Chapter 11: Ten Years

Julian woke to silence and a very deliberate absence of movement.

Ellie was at the far edge of the bed, wrapped in the blanket from head to toe, a human burrito clinging to the mattress as if gravity itself might betray her. Even asleep, she appeared to be negotiating terms with the universe. Do not touch. Do not breathe wrong. Do not exist too close.

He stared at her for a moment, blinking himself fully awake.

Absurd. He had married her on paper, not joined a cult.

Julian got up, washed his face, and went downstairs in search of coffee, which at this point qualified as a medical requirement. Margaret was already seated in the sunroom, perfectly alert, as if sleep was an optional hobby she had outgrown decades ago.

“Julian,” she said pleasantly. “Where’s Ellie?”

“Still sleeping.”

A servant appeared at once, placing a cup and kettle in front of him.

Margaret didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Let’s talk about HaleCare.”

He took a sip. He was not fully awake for this, but resisting would only prolong it. “All right. What’s on your mind?”

Margaret smiled, the sort of smile that meant she had already decided. “I want you and Ellie to live here with me for a year, or until I die. Whichever comes first.”

Julian nearly inhaled his coffee.

“What?”

“I’m old, Julian. I want to spend my last years with you. And Ellie seems a lovely girl.”

‘Is that your condition?‘ was what he wanted to ask. What came out instead was calmer. “Is this tied to HaleCare?”

Margaret beamed, completely unbothered. “I also want you and Ellie to have an actual wedding ceremony. Church or garden, I don’t mind. You and your ex-wife were married in a courthouse too without inviting me. I want to share this one.”

Julian set his cup down carefully. This was not in the plan. This was not adjacent to the plan. This was the plan catching fire and asking for a seat at the table.

Reacting emotionally would achieve nothing. He kept his expression neutral.

“We’re based in Toronto,” he said evenly. “Are you expecting us to move our lives here?”

“It’s more of a request,” Margaret said lightly. “What’s wrong with wanting to spend what little time I have left with you? You rarely come home. I trust you and Ellie can make arrangements. Seb can handle things. And it’s not as if you can’t return to Toronto when work requires it.”

This was getting out of hand.

“A year?” he asked.

“Yes. A year. Depending on whether I manage to stay alive that long.”

“Very likely,” Julian said automatically.

Margaret reached across the table and took his hand. “I hope I’m not asking for too much.”

He didn’t answer. She wasn’t. Not from her perspective. She was asking for time, presence, family. Perfectly reasonable things from the woman who raised him when no one else volunteered.

She just had no idea what she was actually asking him to sustain.

“Oh,” Margaret added, as if remembering something minor. “About HaleCare. I want you and Ellie to stay married for at least ten years.”

Julian felt his blood pressure spike.

“Are you serious?”

Margaret, unbothered, folded her hands over her teacup. “Ten years.”

“That’s not a condition,” Julian said. “That’s a sentence.”

She smiled. “You always exaggerate when you’re cornered.”

“This feels less cornered and more hostage-adjacent.”

Margaret lifted an eyebrow. “You’re already assuming the marriage won’t work.”

“I’m being realistic.”

“You’re being defensive.”

Julian leaned back in his chair, mind already mapping exits that did not exist. “You’re asking me to commit to a decade-long personal arrangement as a prerequisite to running a healthcare organization.”

“I’m asking you to understand the organization,” Margaret corrected. “HaleCare isn’t an asset you flip when it becomes inconvenient. It survives because people stay. Employees stay. Families stay. Even when it’s uncomfortable. Especially when it’s uncomfortable.”

“I don’t fire people indiscriminately.”

“You restructure,” she said mildly. “You optimize. You intervene. You control.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Annoyingly accurate.

“HaleCare works,” Margaret continued, “because I don’t manage people the way you manage your companies. You don’t get rid of people because they slow you down. You don’t replace loyalty with efficiency just because it’s cleaner.”

Julian rubbed his temple. “And this is somehow connected to my marriage?”

“Yes.”

“That’s alarming.”

“You’re very good at leaving,” she said, still calm. “When things stop making sense to you, when emotions complicate the equation, you walk away. HaleCare doesn’t survive that instinct.”

“So the solution is marriage as exposure therapy.”

Margaret laughed softly. “You make it sound so grim.”

“It is grim.”

She studied him for a moment, then said, “No one is forcing you. You can divorce anytime. You can walk away today. I won’t stop you.”

Julian met her gaze. He knew this tactic. Choice presented so cleanly it almost felt kind.

“But,” she added, “if you truly want HaleCare, you’ll try. You’ll stay. You’ll learn what it means to commit when it stops being convenient. And then I or my lawyer will decide.”

He exhaled slowly. “You’re tying my professional future to my ability to keep a marriage intact for ten years.”

“I’m tying it to your ability to stay,” Margaret said. “With someone. With people. With responsibility that doesn’t answer to your rules.”

Julian stared at his cooling coffee. This was spiraling far beyond governance.

“And Ellie?” he asked. “Is she aware she’s part of this… educational program?”

Margaret’s smile softened, just slightly. “She seems to care about you.”

Julian almost laughed.

“You barely know her,” he said.

“I know enough,” Margaret replied. “And I know you. You’ve spent your life surrounded by people who need something from you. Power. Money. Approval. I won’t leave you with nothing but that.”

She didn’t say alone.

Silence settled between them, heavy but not hostile.

Julian finally spoke. “This is absurd.”

“Yes,” Margaret agreed pleasantly. “And yet here we are.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. HaleCare. Ten years. A wife who had signed up for a weekend.

This was not a negotiation he had prepared for.

“This is going to be a disaster,” he said.

Margaret smiled into her tea. “Then you’ll finally learn something.”

---

They left the house the moment Ellie woke up.

Julian did not discuss it with her. He did not explain. He did not even consider floating the idea. Their agreement had been painfully clear. A weekend. A contained performance. Clean exit. There was no scenario in which Ellie Bennett would agree to cohabitation for a year, much less a marriage stretched to ten on paper. He wasn’t delusional.

Margaret, however, was operating on an entirely different plane of reality.

He still didn’t understand her. This was manipulation at a level that deserved its own case study. Emotional leverage disguised as reason. Family values wrapped around corporate governance. And the worst part was she was technically right. No one was forcing him. There was no gun, no contract pressed into his hand. He could walk away. He didn’t even want HaleCare. He was financially independent, professionally secure, and irritatingly successful without it.

And yet.

Margaret was the only adult who stayed when everyone else opted out. His father pretended he didn’t exist. His mother left to start a new life and forgot to pack her six year old. Julian remembered the days clearly. A neighbor’s couch. Too much television. Waiting for someone who never came. He thought it was his fault. Then Margaret showed up and decided that was enough of that.

She took him in. Fed him. Taught him. Gave him structure when his life had been a loose pile of neglect. She made him into someone who survived. Someone who excelled. Someone who now had the luxury of saying he didn’t need anything.

It was not just HaleCare. It was not even Lucy’s future, though that mattered more than he admitted. It was the fact that this was a request from the only person who had never walked away from him.

If he refused, and she died, could he live with that?

The answer irritated him.

The plane landed before he finished arguing with himself.

Ellie turned toward him in the seat, already back in her own clothes, hair loosely tied, eyes bright with relief. “Thanks for the first class seat,” she said cheerfully. “And the clothes. And the ring.” She smiled, all professional closure, and held out her hand. “Nice working with you.”

A handshake. Efficient. Final. Exactly how this should end.

He should have taken it. He should have nodded and let the performance die quietly at baggage claim.

