The Rolls-Royce glided to a silent halt. A tall figure emerged from the back seat—broad-shouldered, impeccably dressed, his every movement radiating the quiet authority of a man who commanded empires. His handsome features were sharp yet composed, the kind of face that belonged on the covers of business magazines. He was unmistakably Julian Crestwood, CEO of The Golden Crest, the city's most prestigious restaurant chain and the cornerstone of a powerful, revered family dynasty.
"What's wrong with you, young lady?" he asked, his deep voice carrying genuine concern beneath its natural command.
Tyla Parker turned toward him. Even in her dazed state, the sheer presence of the man—wealth and power distilled into human form—made her breath catch. Then recognition hit her.
"Julian… Julian Crestwood?" she whispered, the name slipping out before she could stop it.
He didn't respond immediately; his phone had already begun to ring. He answered with a curt nod to the caller.
"Speak."
His secretary's voice came through, tense. "Boss, Amber couldn't make it to the office to sign the marriage agreement."
Julian's jaw tightened. "What do you mean she couldn't make it? I had the registry open at this hour—something most people couldn't arrange in a lifetime. Find a replacement. I need someone willing to sign the contract tonight. Now."
He ended the call with a decisive tap.
That was when Tyla spoke, her voice surprisingly steady despite the chaos of the evening. "I'll do it."
Julian paused, turning his piercing gaze fully on her. He studied her for a long moment, as though weighing the sincerity behind her words.
"Are you certain?" he asked, his tone low and firm. "This isn't a decision to make lightly."
"Yes," Tyla replied without hesitation. "I'm ready. I'll sign it now."
He arched a brow. "Your name?"
"Tyla Parker."
Julian gestured subtly to his assistant, who had been waiting discreetly by the car. The man stepped forward at once.
"Run a quick background on Miss Tyla Parker," Julian instructed quietly.
The assistant nodded, tapped efficiently on his tablet, and moments later murmured the results into Julian's ear.
Julian's expression remained unreadable. "Very well. Get in the car."
Tyla obeyed, sliding into the luxurious leather seat. The drive to the registry office was smooth and silent, the city lights blurring past the tinted windows. They signed the papers with clinical efficiency; the officiant, clearly accustomed to accommodating the elite at odd hours, issued the certificate without comment. By the time they returned to the car, exhaustion and the remnants of alcohol overwhelmed Tyla, and she drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.
…
When Tyla awoke, soft morning light spilled across an expansive, impeccably arranged bed. The sheets were silk, the room vast and tastefully opulent. For a heartbeat she panicked, clutching the covers to her chest, fearing the worst.
Her eyes landed on Julian, seated in a nearby armchair, a cup of coffee in hand, watching her with calm detachment.
"Relax," he said evenly. "Nothing happened between us last night. You were in no condition for anything but sleep."
Tyla sat up slowly, fragments of the previous night reassembling in her mind. The betrayal. The bar. The Rolls-Royce. The contract.
"We're… actually married now?" she asked, needing confirmation.
"Yes," Julian replied. "I intended to brief you on the terms last night, but you were, understandably, in no state for it. This is a trial marriage—six months."
"A trial marriage?" Tyla echoed, frowning.
"Exactly as it sounds. For the next six months, our marriage remains confidential. After that period, we decide whether to make it public—or dissolve it quietly."
Tyla absorbed his words, then tilted her head. "And the reason for the trial period? You want to… observe me? Make sure I'm not after your money?"
Julian's lips curved in the faintest hint of amusement. "Nothing so cynical, Miss Parker. It's simply practical."
Before she could press further, her phone buzzed on the nightstand. The name on the screen made her stomach twist: Jace.
She stared at it for a second, then answered with forced calm.
"Hello, Jace."
"Tyla, where are you?" His voice was casual, as if last night's betrayal had never happened.
"I got drunk," she lied smoothly. "My sister booked me a room at a lodge. I crashed there."
"Oh, good. Listen, I need a favor."
Tyla's grip tightened on the phone. "Are you at the registry office right now?"
"Of course not. We'll do that another time. Something bigger just came up—The Golden Crest reached out. They want to give us a contract. This could change everything for the restaurant, for us, for Edna too."
Tyla forced a smile he couldn't see. "Of course it could."
"So," Jace continued eagerly, "Edna fractured her wrist last night. She can't cook today. The Golden Crest executives are coming to sample our menu. I need you to step in for her—like you've done before."
Tyla closed her eyes, rage simmering beneath her calm exterior. "How did Edna fracture her wrist, exactly?"
"Now's not the time for questions, Tyla. Just get to the restaurant as soon as you can."
She inhaled slowly. "All right. I'll do it—for us, for Edna, for Parker's."
"Thank you, baby. I knew I could count on you."
Tyla ended the call, a cold, wicked smile curving her lips.
He had no idea what was coming—for him or his mistress.
She might have been a fool once.
But she had learned better.