After getting home with her things from the office, she unpacked and took the wedding invitation again, probably to check if it was all her mind playing games on her. She sat on her bed, the wedding invitation still clutched in her trembling hands. Her ex-boyfriend. Her best friend. Getting married.
She had stared at the words for an hour, reading and rereading them, as if the ink might rearrange itself into something more believable. Four years with him, and he never proposed. Six months with her, and he was ready to walk down the aisle.
It was laughable.
It was humiliating. Very humiliating!
She tossed the card onto the nightstand and curled into herself. She had already lost her job. Now, she had lost the last shred of certainty she had in her personal life.
For weeks, she drifted—drinking and sleeping too much, eating too little, avoiding calls, and ignoring texts. She had built a life around stability, control, and success. And yet, here she was, stripped of all three.
Then one day, while scrolling mindlessly through social media, something caught her eye—a high-profile influencer getting married, but not to the man everyone expected.
The caption read:
"Sometimes, love isn't the answer. Sometimes, the right partner is."A thought struck her. A ridiculous, absurd thought.
She opened a new browser tab and started researching.
What If Marriage Was Just a Business?
Fedora had spent years closing business deals, negotiating contracts, and handling clients who needed results, not emotions.
What if marriage-or, at least, the idea of it-could be handled the same way?
People got married for different reasons: love, companionship, family expectations, social status, business mergers, and even immigration. But what about those who didn’t want love—just the illusion of it?
She knew marriage well—not because she had experienced it, but because she had seen it unfold in her family. Four siblings. Four different stories.
Her eldest sister, Vivian, had married her university sweetheart. They built a life together, balancing careers and family, raising two children in a home filled with love and laughter. They weren’t the richest, but they were partners in every sense—rooting for each other, solving problems together, and holding hands through the storms.
Then there was Melvin, the second-born, who married the woman his parents chose for him. At first, Fedora thought it was ridiculous—how could he just accept a wife chosen for him? But over the years, she watched them grow together. Respect turned into friendship, and friendship became a deep, steady love. It was practical, built on shared values rather than passion, and yet it worked.
Her third sibling, Mandy, was different. Her love story was straight out of a fairy tale—passionate, romantic, full of surprises. She and her husband traveled the world together, posted beautiful pictures on social media, and seemed to glow in each other's presence. They fought sometimes, but somehow, their love always found its way back to joy.
And then, there was Myles.
His marriage had been a disaster. What started as a whirlwind romance quickly turned into a war zone. His wife, Jemimah, had once been the love of his life, but within five years, they were strangers who barely spoke without shouting. Infidelity, financial struggles, and trust issues tore them apart.
The divorce was ugly. Two kids were left in the middle of the wreckage.
Jemimah struggled alone, working multiple jobs to provide for them because Myles—the same man who once promised forever—had completely abandoned his responsibilities. Though he was her brother, and she had meddled in his divorce with her sister-in-law, he didn't listen and chose to do things his way.
Fedora saw the pain it caused. She saw how her sister-in-law aged overnight and how her niece and nephew grew up too fast, learning early that promises didn’t always mean security.
Marriage was not just about love.
Sometimes, it was about survival. Stability. Convenience.
Not everyone had the luxury of a fairy tale. Some people just needed the right partner for the right situation.
That’s when it hit her.
She could create that.
Fedora had spent years helping businesses form the right partnerships to succeed. What if she applied that same strategy to marriage? Temporary engagements. Fake weddings. A service that provided the illusion of love when people needed it most.
People needed convenient partners. Someone to silence meddling relatives, impress conservative employers, or fake stability for their own reasons.
She wasn’t in the business of love. But she could be in the business of fixing problems.
She grabbed a notebook and began jotting down ideas.
* Temporary relationships.
* Fake engagements.
* Wedding stand-ins.
* Social credibility for the wealthy.
It sounded insane. It sounded brilliant.
And just like that, The Bridal Fix was born - amidst a life devoid of hope.
This time around, she's determined that no Tyler, Cynthia, nor Rombosco Construction Co. will take it away from her.
