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.
Fedora sat in the corner of a dimly lit coffee shop, absently stirring her caramel latte. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mixed with the hum of conversations around her, but she was lost in thought.It had been three months since she walked out of Rombosco Alliance Construction Company with nothing but a cardboard box and a fractured sense of self. Three months since she received the wedding invitation that sent her spiraling. Three months of trying—and failing—to figure out what was next, or even kickstart the business idea she researched about—Bridal Fix. Her savings were dwindling. And she is yet to know how to go about the Bridal Fix idea.Fedora had always been a fighter. Born and raised in Texas by a Texas father and a Mexican mother, she was no stranger to hardship. She had learned early on that survival meant adapting, and when life knocked her down, she found a way to get back up. But this time, she wasn’t just getting up—she was reinventing herself.She was a woman with
Fedora had never envisioned herself in the wedding business, but Bridal Fix was not a typical wedding company. There were no flower arrangements, no giddy brides dreaming of their big day, no childhood fairytales being fulfilled. Instead, Bridal Fix operated in a world of necessity, where marriage was a tool, a strategy, an answer to problems that money alone could not solve.Each marriage was a transaction, meticulously planned based on the needs of the client. Some men needed only a simple court registration—a signature, a ring, and a marriage certificate—to satisfy business or legal obligations. Others required the full spectacle of a wedding, dictated by cultural or family expectations. Traditional ceremonies, white weddings, elaborate receptions—every detail was determined by the demands of the client’s world.Fedora had found herself standing in grand banquet halls, exchanging vows before hundreds of guests, only to quietly sign divorce papers months later. In other cases, she m
Fedora had long since trained herself not to dwell on the past. But some dates refused to be ignored.Today marked five years since her relationship broke up, and they married—her ex-boyfriend and her best friend’s anniversary. Five years since she had received that invitation, her heartbreak compounded by the cruel irony of it all. Four years with him, no proposal. Six months with her best friend, a wedding.She should have been over it. She had built an empire, traveled the world, married and divorced some of the most powerful men in business, politics, and tech. She was the woman people hired to make their marriages happen, yet she had never had one of her own.She had perfected the art of emotional detachment. But as she scrolled through social media that morning, sipping her imported espresso in her luxury penthouse, the sight of their anniversary pictures hit her harder than she expected.They were celebrating in Santorini. The blue domes and whitewashed buildings were the perfe
The reply came almost instantly."Tomorrow. The Skylight Hotel. 8 PM. Please."Fedora’s fingers hovered over the screen. She had built her life on precision and control, never letting emotions dictate her actions. But this? This was uncharted territory.Still, she found herself typing back:"I’ll be there."***The Skylight Hotel was a place for the elite—business moguls, celebrities, and politicians. Fedora had been there before, always as someone’s wife, never as herself.She walked in with the quiet confidence she had perfected over the years. But the moment she saw him sitting in the dimly lit lounge, something shifted inside her.Tyler.The man who had once held her heart. The man who had shattered it.He looked different—tired, worn down. His once perfectly tailored life now had visible creases.Fedora sat across from him, keeping her expression unreadable. “You have five minutes.”He exhaled, rubbing his hands together before looking at her. “I messed up, Fedora.”She let out a
Fedora stared out of the floor-to-ceiling window of her penthouse, the city lights blinking like a million tiny promises. From here, she could see everything—the world she had conquered, the empire she had built. And yet, tonight, all she could feel was the weight of it pressing down on her.The latest scandal had died down, but the damage was done. It wasn’t just the media frenzy or the legal maneuvers—it was something deeper. A crack in the foundation she had spent years perfecting.For the first time in a long time, Fedora asked herself a question she had always avoided: Had she built a business? Or a prison?The money flowed effortlessly. Another client. Another contract. Another staged engagement, perfectly curated to withstand scrutiny before dissolving on schedule. It was a flawless system—one that had made her rich, powerful, and untouchable.But it was also a system that never let her leave.The irony was sharp. She had designed Bridal Fix to give men an easy exit, an escape
Fedora had seen a lot of desperate people in her line of work. Men who needed a quick wedding to satisfy an inheritance clause. Men who needed to fend off meddling families with an impressive fiancée on their arm. Clients who offered her small fortunes to play the perfect role in their carefully constructed lies.But nothing—nothing—compared to the desperation in Cynthia’s eyes now.Fedora took her time. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, gaze unreadable. She was dressed in a satin robe, hair pulled into a loose bun, as if she had all the time in the world. Meanwhile, Cynthia stood there like a beggar at her door.“I wouldn’t have come if I had another option,” Cynthia said, hands wringing together. “But you’re the only one who can help me.”Fedora arched a brow. “Now, that is interesting.”Cynthia inhaled sharply. “I know I’m the last person you want to see, but—”Fedora tilted her head, pretending to be thoughtful. “You know, I could’ve sworn the last time we spoke, you
