All Chapters of MARRIED TO THE WRONG MARLOWE: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

"Well?" Simone appeared at my elbow, coffee cup in hand. "Real or fake?"I leaned closer to the canvas, my magnifying glass catching the afternoon light streaming through Simone's gallery windows. The signature read "Monet," but my gut said otherwise. Three years of authentication work had taught me to trust that gut."The signature's too confident," I said, tracing the air above the paint. "Monet's hand shook in his later years. This is steady. Someone copied his style but forgot to copy his arthritis."Simone laughed. "That's why you're the expert and I just sell pretty pictures."I smiled, setting down the glass. This was my favorite part of the job. The hunt. The proof. The satisfaction of catching a lie hidden in plain sight.My phone buzzed. Dad's name flashed across the screen.I almost didn't answer. We hadn't spoken in one week, not since I'd skipped another one of his networking dinners. But something about the timing felt off. Dad never called during work hours."I need to

I sat in Dad's Bentley, staring up at it. My hands were shaking. I'd put them in my lap so he wouldn't see, but they wouldn't stop."We're late," Dad said, checking his watch for the third time."You said nine. It's eight fifty-seven.""In business, early is on time. On time is late."I didn't answer. Just grabbed my purse and got out of the car before I could talk myself into running.Marlowe Industries was a forty-story glass tower. The lobby was all marble and glass. Our footsteps echoed. A woman at the reception desk smiled the kind of smile that didn't reach her eyes and directed us to the top floor.The elevator ride felt like forever. Dad straightened his tie twice. I focused on breathing. In through my nose. Out through my mouth. Like Mom taught me when I had panic attacks in middle school.The doors opened to another reception area. More marble. More glass. A blonde woman behind a desk looked up."Mr. Sutherland? Mr. Marlowe is expecting you. Conference room three."She didn

*Three months earlier - Griffin's POV*Griffin knew something was wrong the moment he saw her stumble.He'd been leaving the fundraiser early, already done with the fake smiles and shallow conversations. Sterling had called twenty minutes ago, drunk and demanding a ride home from some bar across town. Typical. Their father was at this event somewhere, schmoozing with investors, and Sterling was off destroying his reputation one bottle at a time.But then Griffin saw the woman in the ill-fitting dress grab a table for support. Watched her fumble with her purse. Saw the glassy, unfocused look in her eyes.He'd seen that look before. On his college roommate's girlfriend after someone slipped something in her drink at a frat party. The same vacant confusion. The same loss of coordination.She was heading for the elevators alone.Griffin changed direction."Whoa, easy." He caught her elbow as she bent to pick up her dropped purse and nearly face-planted. "Are you alright?"Green eyes looke

**Nora** The tape measure tightened around my waist like a noose. I stood on the small platform in the private fitting room, arms lifted, while the seamstress pinned silk that cost more than my monthly gallery salary. Two weeks. That was all I had left before I became Mrs. Sterling Marlowe on paper. The numbness that had settled in my chest since the contract signing refused to lift. Every pinprick of the needle felt distant, like it was happening to someone else. "Turn please, Miss Sutherland." I turned. The mirror reflected a stranger in white lace, shoulders straight, face blank. My jade bracelet was the only thing that still felt like mine. Mom's bracelet. The one piece of her I refused to let them take. The seamstress murmured approvals. "This neckline will photograph beautifully for the announcement." Announcement. The word landed heavy in my gut. Today the media would blast the news across every society site and business feed: Sutherland daughter to marry Marlowe heir. A

I stood just inside the room, the heavy silk of the wedding gown still clinging to my damp skin. The drunk man’s shouts from downstairs echoed in my head. I turned to face him, my new husband, and forced the words out. "What was the drama about? Who was that drunk man, and what did he mean when he said 'You stole my bride'?" He leaned against the closed door, steel-blue eyes steady on mine. "He's nobody, you have nothing to worry about. Forget it. He was just drunk. Drunk people say stupid things." I searched his face, looking for the lie I felt was there. His words sounded smooth, but his jaw stayed tight and his eyes didn’t quite hold mine the way they had during the kiss. I didn’t believe him. The man had looked too similar, sounded too angry, and security had moved fast. Doubts swirled hot in my chest. But pushing right now felt dangerous. The crack in my walls from the kiss was still there, raw and confusing. I decided to let it go for the moment. One battle at a time. I look