Married To The Enemy

Zara Cole didn’t believe in fate. Not since the day Lucas Thorne walked out of her life without a warning. Not since he vanished, taking with him every ounce of certainty she'd ever known. And definitely not now, standing in front of her five years later, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, like the past had never happened. “Zara.” His voice hadn’t changed. Still low. Still smooth. Still carrying that calm, rich cadence that could turn her spine to liquid on the worst of days. But not today. She leaned back in her office chair, arms folded. “You’re late. Twelve minutes.” Lucas’s lips twitched in a smirk. “You always did love your punctuality.” “And you always loved breaking rules,” she shot back. He stepped further into her office, the door clicking shut behind him. Zara felt the air shift. Lucas Thorne always brought a storm with him — quiet, intense, and capable of drowning her in seconds. She straightened her spine. “Why are you here, Lucas?” He moved slowly — like he had all the time in the world — and lowered himself into the chair opposite her. “I need your help.” She almost laughed. Almost. “You’re joking.” He slid a folder across her desk. “I’m serious.” She eyed the folder but didn’t reach for it. “You can’t possibly think—” “I’m offering you a deal, Zara. One month. We fake a marriage. You help me secure the board’s approval, and in return, I cover the entire expansion of your fashion brand. No questions, no strings after the thirty days.” She stared at him. “You want me to pretend to be your wife?” “For one month,” he repeated smoothly. “Thirty days. That’s all.” She laughed — this time louder, sharper. “Is this some kind of elaborate punishment?” “No. It’s a business opportunity. For both of us.” Zara rose from her seat, circling the desk slowly, arms still crossed. She hated that he still looked like a dream in human form. Hated more that her body remembered every second they’d spent together. His scent. His touch. The promises he whispered before he disappeared. “You left without a word, Lucas. No closure. No goodbye. And now you want me to play house for thirty days and pretend like none of it happened?” He didn’t blink. “Yes.” “And why me?” she demanded. “You’re Lucas Thorne. You could hire an actress, a model—hell, any socialite would jump at the chance to marry you, even for a day.” His eyes darkened, gaze locking onto hers. “Because none of them know how to lie like you do.” Zara’s chest tightened. It wasn’t the insult that stung. It was the truth buried inside it. She looked away, trying to steady her voice. “You think throwing money at me will make me forget what you did?” “No,” he said, rising to his feet. “But I think you're smart enough to know this could change your life. You’ve been trying to get funding for months. I have it. And you have something I need — credibility.” She clenched her jaw. “You need a fake wife to win your company’s trust.” He nodded. “My father left a clause in his will. No inheritance unless I’m married by the end of the quarter. The board is watching. They’ll believe it if it’s you. We had history.” “We had disaster.” Lucas’s expression didn’t shift. “Still believable.” She hated how calm he was. How calculating. How easy it was for him to turn everything into a transaction. But… he wasn’t wrong. She’d been struggling. Her boutique fashion brand had promise, but no capital. Investors were hesitant, banks were noncommittal, and her latest collection was on hold because she couldn’t afford production. “I’d cover everything,” Lucas added, voice softer now. “You’d have the freedom to scale your line, open new stores… no strings after the contract ends.” Zara’s fingers twitched. It was everything she wanted. Everything she’d been chasing. But at what cost? “Why should I believe you this time?” she whispered. Lucas paused. And for the first time, his voice faltered just slightly. “Because I owe you.” Silence stretched between them. Heavy. Loaded with five years of pain and unspoken words. Finally, she reached for the folder. “Thirty days,” she said, flipping it open. “That’s all.” Lucas nodded. “You’ll be compensated accordingly. And protected legally. You’ll have full control of your brand. All of it in writing.” She skimmed the pages. The contract was airtight. Clean. Like he’d done this before. She looked up. “What’s the catch?” “No catch,” he said. Then, a beat later, “Just one rule.” Zara’s brow lifted. “You can’t fall in love with me.” She stared at him, stunned. Then she smiled — slow and cold. “I think I’ll manage.”