Fedora Smith had seen it all.Desperate men needing a quick fix—fake marriages to secure inheritances, land multimillion-dollar contracts, or pacify overbearing families. It was never personal. Just business.She ran Bridal Fix with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine. No real emotions. No real attachments. Just temporary vows and airtight contracts.Then came Judah.Tall, confident, and unreadable. He wasn’t like the others. He didn’t fumble with nervous excuses or present rehearsed requests. He simply slid a contract across the table and met her gaze with an intensity that unsettled her.Judah Carlstone wasn’t just a name. It was a legacy. A brand. A force that left an imprint wherever it touched.Born into a family of power and wealth, Judah carried the weight of two worlds—the Carlstone dynasty of America and the imperial bloodline of Japan.His father, Anthony Carlstone, was a man of both privilege and grit. He had been born into the wealth of the Carlstone family, owners of C
“I need a wife,” he said, his voice smooth but firm. “For six months. No complications. No exceptions.”Fedora Smith had heard those words before.Men came to her for many reasons—dodging prenuptial clauses, securing an inheritance, keeping their families off their backs. But something about Judah Carlstone made those same words feel different.Maybe it was the way he said them.No desperation. No bargaining. Just absolute control.Or maybe it was him.Judah Carlstone wasn’t just another client.He was tall, at least 6’2, his build effortlessly commanding without looking overworked. His black tailored suit fit like it had been designed on his body, the crisp white shirt beneath unbuttoned just enough to hint at the lean muscle beneath.But it wasn’t just his looks.It was the energy he carried.The kind of presence that stole the air from a room without even trying. The quiet confidence in his posture. The way his sharp blue-gray eyes studied her, cool and unreadable, as if he could a
The fluorescent lights buzzed quietly above the sterile stillness of the ICU. The air carried the scent of antiseptic and faint lavender from the small diffuser on the corner shelf. Fedora lay still, the beeping of the heart monitor syncing with her shallow breaths. Her face bore the bruises of a war she hadn’t signed up for.A soft knock tapped at the hospital room door, and in walked a woman in pale scrubs, clutching a chart."Good morning, sweetheart," she said gently, her voice warm and reassuring. "I'm Nurse Jenny. I’ve been assigned to your care for the next few days."Fedora blinked, her lips dry and cracked. “Morning… I’m feeling… sore. Everywhere,” she managed, her voice hoarse.Jenny gave her a sympathetic smile. “I bet you are. You’ve been through hell and back.”Jenny walked to the monitor, then to the foot of the bed, flipping open the chart. She hesitated, then looked back at Fedora.“You’re lucky,” she said softly.Fedora raised an eyebrow. “Lucky?”Jenny nodded. “Yes.
The cell was barely fit for animals, let alone people. Fedora lay slumped in a corner where the cracked concrete wall met a floor slick with moisture, the air so thick and rank it burned her nose. Dampness clung to her skin like a second prison, and somewhere in the shadows, water dripped in rhythmic torment. The dim light overhead buzzed intermittently, casting flickers of illumination over mold-stained walls and rusted chains. A rat scurried by. She didn't flinch anymore.She was cold. Every joint ached. Her lips were split. Her head pulsed with the dull memory of fists and boots. Her dress—what was left of it—was clinging to her skin, soaked through from a previous dousing meant to jolt her back to consciousness.Earlier, they’d brought food—if it could be called that. A dented metal tray had been shoved in, carrying a bowl of watery beans, some unidentifiable gristle, and a chunk of hard, stale bread. The stench alone made her gag. She’d turned her face away and retched dryly. Hun
In the days that followed, the atmosphere between Fedora and Judah shifted. The intimacy they had shared was now replaced by a palpable tension. Every glance lingered a moment too long, every touch was avoided. They moved around each other with a newfound caution, as if afraid that proximity might reignite the flames they were desperately trying to smother.Judah, ever the professional, buried himself in the mission. He coordinated with the CIA, ensuring that every detail of the final drug delivery of El Padre Rivas was flawless. His days were consumed with briefings, surveillance, and contingency plans. He needed the distraction, needed to focus on something other than the memory of Fedora's touch, the sound of her voice whispering his name in the dark.Fedora, too, threw herself into the role she had to play. She rehearsed her lines, perfected her smiles, and reminded herself of the stakes. This was more than just a mission; it was a game of life and death. And there was no room for
