The moment Javier left the Solis estate, Secretary James was on the phone with Quentin.
"How is Javier's other subsidiary performing?"
Quentin sat leisurely on his sofa, fiddling with a silver lighter. He didn't light a cigarette; he just watched the flame flicker.
"We've looked into it," James replied. "It seems that company has a major project launching this quarter. It's a direct competitor to our newest tech venture."
"Oh?" Quentin's hand stilled. He shot James a knowing look. "You know what to do."
James nodded. "Understood, sir."
He knew better than anyone that his boss wasn't a saint. If someone dared to plot against him, they had to be prepared to be bitten back twice as hard. Javier had been trying to build his own shadow empire behind the Harris Corporation's back for years; Quentin had simply been waiting for the right moment to pull the rug out from under him. The war was officially declared.
The next morning, Amanda woke up early. She applied her makeup with meticulous care—enough to look perfect, but not enough to look like she was trying too hard. She chose a light blue, knee-length dress that was elegant yet understated.
By the time she reached the front door, Quentin's black Bentley was already waiting.
"Good morning," Amanda said politely as she slid into the leather interior.
Quentin nodded, then wordlessly handed her a warm, wrapped pastry. "Have you had breakfast? Eat with me."
Amanda stared at the dumpling in her hand, then looked around the ultra-luxurious car. "Uncle... do you always eat breakfast like this? In a Bentley?"
"Only when I'm in a rush." Quentin noticed her bewildered expression and felt a rare tug of amusement. He took a bite of his own pastry.
Amanda was hungry, so she dropped the formalities and joined him. The pastry was incredible—thin, crispy crust and a rich, savory filling. "This is delicious! Where did you buy these?"
Quentin didn't answer. He had already pulled out his phone to start clearing emails, pretending to be deaf to her question. He wasn't about to tell her that those "bought" pastries were handmade by a private chef specifically because he knew she liked that specific crust-to-filling ratio.
Amanda huffed at his silence. Unusual temper indeed, she thought, turning to look out the window.
The Civil Affairs Bureau was quiet that early in the day. The clerk handed them two forms. "Fill these out and bring them to Counter 3 with your IDs."
Quentin moved with military precision, filling out the paperwork in seconds. He had a board meeting at 2:00 PM and no time to waste. Amanda, however, moved like she was signing a death warrant—slow and deliberate.
Suddenly, a shouting match erupted nearby.
"Why can't I have half?! We're dividing the property!" a woman screamed.
"Half?" the man yelled back. "You stayed home and wasted my money for five years! You haven't earned a cent, and now you want a 60/40 split because you caught me with someone else? Dream on!"
The woman began to wail. "I didn't do anything? Who birthed your children? And now you want to dump me for some vixen and keep all the assets? I'm so miserable!"
Amanda's hand froze. She stared down at her form, the noise of the divorcees echoing in the sterile room.
Quentin glanced at her. From this angle, he noticed she had braided the front of her hair, making her look remarkably docile and soft.
"Uncle," Amanda said suddenly, her voice low. "If you meet someone you actually like in the future... please just tell me right away."
Quentin paused, his pen hovering over the paper. "Why?"
Amanda forced a small, cynical smile and scribbled her name on the marriage line. "So I can get a divorce quickly. I'd rather not be the last person to know my husband is having an affair. I've had enough of being the idiot."
The tip of Quentin's pen nearly ripped through the document. They weren't even married yet, and she was already planning the exit strategy.
"That will not happen," he said, his voice hard as granite.
Amanda just nodded, not wanting to argue. That's what they all say, she thought.
By the time they stepped back out into the sunlight, they were legally husband and wife. Amanda held the red booklet in her hand, a strange sense of vertigo hitting her.
"So... we've officially entered the grave of marriage?" she blurted out.
Quentin, who was halfway down the steps, nearly tripped. He turned to look at her, his expression darkening. Marrying me is a 'grave'?
"Pack your things," he said, deciding to skip the debate. "I'll send a car to your house tomorrow morning to move you into my villa."
Amanda let out a long, dramatic sigh and tucked the certificate into her purse. "Fine. If that's all, I'll be going now. Goodbye, Husband!"
She gave him a playful, mocking little wave and walked away before he could even process the word "Husband."
Quentin watched her go, his jaw tightening. He climbed into the car, where Secretary James immediately handed him a stack of urgent files.
"Congratulations on your wedding, President Harris," James said with a professional smile.
Quentin took the files but didn't open them. He stared out the window, watching a young couple walk out of the building. The boy pulled a bouquet of hidden roses from behind his back; the girl squealed, hugged him, and looked like the happiest person on earth.
Quentin looked down at his empty hands, then at the rhythmic tapping of his fingers on his briefcase.
"James," Quentin said. "Find me a professional gardening team. A big one."
James, who was currently thinking about a ten-billion-dollar contract, blinked. "A gardening team, sir? For the villa?"
"Yes. And make sure they're experts in roses."
James suddenly remembered the small, neglected rosebush at the villa that Quentin usually tended to himself. "I'll handle it immediately."
Quentin leaned back and closed his eyes. To make the registration happen today, he had worked until 2:00 AM. He had rearranged the entire corporate schedule just to have a free morning. And yet, the moment the ink was dry, his bride had run away like he was the plague.
Marriage, it seemed, was going to be the most difficult contract he had ever negotiated.