worked in a lot of kitchens. You pick things up."
"This is restaurant quality."
"Thank you."
They fell silent again. Harper found herself watching him, studying the way he moved, the casual confidence in his posture. He didn't act like someone who'd just married way above his station. He acted like this was normal.
Maybe he was just good at adapting.
"Thank you for dinner," she said finally, standing. "It was excellent."
"You're welcome."
Harper walked back to her study, but paused at the door. "Jay?"
He looked up from clearing the table.
"I... Thank you. For today. For going through with this."
Something crossed Julian's face, too quick for her to read. "You don't have to thank me, Harper. We made a deal."
She nodded and disappeared into her study, locking the door behind her.
Julian finished cleaning the kitchen, his movements automatic while his mind worked through what he'd learned today. Harper's house was a fortress, but every fortress had weaknesses. The security system was good but not perfect. The locks were standard high-grade, nothing his team couldn't bypass if needed.
And Harper herself was vulnerable in ways she didn't even realize. She was exhausted, isolated, carrying the weight of her parents' company on her shoulders, too young for that burden.
Julian told himself it didn't matter. Told himself that Harper was just a means to an end, a way to get close to Clark and finish what he'd started three years ago.
But when he'd kissed her in the courthouse, when he'd cooked dinner and watched her eat like she'd forgotten what real food tasted like, he'd felt something shift.
Guilt, maybe. Or something more dangerous.
Julian pushed the feeling away and went to his room. He had work to do.
Across the city, Clark Thorne sat in his office and read the preliminary background report on Jay Miller. It was exactly what he'd expected: a nobody with a mediocre work history and zero social connections.
Perfect for Harper's purposes. Too perfect.
Clark picked up his phone. "Dig deeper. I want to know everything about this man. Every place he's ever worked, every person he's ever known. There's something wrong here. I can feel it."
He ended the call and stared at the photo of Harper and her new husband leaving the courthouse. Jay Miller looked exactly like what he claimed to be: a humble chef who'd lucked into five million dollars.
But Clark hadn't gotten where he was by trusting appearances.
"Let's see who you really are, Mr. Miller," he said softly. "And then we'll see how long this little marriage lasts."