Judah Carlstone stood by the streetlamp, watching the amber hues of dusk melt into shadow.He had told her to go.Told her she needed clarity, that she needed to face Daniel, look him in the eye and make her choice with no pressure, no expectations. But now, alone under the fading sky, his courage was unraveling thread by thread.What if she chose Daniel?What if those few weeks they spent together; her laughter echoing in another man’s arms, had carved a new kind of belonging she wouldn’t walk away from?He swallowed hard, pressing his palms together, like in prayer.“I’ll respect her choice,” he whispered to no one. “Whatever it is.”But even as the words left his mouth, his chest ached with the kind of prayer that couldn’t be formed with language.He didn’t want to lose her again.Not after surviving death. Not after clawing his way out of silence and shadows, only to find her smile had kept him alive all along.His heart beat like a war drum in his chest.What if she came back with
The plane touched down in Dallas just before sunset, painting the sky in streaks of amber and gold. Judah had barely sat still the entire flight. Every second felt like a lifetime, every heartbeat a drum of anticipation echoing louder the closer they came to home.Fedora sat beside him, silent but steady. Her hand was in his, her fingers interlaced tightly with his own. There were no more lies between them. No more fear. Just breath... and the unsaid.As they descended the steps of the private jet and entered the terminal, Judah felt his pulse surge in his ears.Then he heard it.Laughter.High-pitched. Familiar. Free.He turned toward the sound...Zariah and Eliana.The twins ran toward them, barreling through the open space like lightning bolts in pink sneakers.“Daddy!” Eliana screamed.Judah dropped his bag and fell to his knees just in time to catch them both in his arms.The hug hit like a tidal wave. They wrapped around him, sobbing and laughing and clinging like their lives de
The fluorescent lights hummed softly overhead as Judah walked down the quiet hallway of the private clinic. The soles of his shoes clicked softly on the polished marble. Every step was heavier than the last. He had faced gunfire, betrayal, and cartel executions. But nothing prepared him for this moment.He stood outside her room for a long time before knocking. His hand hovered over the door handle. She had fainted when she found out. And when he rushed to her side earlier; her eyes had fluttered closed, heart racing from the weight of what her soul must’ve screamed before her mind could catch up.Now, she was awake.And waiting.He opened the door.Fedora sat up in the hospital bed, wrapped in pale blue sheets. Her eyes were swollen, red-rimmed. A tray of untouched food sat beside her.She didn’t speak when she saw him.She just looked.And looked.Judah stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him. Went to the bed where she laid and knelt down on the floor beside it.“Fedora,
Dubai woke up golden.The Burj Khalifa shimmered in the distance as if it, too, was holding its breath. The venue—a waterfront palace resort soaked in elegance—was buzzing by 6:00 a.m. The scent of freshly-cut roses mixed with expensive perfume and barely hidden tension.Fedora stood at the center of it all. A headset wrapped delicately around her ear, clipboard in hand, navy-blue dress tailored to precision. Her hair was swept into a neat twist. Her eyes? Focused.“Press is already lining up outside,” Rasha, her assistant, whispered, holding her tablet. “Groom’s party has arrived. Bride’s entourage checked in. Everything’s moving on schedule.”Fedora nodded tightly. “Begin ushering the guests. I want the press allowed past the velvet ropes—but not past the second security tier. I don’t want any flashbulbs near the altar.”“Yes, ma’am.”By 10:00 a.m., the palace lawn had been transformed into a dream.Thousands of hand-arranged white orchids lined the aisle. Gold chairs shimmered unde
The air in the Burj al-Qasr ballroom was laced with floral jasmine, chilled champagne, and thick tension disguised as excitement. Crystal chandeliers glimmered overhead like a thousand stars, reflecting against the ivory and gold interior. Staff moved in synchronized rhythm, draping tables, aligning chairs, and checking sound systems.Fedora stood at the center of it all, her clipboard trembling slightly in her hand.She wore a fitted rose-gold blazer over silk pants, her hair pulled into a flawless knot, her professionalism stitched tight across her face. No one could see the war behind her eyes, no one but herself.Guests were arriving by the hour. International elites. CEOs. Politicians. A few faces she knew from tabloids, and more from classified briefings years ago when she still walked in shadows beside Judah - her late husband.JasonHer chest constricted at the sound of his name, which filtered into her thoughts.She hadn’t seen him since their confrontation two nights ago. An
Rain lashed quietly against the glass as Judah stood alone in the corner of the surveillance suite: a hidden location buried beneath an old Dubai consulate that Mowe had quietly converted into a safe house.The light from the monitors cast cold lines across his face. Footage of Beauty, Eric, and several untraceable encrypted calls looped in silence. But Judah wasn’t watching anymore.He was listening.“…the UN massacre,” Trenholm said over the line. “It was never confirmed who ordered the drop, but your evidence connects Rivas directly to the two pilots and the encrypted dispatch.”“And Beauty?” Judah asked, voice like cracked glass.“Complicit by proximity,” Trenholm replied. “Eric was there. She was there. At least one of them made the call.”Judah turned slowly, eyes burning. “That’s enough to reopen the case?”“It already has,” Trenholm said.Because Judah Carlstone had made sure of it.Two weeks ago, quietly, deliberately, he'd instructed Emmanuel to dig—deep into classified repo