And the world between them caught fire.His lips found hers with the urgency of a man who had come too close to losing the only thing that had ever made him feel alive. Her fingers slid up his chest, curling into his T-shirt, and he deepened the kiss, cupping her face with both hands like she was something sacred. Something he’d once prayed for but never thought he’d deserve.The spatula forgotten, the food ignored.The only heat that mattered now was the one sparking between them.Fedora gasped against his mouth, and he took it as invitation. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down, pulling him in. Every kiss he gave her was both like an apology and a confession. I’m sorry for falling in love with you. I can't help my feelings. I'm gone too deepBut even as her body leaned into his, her mind screamed, This is a mistake. This breaks the rules. This wasn’t supposed to happen.Still… it was Judah.And he was thinking the same—This shouldn’t happen. This changes everything
Seven days after the rescue, Fedora sat in the debriefing room.The room was silent, heavy with the kind of stillness that follows trauma. A chill clung to the air despite the spring sun warming Langley outside. Fedora sat wrapped in a thick gray sweater, her figure still visibly frail. But her gaze—tired, sharp, unflinching—held more strength than most people in the room could bear to meet for long.Judah wasn’t allowed inside.His supervisor, Trenholm, had pulled him aside that morning.“You’re too close,” he said. “We need her mind, Judah—not your heart flooding the room.”Judah clenched his fists but said nothing.He understood—but that didn’t mean it didn’t tear at him.So now, he paced outside the room like a caged animal, catching every muffled word that slipped through the vents.Inside, Agent Mowe sat across from Fedora. Calm. Clinical.“You were in Korben’s custody for four days,” He began. “Anything you remember—voices, names, faces—could matter.”Fedora blinked slowly. “He
“Stay on the line with me, Fedora,” Judah said, voice trembling, pacing the CIA ops center like a man walking a tightrope between hope and insanity. “Don’t hang up. Please.” “I won’t,” came her faint, exhausted voice. “I promise.” His throat closed, but he forced words out. “Are you safe now? Where are you exactly? Are you inside a building? Are there people with you?” “I’m in a house. A kind farmer brought me in. His family’s kind. They gave me food… a place to sleep. I think it’s somewhere in the outskirts. I—I don’t really know.” Judah turned to the team. “Trace her call. Get satellites aligned. Move now.” “Fedora, look around. Anything you can tell me—street signs, landmarks?” There was shuffling on her end. A moment of silence. “There’s a sign… says ‘Little Haven.’” “Copy that!” shouted one of the techs. “We’re narrowing it down!” Judah’s voice softened again. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” She was quiet for a moment. “I’ve got cuts. Bruises. But I’m alive,
The rope was tight, digging into the skin of Fedora’s wrists, but not impossibly so. She’d been still for hours—breathing, counting, watching the patterns of the guard who stood at the door of the dingy fifth-floor room. The old textile factory was a crumbling skeleton of rust and rot, but it gave her something Korben hadn’t counted on: silence. Silence that let her hear every footstep. Every whisper. Every opportunity. Korben had gone out for food. The guard was bored. And Fedora… was ready. She shifted in the chair slowly, careful not to draw attention. Earlier, while Korben ranted about demands and consequences, she’d swiped the tiny piece of jagged metal from the broken vent behind her. Now, she pressed it against the rope, sawing back and forth behind her back. Her wrists bled, but she didn’t stop. Her arms trembled from the strain. Still, she kept cutting. Minutes felt like lifetimes Then—snap. The rope gave. She moved fast. Before the guard could react, she was on him. T
“Dammit!” Korben snarled, kicking over a rusted pipe as he stormed into the room. The bowl of street noodles he brought crashed to the floor, splattering the wall. The guard he’d assigned to Fedora lay writhing, bloodied and dazed, clutching his jaw and muttering incoherently. The ropes were on the ground—cut clean through. The window? Shattered.The air was rank with rage and panic.“Where is she?!” Korben bellowed, grabbing the man by the collar, shaking him violently. “You had one job!”He didn’t wait for an answer.Upstairs. Downstairs. Through the stairwell. Behind crates and rotten furniture. He tore through every room in the crumbling warehouse. No Fedora. He charged outside, diving into the dense brush behind the building, gun drawn, scanning for movement. Nothing.She was gone.She’d outmaneuvered him.And the handover to Judah was in just a few hours.He paced, breathing hard. Options flickered in his mind like static. He couldn’t show up empty-handed. That would mean he ca
Judah’s knuckles were white on the conference table. The room was dim, tension slicing through the air like a scalpel to the throat.“Confirmed?” he asked.Trenholm’s expression was grim, jaw set. “Confirmed. Korben Lyle isn’t just back—he’s activated. He’s reached out to Rivas' network. He’s offering names, files, ops. Everything.”Judah stood slowly. His voice was a whisper soaked in fury. “He’s selling me out.”Trenholm nodded. “And Fedora.”Judah’s eyes narrowed into slits. “I should’ve ended him in Tel Aviv.”But this wasn’t about failed missions anymore.This was personal.This was Fedora.***Judah knows Korben very well. In fact, he had worked with him on several cases before he went rogue. Before he became the agency’s most hunted asset, he was one of their best.Operative-classified. Special activities division. A handler’s nightmare and a field agent’s legend. He didn’t follow rules—he rewrote them. Missions that should’ve failed became ghost stories whispered in Langley’s