Instead, he heard himself say, “I’m driving you home.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

He told himself it was logistical. He told himself it was polite. He told himself it was faster than arranging a car.

None of that was true.

He needed time. A controlled environment. A moving vehicle where she couldn’t immediately escape and where he could decide if he was about to make the worst proposal of his life or the most irritatingly inevitable one.

Ellie shrugged still smiling. “Okay. Lead the way, soon-to-be ex-husband.”

God help him.

---

“No.”

Ellie didn’t even try to soften it.

They were parked a few blocks away from Ethan’s place because she refused to explain why a very expensive, very serious man was driving her home at noon on a weekday. Julian’s hands stayed on the steering wheel, posture straight, face unreadable.

“Can you at least think about it?” he said. “You will be fully compensated.”

There it was. That word again. Compensation. The verbal equivalent of waving cash in front of her already fragile self control.

She rubbed her temples. “If I don’t agree to this,” she asked slowly, already hating herself for asking, “what actually happens?”

Julian exhaled through his nose. “I might lose HaleCare. It’s not important to me. I plan to hand it over to Lucy eventually. But if I lose it, Marcus will probably take over. You’ve met him. Lucy may end up with nothing, and HaleCare will stop being what it is now.”

“Oh great,” Ellie muttered. “Now I feel guilty.”

Which was deeply unfair because guilt was her weakest muscle. HaleCare had been generous when her mother was sick. She remembered that clearly. Bills quietly reduced. Paperwork smoothed out. She was pretty sure there was still an amount Ethan called “waived” that neither of them ever forgot.

Julian continued, calm, methodical. “I’m not asking for your answer right now, Elena. Think of it as a job. Salary. Benefits.”

“Yeah,” she shot back, “and you’re asking me to live with you for a year. Have you met you?”

He looked mildly offended. Which honestly was impressive restraint.

Instead of arguing, he said, “Margaret wants us to stay married for ten years.”

Ellie blinked. “Excuse me. What?”

“She believes we’re married for real. And in her view, ten years is reasonable.”

Ellie laughed. Out loud. Sharp and disbelieving. “Man, rich people are weird.” She shook her head. “Look, I appreciated the weekend stint. Truly. Good luck with whatever this is. Find another wife. Tell your grandmother I had a sudden personality overhaul or joined a monastery.”

She opened the car door and stepped out, slamming it shut harder than she intended.

“Weird ass people,” she muttered as she walked toward Ethan’s house. “Playing chess with other people’s lives. Who does he think he is?”

Then the other thought crept in. The annoying one.

It was a job. A strange one, yes. But still a job. With salary. By playing someone’s wife.

What could she really lose?

If she stayed single for the next ten years anyway and let this pass, would she regret it?

Yes. A hundred percent.

She sighed, shoving her hands into her pockets.

God, she hated it when money made things complicated.

Chapter 12: Office Visit

It had been almost a month since Julian last saw Ellie.

Which, in his defense, was not avoidance. It was strategic spacing. There was a difference, and he resented that Margaret did not seem interested in learning it.

He took her calls anyway. He always did. He simply edited.

Ellie was fine. Yes, they were in a rough patch. No, it was not his fault. Married couples went through these things. That was what people said, apparently. Ellie had decided to spend some time with her family. Temporary. Yes, it was fixable. No, he was not panicking. Why would he be panicking?

Margaret did not sound convinced. She made a noncommittal hum that suggested she knew exactly when people were lying to her and was choosing not to pursue it for sport. Eventually, she let it go.

Julian ended the call and stared at his phone for a full ten seconds afterward, annoyed at himself for feeling anything at all.

That night, after a fourteen hour day that achieved nothing beyond meetings that should have been emails, he poured himself whiskey. Seb was already sprawled on the office couch, sipping coffee.

“I tried talking to Ellie again,” Seb said.

Julian did not look up. “And?”

“She said no again.”

Julian exhaled slowly through his nose. She was walking away from ten years of guaranteed income. Benefits. Stability. A clearly defined scope of responsibility. He was not asking for romance. He was not even asking for fidelity. He was asking for presence.

“She is overreacting,” Julian said, taking a drink. “It’s a job. We’re married on paper. That’s it. I wouldn’t care if she dated half the city.”

Seb tilted his head. “Easier said than done.”

Julian frowned. “Explain.”

“You may not care,” Seb said patiently, “but would her potential partner care? You’re asking someone else to enter a situation where they are automatically the third party in a marriage. That’s not romantic. That’s administrative hell.”

Julian scoffed. “She will be paid.”

Seb smiled, soft and devastating. “First lesson, my dear boss. Not everything responds to compensation.”

Julian did not argue. He had already tried to solve the problem from every angle he understood. Every solution still required Ellie agreeing to it, which was proving to be the bottleneck.

Seb watched him for a moment. “Have you divorced her yet?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Julian stared into his glass. “Because I think I can still convince her.”

Seb hummed. “You could. If you treated her nicely.”

“I did,” Julian said immediately.

Seb raised an eyebrow.

Julian hesitated. He ran through his mental ledger. The economy seat. The musician comment. The constant corrections. The tone.

“I was professional,” Julian amended.

Seb smiled again. Julian disliked that smile.

HaleCare was too much work.

---

Ten thousand dollars evaporated faster than Ellie expected.

It went to dinner first. A long one. She ordered appetizers without checking the price and told herself she deserved it. Ethan, Hannah, and Maisie deserved it more. She watched Maisie demolish dessert with full commitment and decided it was money well spent.

After that, she peeled off a thousand for herself. Buffer. Emergency coffee fund. Delusion allowance. The rest she pushed across the table to Ethan.

Which started a fight.

Ethan did not accept money gracefully. He rejected it on principle, on pride, on being her older brother and therefore immune to charity. Hannah tried to mediate. Ellie insisted. Ethan folded eventually, but only after lecturing her about savings and future emergencies and how she was not supposed to be bailing him out.

She let him talk. She knew he would use it anyway.

A week passed, and Hannah started coming home tired in a way Ellie recognized immediately. Not exhausted, just thin around the edges. Then Ellie overheard them talking in the kitchen about bills, teaching hours getting cut. Temporary, Hannah said quickly when they noticed Ellie standing there. Everything was temporary. No need to worry.

Ellie nodded and smiled and went to her room.

She was twenty seven. She was not a kid anymore. She could not keep being the problem disguised as a dream.

So she job hunted.

Receptionist. Assistant. Barista. Retail. Anything with a paycheck. Every application asked for experience she did not have or education she could not afford. She finished high school. Theatre school was a fantasy with a price tag that mocked her bank balance. She was not good with numbers. She forgot things. She could not even claim improv as a fallback because she was not effortlessly funny. She was situationally funny. The difference mattered.

By the end of the week, her inbox was a cemetery of polite rejections.

Ellie had never felt so useless in her life.

Now she stood outside a glass building where Julian Hale’s office was. She had had a drink earlier. Not enough to be sloppy. Just enough to stop her hands from shaking. Hopefully no one would comment on it. Hopefully no one leaned too close.

Rock bottom was a dramatic phrase. She had slept on worse floors. She had eaten worse dinners. Still, this felt like it is..

She adjusted her jacket and stared at the entrance.

The question was not whether she could do this. She knew she could. She always could.

The question was whether she could walk away knowing Ethan was carrying weight she could help lift.

Ellie took a breath and stepped inside.

---

Ellie stood at the receptionist’s desk trying to look calm, composed, and not at all like someone who had fueled her courage with a very optimistic pre-visit drink.

