MY POOR FAKE HUSBAND

*CHAPTER 1: THE THIRTY-DAY DEADLINE There was a time when I believed success could solve every problem. At twenty-nine years old, I had accomplished more than most people dreamed of in a lifetime. My name appeared on magazine covers, business journals, and television interviews. Reporters called me the youngest billionaire in New York. Investors trusted my instincts. Competitors feared my next move. Seven companies carried my signature, three private islands belonged to me, and my bank account had more zeros than I cared to count. To the world, I had everything. Yet the one person whose opinion mattered most had never been impressed. My grandfather. Victor James was more than the founder of the James empire. He was the man who raised me after my parents died, the man who taught me discipline, integrity, and the value of hard work. He believed that wealth was only meaningful if it was matched by character. As I stood beside his hospital bed, the city skyline stretched beyond the window, blurred by a gentle rain. The room was quiet except for the soft hum of medical equipment. His hand felt fragile in mine, nothing like the strong hand that had guided me through childhood. "Roman," he whispered. "I'm here, Grandpa." He looked at me for a long moment, as if searching for something behind my eyes. "You've built an empire." I smiled sadly. "Because you taught me how." He shook his head ever so slightly. "I taught you how to build businesses." His breathing slowed before he continued. "But I never taught you how to build a life." I frowned. "I don't understand." His eyes remained steady. "You've surrounded yourself with success... but not with people who truly know you." I tried to answer, but no words came. Then he spoke the sentence that changed everything. "You have thirty days to find a wife." I stared at him, convinced I had misheard. "A wife?" "Someone who loves you for who you are." I gave a quiet laugh, hoping he was joking. Instead, he squeezed my hand with surprising strength. "If you fail, everything I've built goes to Vincent." The smile disappeared from my face. Vincent James. My cousin. Smart. Ambitious. Charming. But he loved winning more than people. Grandfather continued softly. "A James man marries for love, not for power." His eyes glistened with emotion. "Prove that you deserve to lead this family." Those were among the last meaningful words he spoke. The next morning, New York woke to the news that Victor James had passed away peacefully. The city mourned a legend. I mourned the only father I'd ever known. --- The funeral was a circus. Cameras flashed from every angle. CEOs I had met twice cried into microphones. Women I had taken to one gala threw themselves at me in black designer dresses. "Roman, I’m so sorry for your loss." "Roman, let me be here for you during this time." "Roman, have you and the board thought about the European merger yet?" I nodded. I shook hands. I said thank you. But all I could see was Grandpa’s empty chair at the head of the long mahogany table. Vincent gave a speech that made half the room cry. He talked about legacy and duty and family. He looked perfect in his $10,000 suit. I looked like a ghost in mine. That night I went back to the penthouse. 78 floors above Manhattan. Completely silent. The place was too big. My footsteps echoed. I walked to Grandpa’s study. The room still smelled like his cologne and old books. I opened his watch box. Inside was the simple silver watch he wore every day. The one he taught me to wind when I was 10. "Always be on time, Roman," he used to say. "Because time is the only thing you can’t buy back." I laughed and the sound broke in my throat. I poured whiskey but didn’t drink it. I scrolled through photos on my phone. Me at 8, missing two front teeth, sitting on Grandpa’s lap at the company picnic. Me at 16, graduating, and he was the only one clapping. At 3am I called Marco. "You’re awake," he said. "I don’t want to be Roman James anymore," I whispered. There was silence. Then: "Boss, you’re grieving. Don’t make decisions—" "I’m not. I’m making the only decision that matters." --- Three days later, the reading of the will confirmed every word he had spoken. The condition was real. Thirty days. If I wasn't married within a month, the entire James legacy would belong to Vincent. The lawyers read for an hour. Trusts. Stocks. Properties. And then the final clause. As everyone filed out of the conference room, Vincent approached me with his usual confident smile. "I guess we'll both have an interesting month." His tone was polite, but something about it felt calculated. "I suppose we will," I replied. He adjusted the cuff of his suit and stepped closer. Low enough that only I could hear. "30 days, Roman. You can’t even keep an assistant for 30 days without firing them. What makes you think you can keep a wife?" I clenched my jaw. "Watch me." He chuckled. "I have three women already lined up. Daughters of senators, CEOs. They’d marry me tomorrow." He leaned in. "May the best man win, cousin." He walked away before I could respond. I watched him disappear down the hallway, wondering whether my grandfather had seen something in Vincent that I hadn't. Or perhaps he had seen something in me. --- Later that evening, I stood alone in my penthouse overlooking Manhattan. The lights of the city sparkled below, but for the first time they felt distant. A knock interrupted my thoughts. Marco stepped inside. He had been my assistant for eight years and knew me better than almost anyone. "You haven't eaten all day," he said. "I'm not hungry." He placed a folder on the table. "I made a list." "Of what?" "Eligible women." I looked at the folder. There were socialites, entrepreneurs, celebrities, and daughters of powerful families. Each profile was impressive. None felt right. I closed the folder. "No." Marco sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that." "If someone agrees to marry Roman James after reading a profile, she's marrying the name—not the man." He folded his arms. "So what's your plan?" I looked out at the city again. "I'm disappearing." "You can't be