THE ENEMY I MARRIED

CHAPTER TWO: MOVING DAY

Evelyn's POV

The contract went into effect immediately, which meant I had exactly two hours to pack my life and move into Julian's home.

Valerie helped me pack while switching between anger and grief. She kept saying we would find a way out, but her voice lacked conviction.

"What will you tell people?" she asked, folding one of my dresses with unnecessary force.

"The truth. That I married Julian to save the company."

"People will think you lost your mind."

"People already think that." I pulled clothes from my closet. My mind was spinning through the blackmail message.

Someone had the Eden Vale photo and wanted me afraid. That person isn't Julian, because the blackmailer threatened to send him the video.

That meant at least two separate enemies. Julian trying to destroy me through marriage. Someone else trying to control me through blackmail.

The question was who and why.

"Evelyn." Valerie stopped packing. "Are you absolutely sure about this? Once you move in with him, there's no easy escape."

I sat on my bed surrounded by half-packed suitcases. "I can't allow Julian destroy what my father built. Eighteen months is not forever. I can survive anything for eighteen months."

"Can you survive eighteen months living with someone who hates you?"

That was the question I had been avoiding all day.

At seven PM, a black car arrived. The driver was silent and professional, loading my luggage without comment.

Valerie hugged me hard. "Call me if you need anything."

"I will."

“Be careful. Julian Cross is more dangerous than you think."

I already knew that. I had spent two years watching him systematically dismantle my company's market position.

But now I was going to live with him, share his space, pretend to be his wife for cameras and investors.

The thought made my skin crawl.

Julian's building was in Tribeca, a glass tower overlooking the Hudson River. The elevator opened directly into the penthouse on the top two floors.

I stepped out into a space that shocked me.

No cold minimalist bachelor pad. Instead, I saw warmth. Dark wood floors. Comfortable furniture that looked actually used. Walls lined with bookshelves filled with everything from chess theory to classic literature.

Classical music played softly from hidden speakers. Through the huge windows, the city glowed like scattered stars.

"You are late."

I turned to find Julian standing in the doorway of what looked like a study. He had changed from his suit into dark jeans and a gray sweater.

Almost human.

"Traffic," I lied.

"The driver texted when he picked you up. You sat in your apartment for twenty minutes before leaving." He walked closer. "Having second thoughts?"

"Would it matter?"

"No. You signed the contract…you belong here now."

The possessiveness in his voice sent ice down my spine. "I don’t belong to you. I’m legally obligated to live here. There's a difference."

"Is there?" He gestured toward the rest of the penthouse. "Let me show you around."

The tour felt like marking territory. Living room with furniture that actually matched. Kitchen with appliances I’d never use. Media room with a screen covering an entire wall.

His office. "Off limits," he said. "Don’t enter without permission."

Then we climbed stairs to the second floor.

"Four bedrooms," Julian said, opening doors. "This belongs to me."

I glanced inside. Massive bed. More books. A chess set on the nightstand. Too personal and private. I looked away fast.

"This one is yours."

The bedroom was beautiful. Soft gray walls. Huge bed with white sheets. Windows overlooking the river. The attached bathroom was bigger than my old living room.

"Your things will be unpacked tomorrow," Julian continued. "The staff handles that."

"I can unpack my belongings."

"The housekeeper will do it. You have more important matters."

"Like what?"

He pulled out his phone and showed me an email. "The Wall Street Journal wants an interview tomorrow. Newly married power couple reshaping the tech industry."

"We aren't married yet."

"The wedding is in two weeks.” Fourteen days of freedom left before I legally became his wife.

"I need those two weeks to prepare," I said.

"For what?"

"For pretending I don’t hate you."

Julian laughed, sharp and bitter. "At least you are honest. Most people in arranged marriages lie to themselves first."

"This is not an arranged marriage, its blackmail."

"Call it what you want. The result is the same." He walked toward the door, then stopped. "Rules while you live here. My office is private. My bedroom too. Don’t enter either without my consent. The top shelf of the fridge is mine. Housekeeper comes Mondays and Thursdays. If you want to invite anyone, tell me first."

"And if I break your rules?"

Julian turned back, expression cold. "Then I make your life significantly harder than it already is. Test me if you want, Evelyn. But I promise you will regret it."

He left me alone in my beautiful prison.