“I need to see Julian Hale,” she said, voice polite, smile ready.

The receptionist did not look up right away. When she did, it was with the expression of someone whose job description included guarding a dragon and enjoying it.

“Do you have an appointment?”

Ellie hesitated. That tiny pause where honesty and survival wrestled. “I…uh…no.”

The receptionist’s lips tightened. “Mr. Hale is a very busy man. You can’t just walk in here and demand a meeting with him.”

“I know that,” Ellie said quickly. “I wasn’t demanding. More…hoping. Optimistically hovering. I figured if he had some free time today, I could—”

“No.”

The word landed flat. Final. Impressive in its confidence.

Right. Employee matched the boss. Same energy. Same vibe. Same belief that inconvenience was a personal insult.

She turned to leave, when she spotted a familiar figure strutting past in fabulous shoes and confidence that did not belong to this floor.

“Seb!”

It came out louder than intended. Every head in the reception area snapped toward her. Ellie clamped her mouth shut.

Seb turned. His face lit up instantly, a full beam, and he pivoted on his heel as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment all day.

“Well, well, well,” he said, walking toward her with theatrical delight.

“Don’t start,” Ellie said, relief rushing in. “Is Julian here?”

“He’s in a meeting,” Seb said, sliding an arm around her shoulders with practiced ease. “But we can wait in my office.”

The receptionist straightened. “She doesn’t have an appointment.”

Seb smiled without turning. The smile of someone who ate policies for breakfast. “She doesn’t need one. She’s Mrs. Hale.”

There was a visible system error behind the receptionist’s eyes.

Ellie, buoyed by nerves and just enough alcohol to be bold, smiled sweetly. She lifted her hand and flashed the gold ring she’d decided to wear because gold was still gold, even when the marriage was fake.

“Don’t worry,” Ellie said kindly. “You can still keep your job.”

Seb laughed, delighted, and guided her away before Ellie could say anything else she would absolutely have to apologize for later.

---

Seb’s office was not a sad cubicle with a dying plant. An actual office. Couch. Desk. Art. Ellie stopped just inside the doorway and stared.

“Whoa,” she said. “You have an office.”

Seb closed the door behind them, already grinning. “Of course I do. I’m an assistant on paper. In real life, I help run Julian’s businesses.”

“Businesses. Plural.”

She felt it immediately. That familiar drop in her stomach. Julian was already rich and somehow still multiplying. Meanwhile, she was standing in borrowed confidence and thrift store boots with exactly zero job prospects.

Seb waved it off. “Diversify, honey. Men like Julian need other sources of income so they don’t wake up one day realizing the thing funding their lifestyle is also making them miserable.”

Ellie nodded slowly. “Very Julian.”

Seb studied her face. “Are you drunk?”

“What?” Ellie said too fast. “No. Maybe. A little.”

He tilted his head, assessing. Then pointed to the couch. “Sit. Sober up.”

“That feels personal,” Ellie muttered, sitting anyway.

“I’ll make you coffee,” Seb said, already moving toward the door.

“Thank you,” Ellie said.

A few minutes later, the caffeine hit and the nerves came rushing back to reclaim their territory. Her foot bounced. Her brain sprinted ahead and then circled back just to panic properly.

Seb leaned against his desk. “So. What brings you here?”

Ellie swallowed. “I need the job Julian offered. I just don’t know if it’s still open.”

“You could have just called,” Seb said gently.

She knew that. Rationally. Practically. But common sense had clocked out early and left her alone with impulse and a crippling addiction to face to face rejection.

She shrugged. “I seem to prefer face to face rejection. Builds character.”

Seb smiled, soft and kind, and pushed off the desk. “Let me see if Julian can meet you now.”

Ellie nodded, hands twisting together, heart racing.

Please let this be the good kind of stupid, she thought.

Seb headed for the door, and Ellie sat there breathing through it, hoping she hadn’t just walked into the most humiliating audition of her life.

---

Julian was midway through a report when Seb drifted into his office with the air of someone about to deliver news he was enjoying far too much.

“Guess who’s here?” Seb said.

Julian didn’t look up. “If it’s not a regulatory miracle or someone admitting fault in writing, I don’t care.”

“Your wife is sitting in my office.”

Julian’s eyes stopped moving.

“My wife,” he repeated, lifting his gaze.

Seb nodded. “Current wife. Your ex would at least have emailed first.”

Julian closed the folder slowly.

Ellie. Here. Voluntarily.

That was unexpected.

Annoying, potentially.

Also, and he resented this immediately, a relief.

“What does she want,” he asked, already standing.

“To talk to you.”

Of course she did. People never showed up unannounced to say they were perfectly fine and leaving forever.

Julian opened his drawer and pulled out the contract. It had been sitting there for weeks, untouched, waiting patiently the way problems did when they were confident they’d win eventually.

“Cancel my appointments for the rest of the afternoon.”

Seb grinned. “Done.”

“You didn’t even check my calendar.”

“I know your calendar,” Seb said. “And I know that tone.”

Julian ignored him. “Bring her here.”

Seb pivoted dramatically and exited, clearly delighted to be a courier of chaos.

Julian exhaled and ran a hand over his face, recalibrating.

She had said no. More than once. Clearly. With conviction and a door slam for emphasis.

And yet she was here. Asking to see him.

He didn’t like surprises. He liked leverage, clarity, predictability.

But Ellie showing up on her own terms meant something had shifted. Pressure, probably. Circumstances. Money.

He didn’t take pleasure in that.

He did, however, recognize opportunity when it walked into his office uninvited.

This could be a disaster.

Or, finally, a solution.

And the fact that he felt relieved she was here annoyed him more than anything else.

Chapter 13: Bargaining

Seb opened the door to Julian’s office and ushered her in with a flourish that suggested he was enjoying this far too much.

Ellie stepped inside and immediately clocked that Julian Hale had not changed at all. Same posture. Same expression that suggested mild irritation with the concept of oxygen.

But there was something else too.

A flicker. Brief. Gone fast.

Was that relief?

“So,” Ellie said, because silence made her itchy. “Hi.”

Julian stared at her.

“Uh,” Ellie continued, forcing cheer into her voice, “I’m guessing you’re not thrilled to see me.”

Julian glanced at Seb. Then back at her. Then, inexplicably, he asked, “Are you hungry?”

“Huh?”

“Have you eaten?” he repeated, in that tone of his that sounded condescending even when he might have been asking about the weather.

Ellie tilted her head. She decided to generously assume this was his default voice and not a personal attack. “Not yet. I was going to. There’s a deli outside and I figured after this I’d grab something and—”

Julian checked his watch. At this point she was convinced it was his emotional support object.

“It’s almost six,” he said. “Let’s have dinner.”

“Oh.” Ellie nodded, because this was already going off-script and her brain was scrambling to keep up. “Okay. Dinner sounds great.”

Seb clapped his hands once. “Perfect. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ellie spun toward him. “Wait. You’re not coming?”

Seb smiled, radiant and unbothered. “This is a husband-and-wife conversation. As much as I enjoy mess, I have a date tonight.” He winked.

The door closed behind him before Ellie could protest.

She stood there, alone with Julian, suddenly very aware that this was dinner. With her husband. Her fake husband. Her husband-on-paper-only husband.

She inhaled slowly.

Okay. Dinner. She could do dinner.

She also really, really needed a drink.

---

Ellie was on her second glass of wine.

Julian noticed because her hand wasn’t steady anymore. He watched the tremor travel from her fingers to the rim of the glass and decided he didn’t like where this conversation was headed.

“Elena,” he said evenly. “Why are you here?”