serious." "For thirty days, Roman James won't exist." Marco stared at me. "Then who will?" I smiled for the first time in days. "Damon Cole." "And who's Damon Cole?" "A mechanic looking for an honest life." Marco blinked several times before laughing. Then he realized I wasn't joking. "You've never fixed a car." "I'll learn." "You've never lived anywhere except luxury apartments." "I'll manage." "You don't even know how public transportation works." I picked up my car keys and smiled. "I guess it's time I learned." Marco rubbed his forehead. "This is either the craziest idea you've ever had..." "Or the only one that gives me a chance." Neither of us realized that someone else had been listening. Across the street, inside a parked black sedan, a man lowered his binoculars. He quietly typed a message into his phone. Target has decided to disappear. Begin Phase One. --- The first day as Damon Cole was hell. Joe’s Auto Repair smelled like motor oil, coffee, and sweat. It was the complete opposite of the James Tower boardroom. And I loved it. I failed to change a tire in under 20 minutes. The other two mechanics, Tony and Luis, laughed. "City boy," Tony muttered. Joe yelled at me. "Damon! If you strip one more bolt I’m firing you!" I cut my hand on a wrench and had to bite my tongue not to call for my private doctor. $20 an hour. Blisters. Back pain. But nobody here knew I owned three private islands. Day 3, Joe yelled from under a Honda. "Hey new guy! Customer just pulled in. White Lexus. Lady looks pissed." I wiped my hands on my jumpsuit and walked out front. And that’s when I saw her. She was standing next to a white Lexus with the hood up, arms crossed, and rain starting to fall on her yellow dress. She didn’t look like the women from Marco’s folder. No designer bag. No perfect makeup. Just wet hair, angry eyes, and the most stubborn chin I’d ever seen. "My car died," she said before I could speak. "And I have an interview in 40 minutes. So if you tell me it’ll take 3 days, I’m going to scream." I almost smiled. Almost. "I'm Damon," I said. "Let me look." She raised an eyebrow. "Damon? You don’t look like a Damon." "What does a Damon look like?" "I don’t know. Less... clean." I glanced down. She was right. My jumpsuit was too new. My hands were too soft. Right. Act poor. "I try," I said, and ducked under the hood. The engine was overheating. Coolant leak. 20 minute fix. But I pretended to struggle for 5 minutes first. Roman James would have it fixed in 2. Damon Cole needed to look human. "What’s your name?" I asked, reaching for a wrench. "Elena," she said. "Elena Carter." Elena. She had tired eyes. The kind of tired that comes from working too much, not from partying. "You in a rush?" I asked. "My brother’s in the hospital," she said quietly. "I need this job to pay his bills. The interview is for a second job. Night shifts." My chest tightened. $8,000. That’s what Roman James would have written her in a check without thinking. But Damon Cole only had $340 in his wallet. "Give me 15 minutes," I said. "I’ll get you there." "You sure? Most shops quote me $400 and 2 days." "I’m sure." I worked fast. Too fast. Had to slow myself down twice so Joe wouldn’t get suspicious. While I worked she talked. About her brother, about rent, about how tired she was. "Why are you so kind?" she asked suddenly. I paused. "Because nobody was kind to me when I had nothing." The lie tasted bitter. But the truth would ruin everything. When I was done, I wiped my hands and closed the hood. "Try it." She got in, turned the key. The engine purred. Elena’s face lit up. For a second she looked 10 years younger. "It works! Oh my god thank you!" "Don’t thank me yet. You owe me $80 for parts and labor." Her smile dropped. "Eighty?" I nodded. "I can do $60 if you’re short." She bit her lip and opened her purse. She counted out 3 twenties and 2 tens. Her hands were shaking a little. "That’s everything I have until payday," she whispered. Something in me snapped. Roman James would have walked away. Damon Cole didn’t. "Tell you what," I said, pushing 2 of the tens back to her. "You pay me $60. And you owe me a coffee sometime." Elena stared at me like I’d grown a second head. "Why?" "Because you look like you need it more than I do," I said honestly. She took the money back slowly. "You’re weird, Damon." "So I’ve been told." She got in the car. Rolled down the window. "Thank you. For real. I’ll... I’ll come back with the coffee." And then she drove off, yellow dress flashing through the rain. Joe clapped me on the shoulder. "Good job kid. You got a soft spot huh?" I just nodded. That night I went home to my $900 apartment. It smelled like paint and old pizza. The bed was small. The shower had low pressure. My phone buzzed. Unknown number. _30 days. 27 left. – V_ Vincent. He was watching. I looked at the $40 in my wallet. Then I looked at the grease under my nails. I couldn’t buy love. But maybe I could find it if nobody knew who I was. The next morning, I did 3 things. First, I froze all my accounts. Only left $10,000 in cash. Second, I rented a studio apartment in Queens under the name Damon Cole. $900/month. No doorman. Third, I went to a thrift store and bought jeans, t-shirts, and a mechanic’s jumpsuit. The mirror didn’t recognize me. No tailored suit. No Rolex. Just stubble and tired eyes. “Good luck, Damon,” I told myself. Marco dropped me off 2 blocks away from the garage. “You sure about this boss?” “I have to be.” I walked into "Joe’s Auto Repair" and lied for the first time in my life. “I’m looking for work. I’m Damon Cole. I’m good with my hands.” Joe, the owner, looked me up and down. “You ever held a wrench?” “No. But I learn fast.” He hired me. $20 an hour. That night I came home to my new apartment. It smelled like paint and old pizza. The bed was small. The shower had low pressure. But for the first time in years... I felt free. I didn’t know that 3 blocks away, Vincent had already hired a private investigator. I didn’t know that my “disappearance” was exactly what he wanted. I just knew I had 29 days left. And I had to find a woman who could love Damon Cole. *END OF CHAPTER 1*