Chapter 3: The Wolf in Custom Silk

The high-rise office of the CEO at Miller Group overlooked the glittering harbor, but inside, the atmosphere was tight with anticipation.

"Stand still," Vivian commanded softly, stepping closer to Oliver.

She was holding a dark navy tie, her fingers brushing against the warm skin of his collarbone. Her personal stylist had delivered three racks of custom-tailored suits an hour ago. Vivian had expected an awkward transformation, but as Oliver stepped out of the fitting room, her breath had caught in her throat.

The custom charcoal suit fit his broad shoulders and lean waist so perfectly it looked sculpted. Gone was the broke athlete in oversized hoodies; in his place stood a man whose sheer physical presence dominated the room. Yet, true to his disguise, Oliver kept his posture relaxed, a soft, slightly hesitant smile on his face.

"I'm not used to silk, Vivian," Oliver murmured, looking down at her as she expertly tied his Windsor knot. His voice was low, vibrating right against her chest. "It feels a bit tight."

"You'll get used to it," she replied, trying to ignore how close they were standing. "You look like a million bucks. Exactly what we need."

Before Oliver could answer, the frosted glass doors of her office swung open without a knock.

"Vivian, darling! We brought you some early birthday presents!" Eleanor’s shrill, condescending voice echoed through the foyer.

Vivian didn't even flinch. She subtly patted Oliver’s chest and gestured toward the high-backed leather armchair opposite her desk.

"Sit," she whispered.

Oliver obliged immediately. He sat down, crossing one long leg over the other, his back completely turned to the entrance, presenting a powerful, anonymous silhouette to whoever had walked in.

Eleanor strutted into the office, draped in an atrocious red fur coat, with Julian following closely behind, wearing a triumphant sneer.

"We thought we'd stop by to check on your resignation letter," Julian taunted, holding a leather folder. "There’s no point dragging this out for thirteen more days, Vivian. Save yourself the embarrassment."

Vivian slowly walked around her mahogany desk and leaned against the edge, folding her arms. "I see you two still haven't learned how to knock."

"Why knock on an office that will belong to me by the end of the month?" Eleanor scoffed. Then, her sharp eyes landed on the tall man sitting in the armchair. "Who is this? A new investor? I hope you aren't begging for loans, Vivian. It's quite pathetic."

"Not an investor," Vivian said coolly. She picked up a freshly stamped document from her desk and held it out. "Meet my legal husband."

The silence in the room was deafening.

Eleanor’s jaw dropped, her arrogant posture instantly shattering. Julian took an involuntary step back, his eyes widening in absolute shock before he snatched the paper from Vivian's hand.

Oliver slowly turned the armchair around to face them. He rested his elbows on the armrests, looking at Julian and Eleanor with a mild, polite expression.

"Husband?" Julian barked out a harsh, disbelieving laugh, his eyes darting down to the marriage certificate. "Oliver Ross? Who the hell is Oliver Ross?"

Julian stared at the name, then looked up at Oliver, eyeing his custom suit with pure disdain. "I've worked in this city's high society for a decade, and I've never heard of an Oliver Ross. You're a nobody! You put a nameless, broke street runner in an expensive suit, Vivian, but he's still just trash from the gutter!"

"Careful, Julian," Vivian warned, her eyes narrowing into cold slits. "He is legally my spouse. The marriage certificate was filed with the city court this morning. The condition in my father's will has been fulfilled."

Eleanor clawed at Julian’s arm, her face pale. "Is this true? Julian, fix this!"

"It doesn't matter!" Julian spat, glaring at Oliver with pure hatred. "A fake marriage won't hold up under a federal audit! I don't care who this guy is—by next week, I'll have his background ripped apart, this marriage annulled, and both of you kicked out on the street!"

Oliver didn't react to the threat. He simply stood up, towering over Julian by a good few inches, and offered a gentle, almost innocent smile. "We look forward to your lawyers, Mr. Sterling."

"Enjoy your little dress-up game while it lasts," Julian sneered, turning on his heel. "Come on, Eleanor. Let's go."

They stormed out, slamming the glass doors behind them.

Vivian let out a long, shaky breath, sinking onto the edge of her desk. "That was intense. Thank you for staying calm, Oliver. Julian can be... ruthless."

"He seems very loud," Oliver said softly, adjusting his cuffs with a calm smile. "Don't worry about him, Vivian. You should rest. I'm going to step out to grab us some tea."

"Okay," she murmured, already pulling up her laptop.

Oliver walked out of the corporate tower and pulled out his black, encrypted satellite phone as he reached the quiet side street. The gentle, innocent husband facade vanished in a split second, replaced by a cold, deadly gaze.

He dialed a single emergency line.

"Sir?" his global financial director answered instantly.

"Julian Sterling," Oliver commanded, his voice dark and ruthless. "Freeze every single one of his personal and corporate bank accounts immediately. Put a total hold on his lines of credit and offshore assets under the guise of an urgent fraud investigation. I want every transaction blocked by tonight."

"Consider it done, Mr. Ross. How long should the freeze last?"

Oliver stared up at the top floor of the Miller Group building, his eyes cold as steel.

"Until he has to beg on the street."