She smiled at him over the glass and took another sip, as if courage could be poured. “Is it so terrible that I wanted to see my husband?”

He reached across the table, removed the wine from her hand, and replaced it with a glass of water.

“Try again.”

She exhaled, shoulders dropping. “Okay. Fine. I need a job.” The words came faster now. “I tried applying for actual adult jobs. The kind with benefits and normal hours. No one is hiring me. Or maybe they are, just not me. And I really need work. So I was wondering if the job offer to be your fake wife is still open.”

There it was.

Julian studied her properly this time. The forced brightness. The tension in her jaw. The way she sat forward as if bracing for impact. If she had another option, she wouldn’t be here. That much was obvious. This wasn’t opportunism. It was desperation wrapped in humor.

“If you just need money, Elena, I can loan it to you.”

“No,” she said too fast.

He raised an eyebrow. That response didn’t track with the situation. A loan was clean. Simple. No complications. And for reasons he didn’t feel like unpacking, he didn’t mind offering it.

“I’m not charging interest,” he said. “You can pay me back in installments. Whatever works.”

“I don’t want a loan,” she said, firmer now. “I want a job. I can’t borrow money when I don’t have a way to pay it back. I already have debts. I’m not adding yours to the pile.”

Julian leaned back slightly, considering. He did need her. Objectively. Strategically. But he didn’t want someone trapped, resentful, counting days. That kind of arrangement always imploded, and he hated inefficiency more than he hated complications.

“Yes,” he said at last. “It’s still open.”

Relief flashed across her face before she could stop it.

“Cool,” she said, too casual.

“But,” Julian continued, “I’m not discussing terms with you while you’ve been drinking. Come to my office tomorrow. Bring a lawyer if you want. I’ll cover the cost.”

She frowned. “Why would I need a lawyer?”

“Because you’re contemplating ten years of your life,” he said. “And I don’t want you agreeing to something you don’t fully understand.”

She nodded slowly. “Okay. That sounds…fair.”

“It is,” he said. “And for clarity, my grandmother wants a real wedding ceremony. We would live in Willowridge for a year. Same house. Same room. On paper, we stay married for at least ten years. You should consider everything in your life before you answer. Sleep on it.”

She looked at him with an expression that suggested she had already decided and was only pretending to think it through. Julian noticed and chose not to comment. He could push. He could secure the agreement tonight.

He didn’t.

That kind of leverage reminded him too much of people he refused to emulate.

“I’ll drive you home,” he said, standing.

“Do I need to make an appointment for tomorrow?” she asked, half joking.

“No,” Julian replied. “Everyone in the office knows you’re my wife.”

And that, somehow, was the weirdest thing he said all week.

---

Ellie showed up the next day without a lawyer.

This was not bravery. This was a combination of not knowing any lawyers, not wanting Ethan to panic, and a long-standing habit of making life-altering decisions with vibes and optimism. She was deeply aware she was winging it.

She sat in the conference room, feet hooked around the chair legs. Julian and Seb walked in together, all calm efficiency and tailored confidence.

“Where’s your lawyer?” Julian asked immediately.

“I don’t need one.”

That earned her a long sigh, the kind that suggested she had already made his day worse.

“First of all, Elena,” Julian said as he sat, “if you are going to be my wife, consult all major decisions with me or with our lawyer. Anything that involves signing documents.”

Ellie smiled politely while her brain immediately bristled.

Ah yes. Welcome to marriage. Step one: apparently she lost autonomous decision-making privileges. Love that journey for her.

Julian slid a paper across the table.

“Three hundred thousand a year,” he said. “With insurance. Housing once we return to Toronto.”

Ellie stared at the number.

Three hundred thousand.

Guaranteed. For years.

Her chest did a weird flutter that was not joy and not fear but something dangerously close to hope. That was rent without panic. Groceries without math. Theatre auditions without wondering if she should be doing literally anything else instead. That was helping Ethan without it becoming a fight. That was breathing room.

She looked up and kept her face neutral because she refused to be the woman who gasped.

“You can treat this as any normal job,” Julian continued. “You are paid to act as my wife. Minimum of five years. After that, we revisit whether we extend for another five. There will be salary increases over time.”

“Got it,” Ellie said, because if she opened her mouth any wider she might start laughing or crying or both.

Julian paused, studying her. “It’s important to me that you are not agreeing to something you don’t understand.”

“I’m not as smart as you, Julian,” Ellie said evenly, “but I’m not stupid. I understand exactly what this is.”

“Very well.” He nodded. “One year in Willowridge. After that, we return here. I don’t care if you date or are in a relationship, as long as it’s discreet. Publicly, we remain married.”

Ellie nodded again. This part felt surreal, but manageable. She had lived inside fiction before.

“This could potentially ruin future relationships,” Julian added.

“No one is lining up,” Ellie said lightly. “And I’d rather be single with money than taken and broke. I can’t eat love.”

Seb snorted. “Smart girl.”

Julian continued, unfazed. “You can walk away at any time. I can also end the arrangement if needed.”

“Fair enough.”

“Our private lives remain separate. What you do is your business. What I do is mine.”

“Works for me.”

“Once we return,” Julian said, “your role will include public appearances, staying at my apartment when family visits, and maintaining the appearance of being my wife.”

Ellie nodded. This was oddly… structured. Clear. Honest, in its own strange way.

“Any questions?” Julian asked.

“Yes.” She didn’t hesitate. “I can choose not to finish the contract”

“Yes.”

“And your grandmother won’t suddenly demand grandchildren?”

“No,” Julian said flatly. “There are many reasons to avoid that conversation.”

“Great. And if you’re involved with someone, you’ll be discreet too?”

“Unless I want my reputation destroyed, yes.”

Ellie exhaled, then lifted her chin. “I do have one condition.”

Julian looked at her. “What is it?”

“I need to tell my brother this marriage is fake.”

The room went quiet.

Ellie held his gaze, heart steady for once. She could pretend for the world. She could lie for money. She could perform. But Ethan was her line.

This deal only worked if she didn’t lose herself entirely.

Julian folded his hands, already regretting how reasonable this conversation had become.

“This only works if everyone around us believes the marriage is real,” he said, evenly. Not as a threat. As a structural observation. You did not build a bridge and then announce which planks were decorative.

“I know that,” Ellie said, immediately. “But lying to my brother is non-negotiable.”

Julian inhaled through his nose. Of course it was non-negotiable. She said things that way. Definitive, moral, immune to bargaining. He ran through the variables anyway, because that was what he did.

Brother. Police officer. Protective. Presumably observant. Potentially armed. Statistically annoying.

Trust was not the issue. Exposure was.

He weighed it quickly. Risk assessment, not sentiment. If the brother knew, the brother became a liability. If the brother didn’t know, Ellie would become resentful. Resentment led to sloppiness. Sloppiness killed arrangements.

He sighed. A controlled one. Professional.

“Fine,” he said. “But I will be the one who speaks to your brother.”

“What?” Ellie said, loud enough to be inefficient.

“I don’t want you explaining contractual details covered by the NDA,” Julian said calmly. “Or editorializing. Or improvising.”

“I told you, Julian, I am not stupid. I—”

“I didn’t say you were,” he cut in, because that line of argument went nowhere productive. “I am protecting the arrangement. That includes you.”

She stared at him, clearly deciding whether to throw something or argue properly.

“So,” he continued, unruffled, “if your brother is going to know, I will control the information flow. You get honesty. I get containment.”

This, he thought, was a fair compromise. She got her moral line. He got to make sure the truth did not develop opinions.

