Ty.
I had just arrived at the civil center for the marriage registry. It was early, intentionally so. I didn't want Carrie showing up before me and thinking, even for a second, that I wasn't taking this seriously. Or worse, that I was having second thoughts.
Truth was, she was the one I was worried about. There was a part of me, silent but persistent, that feared she'd get cold feet at the last minute. That she'd realize just how ridiculous this entire arrangement was and walk away.
So I played it safe.
Told my assistant to send a car for her. No room for delays. No chances. I was pacing near the entrance when she walked in, and for a second, I forgot to breathe.
She was dressed in a sleek ivory silk dress, one of the three my assistant had sent over. I hadn't given her the luxury of choosing her own wedding gown, and looking at her now, I wasn't sure if I regretted that or was strangely relieved. The dress she picked hugged her waist in a way that made it hard to look away. Elegant. Understated. Beautiful. She looked like she was headed for a high-profile gala, not a wedding, not a cold, emotionless business transaction.
Most women would've overdressed for an occasion like this, bigger hair, louder makeup, something dramatic. But not her. Carrie had the kind of quiet presence that didn't need glitter to shine. That silence of hers? It carried weight.
And right now… she wasn't speaking to me. Not a word.
Not that I blamed her.
I stepped forward and offered a polite nod, stiff and formal. She returned it with a look I couldn't quite read. Resentment, maybe. Disappointment. Or maybe nothing at all. Maybe she was just shutting everything out to survive it.
Without saying much, I led her down the corridor to the small office where the papers would be signed. The room was simple, functional, no flowers, no audience, no pretense of romance.
The judge was someone I knew, an old contact who owed me a favor. I'd told him to keep things low-key. No speeches. No unnecessary delays.
And just like that, in less than fifteen minutes, it was done.
Signed. Sealed. Legal.
We were married.
No vows. No long ceremony. Just ink on paper and two people agreeing to lie together and lie for each other with their rings for the next five years.
And still, as I glanced at her from the corner of my eye, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd just stepped into something much more complicated than a simple deal.
******************
The ride back home was quiet. Too quiet.
We sat in the back of my limousine, separated by more than just the leather seat between us. A silver bucket of chilled wine rested beside us, courtesy of my assistant, no doubt. Probably some misguided attempt to make the ride 'feel' like a celebration. As if anything about today were worth toasting.
I glanced over at Carrie. She was staring out the window, her posture still and composed, but I could tell her mind was miles away. Her silence was louder than anything she could've said.
I cleared my throat and asked, "Do you want some wine?"
She turned to look at me then, slow and deliberate. Her eyes weren't glassy or red, but they held something, an exhaustion, maybe. A weight. And for a second, I wondered how I ever thought she wasn't beautiful.
She wasn't the kind of woman who demanded attention with flashy clothes or a loud voice. She didn't need to. There was something about her stillness that pulled you in. Innocent? Maybe on the surface. But I didn't believe in innocent girls, not anymore. Everyone had a side they kept hidden.
"No, thank you," she replied, her voice cool but not cold. "You can have it alone."
Then she reached into her bag and pulled out her phone, her eyes immediately dropping to the screen. She began scrolling through what, I had no idea. Messages? Social media? Or maybe just a distraction from the fact that she'd just signed away five years of her life to a man she could barely stand.
Either way, I got the message loud and clear.
Stay in your lane. Don't talk to me. Don't try to make this more than it is.
So I sat back, poured myself a glass of wine, and looked out the opposite window. The silence between us returned, thicker this time. Not angry. Not tense. Just… resigned.
This was what we signed up for, wasn't it?
Distance.
Control.
Boundaries.
But why, then, did it feel so much like she was the one setting boundaries, not me?
The limousine pulled into the private underground parking beneath my building, and the valet opened the door for us. Carrie stepped out first, holding her small purse tightly to her side. I followed her, pressing the button for the private elevator that led directly to the penthouse.
The doors slid open to the top floor, revealing a space very few people ever entered.
My penthouse was… grand. Expansive. A seamless blend of modern luxury and cold, curated silence. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the open living room, flooding the place with natural light and giving an uninterrupted view of the city skyline. Marble floors stretched beneath our feet, cool and polished. The living space was decorated in deep charcoals and muted golds; masculine, sharp, precise. Everything was intentional. Designed to impress.
And somehow, in that moment, it looked even colder with her standing in it.
"This is home," I said, more out of habit than warmth. "At least for the next five years."
She stepped in fully, eyes scanning the space, but her expression was unreadable. She didn't seem awed, didn't ask questions. Just nodded once and walked slowly across the living room as if committing every detail to memory.
"I've had the guest floor set up for you," I continued. "It's fully furnished: bedroom, study, walk-in closet, en suite. Everything you'll need. You'll have your privacy there, and I'll have mine."
She paused and turned to me. "So you're on a different floor?"
"Yes," I said simply. "This one. You'll be one level below. There's a private staircase through the hall and a separate elevator as well. You'll have access to every part of the penthouse, except my floor. That remains off-limits."
She didn't reply right away, just looked around again, slower this time. Her fingers brushed across the edge of the cushioned chair as if trying to find something real to hold onto.
"No staff lives here," I added. "The housekeeper comes in the mornings and leaves by five. My assistant will coordinate your needs, if you have any."
"I don't," she said quickly. Almost too quickly.
I watched her for a long beat. She didn't belong here and she knew it. Not because she wasn't good enough. No. It was because this place didn't feel like home to anyone. It was an empire built on order and appearances.
And now she was part of it.
"Do you want a tour?" I asked, tone even.
"No, thank you." She looked at me, finally. "I'll find my way."
There was no bitterness in her voice, just exhaustion. She didn't want me to walk her around like a guest. And she definitely didn't want to feel like someone I had to manage.
I nodded once and stepped aside to let her through the hallway. She walked ahead of me with quiet confidence, disappearing down the stairs to her floor without looking back.
I stood there for a while, staring out the window at the skyline I'd seen a thousand times. The city hadn't changed. But something about the air in the penthouse had.
And I couldn't tell if it was good or dangerous. This woman would really give me a run for my money.