I unpacked enough to make the room feel less empty, then sat on the bed trying to process everything.

This morning I woke up in my own home. Tonight I was living with my enemy.

My phone buzzed. Text from Solomon.

"Someone tried to hack NexusTech servers tonight. Professional job. Almost got through the firewall. Had to shut down external access for twenty-four hours."

Panic seized me. First the blackmail photo, now a hacking attempt.

Someone was attacking from multiple directions.

I called Solomon immediately.

"How bad?" I asked when he answered.

"Bad enough that I’m worried. Whoever tried this had government-level skills, Evelyn. This wasn't some amateur."

"Can you trace them?"

"I'm trying. But this feels coordinated. Like someone is building a case against you from every angle."

"Against Eden Vale, you mean."

"Against both identities. If someone connects Evelyn Hartwell to Eden Vale, both companies collapse."

I closed my eyes. "How long do I have?"

"Maybe a week before they try again. After that, I can’t t guarantee the firewall holds."

One week; seven days before my secret life might be exposed.

After we hung up, I sat in the dark trying to think clearly.

The blackmail photo. Mirabel breaking into the server room. The NexusTech hacking attempt. None of it felt random.

This was planned. Someone was coming at me from every direction at once.

But who?

A soft knock made me jump. I opened the door to find an older woman with kind eyes and gray hair pulled back in a neat bun.

"Miss Hartwell? I am Prudence. Julian's mother. I live on the floor below."

Julian never mentioned his mother. I thought she was dead.

"It's nice to meet you," I managed.

Prudence studied my face with strange intensity. "You look like someone I knew. Someone from a long time ago."

"I do?"

"Beatrice. Yes, you look just like Beatrice." She smiled, but her eyes were distant. "Are you Beatrice's daughter?"

My mother's name was Beatrice. She left when I was five. I barely remembered her face.

"My mother was named Beatrice," I said carefully.

Prudence's eyes filled with sudden tears. "I told them. I told them the children should not have to pay for their parents' mistakes. But no one listens to old women anymore."

"Mrs. Cross, are you okay?"

"Call me Prudence. And no, I haven’t been okay since they killed him." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "They said it was suicide, but I know better. I know what they did."

"Who killed who?"

But Prudence was already walking away, muttering about secrets and lies.

I closed the door and leaned against it and my heart races.

Julian's mother was not well. The confusion, the strange statements. Dementia, probably.

But she said something that stuck with me. The children should not have to pay.

Was she talking about Julian and me?

I was still thinking about it when my bedroom door opened without knocking and Julian walked in.

"I told you to stay out of my space," I snapped.

"This is my penthouse. No space is off limits to me." He held up a tablet. "We need to discuss tomorrow's interview. The journalist will ask about our relationship; how we met and fell in love. All the romantic details we’ll have to invent."

"We didn’t fall in love, you blackmailed me."

"Yeah, but we can’t tell her that." Julian sat in the chair near the window without asking. "So we need a story that sounds believable."

"Why do you care if it sounds believable?"

"Because if investors think this marriage is fake, both our stock prices crash. You signed a contract agreeing to public appearances, Evelyn. That includes lying convincingly."

I wanted to throw something at him, but I forced myself to sit on the bed and listen.

Julian laid out the story we would tell. We met at a tech conference two years ago. Professional respect turned to attraction. We kept the relationship quiet because of business complications. Finally, we decided love was more important than rivalry.

It was a good story. Romantic enough to sell, believable enough that people would buy it.

It was also completely false.

"Fine," I said. "I’ll play along. But Julian, don't expect me to be convincing when you touch me."

"I don’t need to touch you. I need you to smile and not look like you want to kill me."

"I’m not that good at pretending."

"Then learn fast." He stood. "The interview is at nine AM. Wear something nice."

He left before I could respond.

I fell back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Tomorrow I’d lie to a journalist about loving the man I hated. In two weeks, I’d marry him.

For eighteen months, I would live this lie.

And somewhere in the background was pulling strings, watching me dance, waiting for the moment to cut the threads and watch me fall.

My phone buzzed. The unknown number.

"Sleep well, Evelyn. Tomorrow you start learning who really owns you. Hint: it’s not Julian Cross."

I deleted the message and turned off the phone.

But I didn't sleep.

I lay awake thinking about traps and enemies I couldn’t see, wondering how I was going to survive eighteen months in hell.