“If that’s unacceptable,” he added, “we stop here.”

He waited.

Ellie looked furious. Also thoughtful. Which meant she was actually considering it.

Julian resisted the urge to relax. Negotiations only ended when someone signed something or stormed out. Everything else was just noise.

Chapter 14: Permission

Ellie sat on the edge of Ethan’s couch, knees tucked in, spine straight in a way that suggested both respect and preemptive guilt. Across from her, Ethan and Julian were locked in a silent stare-down that felt less hostile and more territorial.

Ellie had made sure Ethan was in a good mood first. She always did. Not that it was hard. Ethan woke up cheerful the way some people woke up caffeinated. Still, she double-checked. Jokes landed. Hannah laughed. Maisie waved a stuffed giraffe at Julian, who looked unsure whether to shake its hand.

Then Ellie’s brain replayed the conversation from a few days ago.

The careful version.

She’d told Ethan she had a job opportunity. A good one. One that meant staying in Alberta for a year. She’d rushed through that part, the way you do when you hope enthusiasm outruns consequences.

Ethan had been thrilled. Immediately proud. Immediately planning. He and Hannah had started talking about long weekends, school breaks, how cold Alberta actually got. Hannah had googled where to stay in Red Deer. Ethan had asked if Ellie preferred surprise visits or scheduled ones.

The guilt had settled in Ellie’s stomach and unpacked.

Then Hannah, sharp and perceptive as ever, had tilted her head.

“So is it for a role?”

Ellie had said, “Kind of,” which was technically true if you stretched the definition of theatre.

Ethan, bless his endlessly supportive heart, had leaned forward.

“What’s the role?”

And Ellie, who apparently had chosen chaos as a lifestyle, had said, “wife of a hospital heir.”

Which had felt funny at the time. Hypothetical. Theatrical. Safe.

Now Julian Hale was in their living room, and Ethan had not blinked in thirty seconds.

Ellie cleared her throat.

“So, Ethan. Remember when I told you about the job offer I got?”

“Yeah,” Ethan said, eyes still on Julian.

“So,” Ellie continued, gesturing vaguely between herself and the very expensive man radiating controlled irritation, “I’ll be his wife.”

A beat.

Ethan squinted. “Are you the lead actor?”

“No,” Julian said.

“So Ellie is the lead?” Hannah asked, already smiling. “Our Ellie’s been waiting for a lead role for years now.”

Ellie winced. Physically.

“No,” Julian said again, crisp and immediate.

Ethan finally looked at Ellie. “Okay. So what exactly is he doing here?”

Ellie’s mouth went dry. “As I said. He’s my husband.”

Ethan and Hannah waited.

Ellie waited too, actually. For laughter. For a punchline to descend from the ceiling.

Instead, Julian straightened and spoke with the tone of a man announcing a quarterly report.

“My name is Julian Hale. And yes, I am Ellie’s husband.”

Hannah inhaled sharply. “Hale as in HaleCare?”

“Correct.”

“Oh my god,” Hannah said.

Ellie watched Ethan carefully. His face went blank, which was worse than yelling.

“So,” Ethan said slowly, “I don’t know if I’m tired or if this is some advanced acting exercise. You’re playing his wife.”

“Yes?” Ellie offered.

“And you’re married.”

“Yes.”

“For real? Or fake? Or performance art? Walk me through it.”

Julian sighed, the sound of a man who believed clarity would fix everything.

“Yes, we are married. For real. We got married a month ago. And we’ve decided to let you know.”

Silence fell.

Then Ethan stood up.

“Get out of my house.”

Ellie jumped. “Ethan—”

Julian opened his mouth. “I—”

“Out. Now.”

Julian didn’t argue. He stood, glanced once at Ellie, and walked out without another word.

If the situation hadn’t been actively destroying her life, Ellie might have laughed. Julian Hale, Managing Director, verbally steamrolled by her brother in under ten seconds. Impressive. Deeply satisfying.

Unfortunately, her brother was furious.

Ellie swallowed and turned to Ethan, already bracing herself.

---

Ellie had never heard Ethan yell like this. Not really. Raised voice, sure. Dad voice, occasionally. But this was volcanic.

“HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?!” Ethan shouted, pacing the living room.

Hannah reacted instantly, scooping Maisie up. “Ice cream?” she asked, already halfway to the door.

Maisie cheered. The door closed. Silence, thick and dangerous.

Ellie swallowed. “It’s not as bad as it sounds.”

“The fuck you mean?” Ethan snapped.

Okay. Swearing. That was new. That was bad.

He turned on her, eyes sharp, protective instinct blazing. “Did he force you into this?”

“No,” Ellie said quickly. “No. It’s complicated, but I swear it’s just another acting job.”

“Oh yeah?” Ethan said. “And your life is tied to him for what, a year?”

Ellie hesitated. “…Ten years.”

Ethan stopped moving.

He sat down hard on the couch, elbows on his knees, head dropping into his hands as if gravity had suddenly doubled.

Ellie’s chest tightened. God. This was the part she hated. The part where she broke him without meaning to.

“Have I failed you, Ellie?” he asked, voice muffled.

Her heart cracked straight down the middle. She slid onto the couch beside him, close enough to feel his shoulder tense under hers.

No. God, no. Never that.

“No,” she said softly. “I think I’m failing myself more than anything.”

He didn’t answer. His breathing went uneven.

Ellie rushed on, words tumbling out before she lost her nerve. “You’ve done everything for me, Ethan. Everything. And I haven’t done anything to pay you back. And then this came up, and I thought about it, I really did. It was supposed to be just a weekend thing, but it got complicated, and now Julian’s offering me a guaranteed income. And I know I’m bad at explaining this, but I’m not good at anything, Ethan. I’m not even doing well in theatre. And this is a chance to actually do something that matters. It’s just a job. A weird one. But still a job.”

Ethan stayed quiet, jaw clenched, fighting tears he was absolutely losing to.

“Please don’t cry,” Ellie said, panicking.

“I just…” he said, voice thick. “I don’t know how I feel about this.”

“I’m safe,” Ellie said quickly. “The marriage is just on paper. Me and Julian are strictly professional.”

He turned to her. “Are you sure you really want to do this?”

“Yes,” she said, surprising herself with how steady it came out. “And I can walk away anytime. I’m just…taking a chance.”

Silence settled again, softer this time.

“Ethan,” Ellie whispered, leaning closer, “please don’t be mad at me.”

He shook his head. “I’m not mad. I’m disappointed and worried. Am I not allowed to feel that?”

She didn’t argue. She rested her head on his shoulder instead, the way she had since she was small. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

Ethan sighed and patted her head, a familiar, grounding gesture.

Then, reluctantly curious, he asked, “He’s the HaleCare heir?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you sign a prenup?”

“Yep.”

“Damn it,” Ethan muttered.

Ellie let out a small laugh despite herself.

“I still don’t agree with this,” Ethan said. “But I won’t stop you. I just don’t want you getting hurt. And if you do get hurt, you call me. I’ll drive to Alberta if I have to.”

Ellie smiled, eyes burning. “I know.”

---

Julian sat in his car longer than was reasonable, engine off, hands still on the steering wheel, weighing the merits of driving away and pretending this arrangement had never happened.

He had been doing that for months now. Considering. Reconsidering. Very little actual action. For someone who prided himself on decisiveness, it was becoming an irritation.

The arrangement was inconvenient. Increasingly so. But the alternative was HaleCare landing in Marcus’s hands, and that thought still caused a very specific pressure behind Julian’s left temple.

