Chapter 3 - The Rules of a Fake Marriage
Vincent believed every problem could be solved by rules.
Harper discovered this within twelve hours.
There was a document waiting on the breakfast table.
Twenty-three pages.
She stared at it.
“What is this?”
“Our marriage agreement.”
“You already gave me one at City Hall.”
“That was the legal version.”
“This is twenty-three pages.”
“It covers the practical version.”
Harper sat down.
She began reading.
Separate bedrooms.
No interference with business matters.
No press interviews without approval.
No visitors without security clearance.
No leaving the property alone after dark.
No discussing Vincent's work.
No entering the west basement.
No contact with known members of his organization.
No drinking excessively.
She looked up.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“You literally put ‘no excessive drinking.’”
“You're laughing.”
“I'm offended.”
“Good.”
She flipped the page.
Then she reached the final rule.
Rule twenty-three.
No falling in love.
She stopped.
Vincent leaned against the counter.
“Problem?”
“That's ridiculous.”
“Why?”
“Because you can't put feelings in a contract.”
“It's there to remind us why we're doing this.”
Harper stared at him.
“I am not going to fall in love with you.”
“Neither am I.”
“Excellent.”
“Excellent.”
She signed.
He signed.
Mrs. Alvarez watched from the doorway.
She looked like she wanted to say something.
Harper noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That face is not nothing.”
Mrs. Alvarez smiled.
“You two are very convincing.”
Harper groaned.
Vincent walked away.
The first week was surprisingly calm.
Lily started liking Vincent.
That irritated Harper.
Because children were supposed to be suspicious of terrifying men in black suits.
Instead, Lily followed him around the house.
She asked him about cars.
She asked him whether he owned a helicopter.
She asked whether he knew Batman.
Vincent answered every question seriously.
One evening she asked, “Why don't you smile?”
Vincent looked at Harper.
Harper shrugged.
“She has a point.”
He frowned.
Lily nodded.
“See?”
The next morning Vincent smiled deliberately.
It was awful.
Harper burst out laughing.
Vincent looked offended.
“That was a smile.”
“That was a threat.”
Mrs. Alvarez nearly dropped a tray.
The house began to feel alive.
Lily painted pictures in the living room.
Harper cooked.
Vincent worked late.
Sometimes he came downstairs at midnight and found Harper reading at the kitchen island.
Neither said much.
Yet the silence stopped feeling awkward.
One rainy night, Harper cut her finger while opening a package.
She hissed.
Vincent looked up from his phone.
“Let me see.”
“I’m fine.”
“You're bleeding.”
“I noticed.”
He approached.
Harper stepped back.
He stopped.
The room went quiet.
“I'm not going to hurt you.”
She knew.
That was becoming the problem.
She slowly extended her hand.
Vincent took it.
His hands were unexpectedly gentle.
He cleaned the cut.
Wrapped it.
His thumb lingered near her knuckle for half a second.
Harper pulled away.
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
Neither mentioned the moment again.
The second week, Harper learned Vincent was not what the newspapers said.
He was ruthless.
Certainly.
People feared him.
Certainly.
But he also funded free legal clinics.
He had quietly paid medical bills for dozens of dockworkers.
He kept a private school scholarship program for children from the harbor district.
Harper discovered these things by accident.
“You never told me.”
“I didn't need to.”
“Why hide it?”
“Good deeds become less useful when people know who paid for them.”
She looked at him differently.
“You're complicated.”
“So are you.”
Then came the first real threat.
Harper was driving home from the market with Lily when another car followed them.
She noticed it in the mirror.
Black sedan.
Same turns.
Same distance.
She called Vincent.
“What do I do?”
“Drive toward the harbor.”
“That's the wrong direction.”
“I know.”
Her pulse accelerated.
The sedan moved closer.
Vincent's voice remained steady.
“You're not alone. Marco is three cars behind you.”
Harper looked in the mirror.
A black SUV appeared.
The sedan sped away.
Marco followed.
Twenty minutes later, Vincent arrived home.
He opened the car door himself.
“How are you?”
“Shaking.”
Lily jumped out.
“I'm okay!”
Vincent crouched.
“Good.”
He looked at Harper.
“You did exactly what you were supposed to do.”
“I was terrified.”
“That kept you careful.”
She stared at him.
“You really do this all the time?”
“Yes.”
“Living like this?”
“Yes.”
“How do you stand it?”
He hesitated.
“You get used to protecting what matters.”
Harper studied him.
“What matters to you?”
He looked at Lily.
Then at Harper.
He didn't answer.
That night, Harper found a photograph on the floor of the study.
Vincent's mother.
A beautiful woman with dark hair.
She was standing beside a young Vincent.
On the back was a date.
Twenty years earlier.
There was another name.
Elena Romano.
Harper found Vincent staring at it later.
“She was beautiful.”
“She was.”
“What happened?”
“She died.”
“How?”
“An accident.”
Something about the way he said accident bothered her.
Not because he sounded dishonest.
Because he sounded like a man who had repeated the word too many times to believe it.
Harper put the photograph back.
“I'm sorry.”
Vincent nodded.
“Me too.”
The next morning, Vincent received a call.
He said only six words.
“Tell him I'm coming myself.”
Harper watched him leave.
“What happened?” she asked.
He stopped at the door.
“Someone from my past has returned.”
“Is that dangerous?”
“Yes.”
“Are you coming back?”
He looked at her.
“I always come back.”
She didn't know why those words stayed with her all day.
Until midnight.
When the front doors opened.
Vincent walked inside.
His shirt was stained with blood.
Harper froze.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Then whose blood is that?”
He didn't answer.
A second later, he collapsed against the wall.
May you like
Harper ran toward him.
And for the first time since their fake marriage began, she realized she could not bear the thought of losing him.
