Chapter 2

Chapter 2: 

 Clara’s POV

My phone buzzed sharply on the nightstand, cutting through the quiet of my penthouse.

I sat up abruptly, my heart thumping against my ribs. 

For a horrifying second, a wave of cold panic washed over me as a specific, unwanted face flashed in my mind. 

But I quickly shook the feeling off, taking a deep breath to steady myself.

Whoever was at the door was pressing the button with an annoying, rhythmic persistence. 

Slipping into my silk robe, I padded out of the bedroom and glanced at the security monitor by the entryway.

The knot in my chest instantly unraveled.

Standing in the hallway was Jace, looking as outrageously vibrant as ever in a tailored crimson suit, his blonde hair styled to perfection. 

He flicked down his designer sunglasses and offered the camera a dazzling smile.

I unlocked the door and pulled it open. "Jace, what on earth are you doing here so early?"

"Are you even asking me that?" Jace crossed his arms, stepping past me into the foyer. "I’ve been calling your phone for the last hour! I thought you were dead, or worse, that you’d chickened out."

"I dozed off," I admitted, rubbing my temples as I leaned against the wall. "I barely slept last night."

"Well, wake up, darling, because we have a crisis," Jace said, snapping his fingers toward the open hallway.

Before I could ask what he meant, a file of four neatly dressed assistants pushed massive rolling racks directly into my living room. 

Within moments, my minimalist space was completely overrun by a shimmering sea of high-fashion wedding dresses, lace, and organza.

I blinked, taking a step back. "Jace... what is all this?"

"Wedding options!" he declared, sweeping his hand over the silk dresses. "You didn't think you were going to sign a marriage contract looking like you just rolled out of bed, did you?"

"Wait," I stammered, catching my breath. "Did I accidentally tell you about my plans?"

Jace chuckled, reading my expression with effortless ease. 

"Clara, you’re transparent when you’re stressed. So it’s true? The fake marriage is actually happening today?"

"It has to," I sighed, walking over to the sofa and crossing my arms tightly. "My family leaves me no choice. 

“Harry Johnson is an absolute nightmare, and I know he’ll look for every opportunity to make my life miserable for the next six months. 

“Honestly, if you weren't head over heels for your girlfriend, I would have begged you to fake marry me instead."

Jace softened as he walked over to pat my shoulder reassuringly. 

"You know I’d jump in front of a train for you, and my girlfriend would totally understand. I’m still here if you want to pull the plug on Harry."

I shook my head, touched by his loyalty. 

"No. I love you too much to drag you into the toxic swamp of the Russell family politics. Harry is a beast, but he’s a beast with enough corporate power to keep my father and stepmother from crushing me."

"Harry Johnson it is then," Jace murmured, a mischievous smirk returning to his face. "Though, maybe you’re overthinking this. 

“You two have been at each other’s throats since childhood, but what if you see a side of him you’ve never noticed before?"

I let out an incredulous groan. 

"Jace, he literally pulled out a clump of my hair in kindergarten because I took the last blue crayon! What hidden, gentle side could he possibly have?"

Before Jace could reply, the doorbell rang again.

Jace opened it to reveal four tall men in immaculate black suits holding velvet designer boxes. 

They stepped inside, completely ignoring Jace, and bowed in unison toward me.

"Good morning, Mrs. Johnson," the lead assistant said respectfully. "Mr. Johnson requests your presence at the Civil Affairs Bureau at ten sharp. He asked us to deliver your attire."

They carefully laid out a stunning white gown, crystal-embellished heels, a diamond jewelry set, a leather clutch, a delicate veil, and a complete box of high-end cosmetics onto my couch.

Once they bowed and departed, Jace stared at the pile of luxury goods, his mouth slightly open. 

He picked up a small velvet box containing pearl hair clips. 

"He even coordinated your hair accessories? Clara... Did you accidentally put a spell on Harry?"

"It's just his pride," I muttered, looking at the pristine white dress. "He’d never let his temporary wife look anything less than flawless in front of the press."

---

An hour later, I was standing inside the Civil Affairs Bureau.

Contrary to my expectations, there was no drama, no last-minute power plays, and no barbed remarks. 

Within fifteen minutes, the official seals were stamped, and we walked out holding our marriage certificates.

Harry played the part of the devoted, attentive groom so impeccably that it felt surreal.

As we stepped out onto the granite steps, he held an umbrella to shield me from the bright sun and opened the door of his classic black Maybach. 

I slid into the leather interior, and Harry sat beside me, signaling the driver to raise the privacy partition.

A heavy silence filled the cabin. I turned my head to look at him. 

Even if I despised his personality, I couldn't deny objective reality. With his sharp jawline, deep-set dark eyes, and tailored suit, Harry looked like he belonged on a billboard.

Harry didn't turn his head, but a faint, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Enjoying the view, Mrs. Johnson?"

"I was just analyzing my life choices," I replied smoothly, leaning back. "Besides, you know you’re entirely not my type."

"And yet, out of all the men in the city, you chose to bind yourself to me," he said softly, leaning his head back against the headrest and turning his dark gaze to mine. "What does that say about your taste, darling?"

A flutter of heat rushed up my neck at his tone, but I kept my voice completely steady. 

"It says I value efficiency over romance. I’ve always hated contract marriage tropes in stories because I actually believe marriage should be rooted in love. 

“If I weren't backed into a corner by my family, I never would have done this. I’d be terrified of accidentally falling for a temporary husband."

From behind the raised partition, the older driver’s voice chuckled through the intercom. 

"Then the young mistress ought to be extra careful. Young Master Harry is considered the most sought-after bachelor in the country. Very few ladies can resist his charm."

I glanced at the partition in surprise, then looked back at Harry, who didn't seem bothered by his driver's input.

"Unlike other women, I am completely immune to your master's charm," I said, raising an eyebrow at Harry. "I've seen his ruthless side since we were kids. That immunity is precisely why this marriage is safe."

Harry leaned in closer, his dark eyes fixed on mine, his voice dropping an octave. 

"Are you reassuring me, Clara? Or are you trying to convince yourself that you won't fall for me?"

"I'll only fall if you fall first," I countered, offering him a cool, confident smile before turning to look out the window.

---

When the car pulled up to my apartment building, I said a brief goodbye and headed inside. 

But the moment the elevator doors opened onto my floor, my calm mood shattered.

The hallway was filled with cardboard boxes, luggage, and my personal belongings. 

Designer bags, files from my study, and framed photos were scattered across the floor outside my penthouse door.

"What is the meaning of this?" I demanded, turning to the building receptionist who was standing nearby, looking uncomfortable.