A knock on his window interrupted the spiral.

Hannah stood there, Maisie perched on her hip, both of them looking annoyingly calm.

“Want ice cream?” Hannah asked.

“No.”

“I suggest you do,” she said pleasantly. “I’m calmer than my husband. Take advantage of it.”

Julian sighed, unlocked the door, and stepped out. He had negotiated hostile boards and ruthless investors. He could survive ice cream diplomacy.

They ended up at a nearby park. Maisie ran straight for the playground. Hannah and Julian sat on a bench with coffee, watching her climb with the fearless confidence of someone who had never experienced adulthood yet.

“So,” Hannah said, eyes still on Maisie, “when Ellie went to Alberta last month, was it with you?”

“Yes,” Julian said. “It wasn’t that Elena intended to hide it. I had her sign an NDA.”

Hannah hummed. “You do understand Ethan is her brother.”

“I do,” Julian replied evenly. “But he might also be forgetting that Elena is an adult who can make decisions on her own.”

Hannah smiled faintly, the kind that suggested she was listening but not conceding. “Have you been married before?”

It was a personal question. He decided to answer anyway.

“Yes. Once.”

“Ethan and Ellie’s parents were married for twenty-five years.”

Julian did the math automatically. Ellie was twenty-seven. Ethan was roughly his age.

“They lived together a long time before marriage,” Julian said.

“No,” Hannah replied. “Their mother was diagnosed with cancer when Ellie was ten. She died a few weeks after Ellie turned fifteen. Their father had been her primary caregiver. One week later, he had a heart attack.”

Julian stilled.

One week.

He had spent years modeling risk, forecasting loss, assigning probabilities. None of those tools applied here. Two parents gone within a week was not a statistic. It was a rupture.

“That family buried two people in a week,” Hannah continued quietly. “Ethan was twenty-five. He became Ellie’s sole guardian while he was just starting his career. When I met Ethan, Ellie came as part of the deal. She was the non-negotiable. So when Ellie makes a decision, Ethan feels responsible for it. Even now.”

Julian stared ahead, jaw tightening.

He had not known that. Of course he hadn’t. He had never asked. He had assessed Elena Bennett as a candidate, not as a person with a history heavy enough to shape every decision she made.

That omission sat poorly with him.

“I’m not taking advantage of her,” Julian said finally. “If that’s what you’re worried about. There is a mutual benefit here. I know how this looks, but what I’m offering Elena is a job. Nothing more. She is well compensated and safe.”

“And can you make sure she won’t get hurt in the process?” Hannah cut in.

Julian paused.

The plan had accounted for finances, housing, legal protection, exit clauses. Emotional damage had not factored in because he had selected Ellie precisely because she appeared detached. Low risk. Minimal entanglement.

But Hannah was watching him now, sharp and patient.

“She won’t,” Julian said.

It was not a calculation. It was a decision.

Hannah’s phone buzzed. She stood and called for Maisie, who protested loudly before sprinting back.

“Ethan’s ready to talk to you,” Hannah said.

Julian rose, straightened his jacket, and followed.

He suspected this conversation would be significantly less civil than ice cream diplomacy.

---

Julian walked back toward the house with Hannah and Maisie, already cataloguing the situation into manageable parts. Hannah and Maisie went inside without hesitation. Ethan stayed by the door, shoulders squared, jaw tight.

So. This was the meeting.

“Start talking,” Ethan said.

Julian did. Direct. Efficient. No theatrics.

“Everything Elena told you is accurate. She didn’t tell you sooner because I had her sign an NDA. At the time, we both expected it to be a weekend arrangement. That changed on my end. I asked her to continue posing as my wife in exchange for compensation.”

Ethan let out a short, humorless laugh. “This is the weirdest shit I’ve heard in my life.”

Julian nodded once. Fair.

“She will be treated as any other employee,” Julian continued. “Salary, benefits, healthcare, housing. I assume you understand the structure.”

“Yeah,” Ethan said. “An employee bound to you.”

Julian didn’t rise to it. “I’m not forcing Elena to do anything against her will. She can leave at any time. There are no penalties.”

“And what exactly is she paid to do?”

“Appear with me in public. Allow my family and relevant people to believe I’m married. I’m not asking for a spectacle. I need credibility within a very small circle.”

“So you’re contracting my sister to fool your family.”

“I’m contracting her to help me preserve something my youngest sister deserves,” Julian said calmly. “I assumed you’d understand that.”

That landed. Ethan paused, recalculating. Julian watched it happen.

“Why my sister?” Ethan asked.

Julian didn’t hesitate. “Because there is zero romantic tension between us. Your sister doesn’t like me. The feeling is mutual. This is business. Nothing else.”

Ethan exhaled through his nose. “Okay. Here are my terms. I know Ellie is an adult, and my opinion probably doesn’t matter, but I don’t care. She can leave anytime she wants. You respect her personal life and her boundaries.”

“That’s already in the contract.”

“God,” Ethan muttered. “You and your contracts. Can rich people function without threatening everyone with legal consequences?”

“You’re a police officer,” Julian replied evenly. “You know everything has legal consequences. And that contract isn’t there to protect me. It’s there to protect your sister. I don’t control how she lives her private life. As long as she fulfills the public aspect of the arrangement, the rest is none of my business. I cannot force her into anything. That’s explicitly stated.”

Ethan sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Are we allowed to visit her?”

“Of course,” Julian said. “My only request is that you and your wife don’t share details of this arrangement with anyone else.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “Don’t we need to sign an NDA for that or something?”

Julian paused. He had deliberately not brought one.

“I’m placing my trust in you,” he said. “In the same way I expect you to trust me with Elena. If that’s not acceptable, I’ll leave now and I won’t contact her again.”

He let the silence sit.

Julian watched Ethan assess him, not as a businessman, but as a brother deciding whether to tolerate a risk.

“Just for the record,” Ethan said finally, “I still don’t agree with this. Not really. But make sure my sister comes back to me the same person.”

Julian inclined his head. “Understood.”

It wasn’t approval, but it was permission enough.

Chapter 15: A Very Convincing Job

Ellie spent the next three months preparing for Margaret Hale the way one prepares for a final boss fight. Strategically. Intensely. Slightly resentfully.

Julian sent her money with a note that said wardrobe and preparation. Which meant clothes, posture, and learning etiquette because apparently saying please and thank you wasn’t enough. She learned how to sit without folding herself into a question mark. She learned which fork did what, even though she remained convinced that more than three spoons was a prank invented by rich people to watch others fail.

Why would soup require another spoon?

Seb, bless him, scheduled the “calibration sessions,” but this time, it was Julian interviews disguised as dates. They sat across from each other, Julian with a notebook, Ellie with coffee she wasn’t supposed to touch because caffeine made her fidget.

He asked questions. Real ones. Late ones. After it was already inconvenient.

“What are your long-term goals?” Julian asked once.

“To survive,” Ellie said instantly.

He paused. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s my most honest one.”

He wrote something down anyway, then looked up. “Hobbies.”

“Theatre.”

“That’s not a hobby. That’s unpaid labor.”

She stared at him. “You asked.”

He sighed. “Favorite vacation.”

“Anywhere I don’t owe anyone money.”

Another note. Another look. “You’re difficult.”

“You say that as if it’s not a survival skill.”

He kept asking. Judging her answers with that sharp, measuring look, but also listening, which felt new and mildly alarming. By the third session, he even stopped correcting her posture every five minutes, which she considered progress.

Now she stood in the Hale Manor foyer again, heart steady but alert, posture perfect, hands calm at her sides. Margaret approached, regal and composed, silver hair immaculate, eyes sharp and amused.

“Ellie,” Margaret said, kissing her cheek. “I’m happy you and Julian made some arrangements for me.”

“It’s not a problem at all,” Ellie said, smiling with the kind of warmth she had practiced in the mirror until it stopped feeling fake.

Margaret linked her arm through Ellie’s, steering her toward the dining room with gentle authority.

“How was the flight?” she asked. “I hope Julian didn’t leave you in economy this time.”

“He didn’t,” Ellie said easily.

Good. Progress.

“And your family?” Margaret continued. “Are they comfortable with you moving to Alberta?”

Ellie nodded. “My brother was upset at first, but he came around.”

Which was true. Eventually. After yelling. And pacing. And threatening Julian’s kneecaps.

Ellie had learned that the best lies were half-truths. They didn’t wobble when you leaned on them.

Dinner passed smoothly. Which meant something was coming.

Margaret dabbed her mouth with a napkin and smiled. “Now,” she said, “let’s talk about your wedding.”

Julian cleared his throat.

Ellie jumped in before he could. “I’m really fine with the courthouse wedding.”

Margaret waved a hand dismissively. “Julian and his first wife did that too. I remember.”

Ellie felt Julian stiffen beside her.

“I’m not asking for a grand church wedding,” Margaret continued. “Just something small. Personal. Can I have this moment, please?”

Ellie smiled, soft and agreeable, while thinking very clearly that this woman did not ask questions she didn’t already know the answer to.

And that she was, somehow, already losing.

---

“YOU SAID IT WAS A SIMPLE WEDDING?!” Ellie hissed, pacing the bedroom while Julian calmly removed his cufflinks, as if she weren’t one sharp inhale away from gnawing on the furniture.

She dropped onto the sofa bed, grateful for its existence. A small mercy. “In what world is three hundred and fifty guests simple?”

Julian glanced at her. “My cousin had five hundred.”

Ellie stared at him. “Are we inviting half of Alberta? Because I don’t remember collecting that many friends. Or acquaintances. Or enemies.”

“It’s mostly Margaret’s guests,” he said, shrugging again.

“Great,” Ellie shot back. “So strangers. Powerful strangers. Judgmental strangers. And you expect me to stand in the middle of it all and smile.”

“It’s a wedding, Elena. You’re supposed to enjoy it.”

She laughed once, sharp and humorless. “Yes. I love being inspected like an item on clearance.”

Julian exhaled, already tired. “We’ve talked about this. You can walk away. I’ll book you a flight back to Toronto and tell Margaret you had wedding jitters.”

“And HaleCare?” Ellie asked, stopping short.

He paused. “It doesn’t matter that much.”

She turned slowly. “You’re lying.”

“I want HaleCare,” he said evenly. “That’s why I’m doing this. But not at your expense. That’s the agreement. I’ll still pay you for the year. Plus another three hundred for the inconvenience.”

She knew that already. Knew she always had an exit. That somehow made it worse.

“And your family?” she asked. “What do they do to you then?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Julian replied.

Ellie fell back onto the sofa bed, staring at the ceiling. She hated this. Hated that she was already in too deep. Hated that walking away would feel heavier than staying.

“Fine,” she muttered. “I’ll do the wedding. But I get final say on the color motif.”

Silence.

From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw it. A flicker. A hint of something that could almost be a smile.

“Thank you, Elena,” Julian said.

She propped herself up on one elbow. “Did you just thank me?”

“No.”

“You absolutely did.”

“I’m done here,” he said, already heading for the door.

Ellie watched him leave, heart thumping, mind spinning, wondering when exactly her life had turned into a high-budget production with no intermission.

---

Julian had underestimated many things in his life. Market volatility. Human error. The time it takes people to choose throw pillows.

Wedding preparation ranked disturbingly high on the list.

He had never attended a real wedding ceremony beyond courtrooms and polite receptions where everyone pretended permanence was a given. To him, weddings were decorative optimism. Expensive optimism. The kind that produced photo albums for marriages that might not survive a recession or a bad year.

Margaret, of course, disagreed.

He let her plan everything. It was efficient, in theory. In practice, it meant he found himself standing in an open field surrounded by aggressively beautiful autumn foliage while a photographer with too much enthusiasm adjusted a reflector and said the words “prenup shoot” with alarming joy.

Julian adjusted his jacket for the fourth time in two minutes.

“This feels unnecessary,” he said flatly.

Ellie, standing a few feet away in a dress that somehow made fall look intentional, smiled. “You’ve said that about six things today.”

“I’m consistent.”

The photographer clapped his hands. “Alright, let’s get some natural chemistry. Julian, relax your shoulders.”

Julian tried. He genuinely did. His shoulders lowered approximately half a centimeter.

Ellie stepped closer without asking, sliding her arm around his. “Wow,” she murmured, “You’re holding your body like you’re on a boardroom meeting.”

“This is my relaxed posture,” he replied.

She tilted her head, eyes bright, voice suddenly softer, warmer. The actress had entered the building. “You look very handsome today.”

Julian stared straight ahead. This was nonsense. He was aware of it. A camera was clicking. A stranger was encouraging intimacy for documentation purposes. He did not enjoy being directed in matters of expression.

The photographer frowned. “Julian, can you look at Ellie as if you’re in love?”

Ellie laughed and leaned in closer, fingers lightly resting on his chest. “He’s shy.”

“I am not shy.”

She looked up at him, smiling in a way that suggested shared history, private jokes, affection. None of which existed. The effect, however, was unsettlingly convincing.

Julian felt several things at once. Annoyance. Awareness. A growing understanding that she was very good at this.

“Relax,” she whispered. “Pretend you don’t hate this.”

“I don’t hate this,” he said through his teeth.

“You’re clenching your jaw.”

“That’s how my face works.”

The photographer beamed. “Yes, yes, that’s better. Ellie, pull him in. Julian, soften.”

Ellie complied enthusiastically, pressing closer, one hand slipping into his jacket pocket. She looked up at him again, eyes warm, mouth curved just enough to suggest something intimate.

Julian did not move. He was aware that his posture resembled a man being photographed for an ID.

Click. Click.

“Great,” the photographer said. “Now whisper something romantic to her.”

Julian opened his mouth, then closed it. Romantic language was not his strong suit.

Ellie leaned in first. “You’re doing amazing,” she said sweetly. “For a stiff old man.”

His eyes flicked to hers.

She smiled wider. Bait. Deliberate.

He leaned closer, voice low. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Absolutely,” she replied. “You’re adorable when you’re uncomfortable.”

---

Ellie had said it on purpose.

Stiff old man.

She had tossed it out lightly, smiling at the camera, fully expecting him to do what he always did. Ignore it. Glare. Correct her tone internally. Remain upright and immovable, a luxury coat rack pretending to be a husband.

Because if she was going to have fake wedding photos taken in a beautiful autumn field, she wanted something usable. Something she could someday point to and say, see, I did that. I acted the hell out of that.

She was already thinking about angles, expressions, the kind of warmth casting directors liked. Devotion without desperation. Affection without clinging. She leaned in, relaxed her shoulders, softened her smile, fully in character.

And then Julian grabbed her.

Not roughly. Not clumsily. Clean, decisive hands. One arm around her waist, the other guiding her shoulder, and suddenly the ground tilted as he spun her and dipped her backward in one smooth motion.

Oh.

That was not in the script.

Her back was supported, solid and warm, his hand firm between her shoulder blades. Her free hand had automatically landed against his chest, fingers splayed, because her body was smarter than her thoughts. She was leaning back far enough that she could see the sky behind him, the leaves blurring into gold and rust.

And his face.

Julian was looking at her.

Not at the camera. Not past her. At her.

Focused. Intent. The kind of gaze that made her forget this was pretend and start worrying about whether she was breathing correctly. His jaw was relaxed, eyes dark and steady, expression unreadable in that infuriating way of his, except for something there that felt dangerously close to real.

Her stomach did a weird, traitorous flip.

“Hold it!” the photographer shouted. “Perfect. Perfect. Do not move.”

Ellie did not move. She physically could not if she tried.

She could feel Julian’s thumb shift slightly against her back, adjusting her balance, careful, controlled. He had done this before. Maybe not with her. But the confidence was undeniable.

Margaret clapped her hands from somewhere behind the camera. “Oh this is it,” she said, delighted. “Look at them. That’s the one. You can see it.”

Ellie barely heard her.

She was too busy staring up at the man holding her, trying very hard not to think about how easy this suddenly felt. How natural. How unfair it was that the stiff old man had chosen this exact moment to stop being stiff.

If this was fake, she thought faintly, it was doing a very convincing job.

Chapter 16: First Kiss?

The wedding day arrived with the efficiency of bad weather.

Cold. Clear. Inconvenient.

Julian stood alone in the small room off the garden, adjusting his tie for the third time even though it was already straight. Outside, chairs were arranged in perfect rows, guests bundled in coats, breath visible in the late-autumn air. Leaves clung stubbornly to trees that should have known better by now.

He wanted this finished. Signed. Observed. Filed away.

Margaret knocked once and entered without waiting for an answer, as she always did. She crossed the room and smoothed the front of his coat, fingers careful, affectionate in a way that made him stand still despite himself.

“You look handsome today,” she said.

Julian bent and kissed the top of her head. “Thank you.”

She smiled up at him, eyes bright, delighted in a way that suggested this was Christmas morning rather than a calculated compromise. “Thank you for agreeing to this. I know you hate this kind of spectacle. I just wanted to see you get married, that’s all. And Ellie seems a sweet lady.”

He nodded. There was nothing productive to add.

Margaret tilted her head, considering him. “Where are you going for your honeymoon? I can arrange something. Asia, perhaps. Somewhere warm.”

“It can wait,” he said. “I have work that I can’t put on hold.”

She hummed, unbothered. On that front, they were aligned. Work had always been the one language they spoke fluently together.

Then she paused, expression shifting into something thoughtful. “Oh. I nearly forgot. Did you know Vivienne offered Ellie two million?”

Julian stilled. That was not on the schedule.

“What?” The word left him sharper than intended. He recovered quickly. “I’m surprised she has that kind of money.”

Margaret laughed softly. “They all know the conditions I set for you. And they know that if you fail, Marcus gets HaleCare. Can you blame them for trying?”

Of course they tried. That part made sense.

“What did Ellie say?” he asked.

Margaret’s smile turned pleased. “Ellie is a petty queen. She told Vivienne she’ll get much more than two million if she stays married to you. Lucy said Vivienne went pale. I wish I’d seen it.”

Julian exhaled slowly.

He should have been irritated. He was, marginally. But underneath it sat something far more inconvenient.

Ellie had declined two million dollars.

She had not verified if the money existed. She had not attempted to negotiate. She had not mentioned it to him at all. Anyone else would have brought it up immediately. Used it as leverage. Asked for more.

Ellie knew he needed her more than she needed him. She was not naïve. She understood leverage.

And still, she had said no.

From a purely transactional standpoint, it made no sense.

Margaret squeezed his hand. “Treasure Ellie,” she said gently. “Not because of HaleCare. The more I know her, the more I see she’s good for you.”

Julian nodded, because arguing would be pointless.

It had nothing to do with goodness, he told himself. Ellie was a competent actress with strong improvisational instincts and a surprising grasp of social dynamics. She was doing her job well.

Still.

Two million dollars would have solved most people’s problems instantly. Ellie had chosen time over money. Chosen uncertainty over certainty. Chosen to stay without asking for more.

All Julian was losing in this arrangement was money he would eventually recoup once HaleCare was secure.

Ellie was losing freedom. Time. Options.

The math did not balance.

Margaret turned toward the door. “It’s time.”

Julian straightened his jacket and followed her out into the cold, reminding himself that this was business, not sentiment.

Even if the numbers were starting to behave strangely.

---

Ellie pressed her palms lightly against the fabric of her dress and stared at herself in the mirror.

Okay. Wow. She looked…really good.

She tilted her head, inspecting from every angle, then nodded decisively. “You clean up well, Bennett,” she whispered. “Shockingly well.”

The dress fit her in a way that felt almost intentional, as if someone had designed it specifically for this version of her. The one pretending to have her life together. The one about to walk down an aisle instead of pacing a casting hallway with a crumpled résumé.

For a brief second, the humor slipped.

There was no Ethan hovering nearby pretending not to cry. No Hannah fussing with her hair. No Maisie asking loud, inappropriate questions about weddings. No family filling the seats, whispering and nudging each other.

She swallowed.

It was fine. This was just an acting job. A fantasy wedding. A very expensive, very elaborate dress rehearsal for a future that would someday be hers for real. One where everyone she loved would be there, arguing about seating charts and food choices.

She inhaled, squared her shoulders, and smiled at her reflection again. Fake it till it feels convincing.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

The woman helping her get ready peeked in, eyes widening. “It’s time,” she said warmly. “You’re glowing.”

Ellie smiled back, because that was the appropriate response when someone told you that. “Thanks,” she said, hoping confidence translated better than panic.

As the doors opened, a hush rippled through the space.

Every head turned toward her.

Ellie stepped forward, one careful step at a time, aware of the way the world narrowed into a single path. At the other end of the aisle stood Margaret, radiant and proud, beaming as if this wedding were the greatest achievement of her life.

And beside her was Julian.

He was already looking at Ellie. Not distracted. Not checking his watch. Just watching her.

That alone almost threw her off script.

When she reached them, Margaret pulled her into a tight hug, warm and full of emotion. “You look beautiful,” Margaret murmured.

Ellie hugged her back, heart thudding. “Thank you.”

Julian extended his arm. Ellie took it, fingers settling naturally where they were supposed to go.

He leaned in slightly and whispered, low enough that only she could hear, “You forgot to tell me something.”

Her smile stayed fixed. “What?”

“Later.”

Of course. Great. Perfect timing for a mystery.

Ellie nodded once, still smiling, already spiraling internally.

Fantastic. Now I’m going to overthink this for the rest of the ceremony.

---

The ceremony unfolded exactly as Julian had predicted. Long. Symbolic. Boring.

He tuned out most of it, focusing instead on standing straight, holding Ellie’s hand at an angle that looked intimate but not proprietary, and keeping his vows aggressively brief. He had trimmed them down to the emotional equivalent of a mission statement. Clear. Inoffensive. Over quickly.

Ellie, on the other hand, treated her vows as if she were auditioning for something.

She projected. She emoted. She added pauses that suggested history. At one point, there were actual tears.

He leaned in slightly, barely moving his lips. “Tears? Seriously?”

Ellie didn’t even look at him. She kept her eyes soft, voice steady, and said, “Remember when I broke up with you and you spent the night outside my apartment in the rain, refusing to leave until I talked to you?”

Julian almost lost his composure.

That had never happened. He would never do that. If it were raining, he would have gone home. If it weren’t raining, he still would have gone home.

“It was such a movie cliché,” Ellie continued, squeezing his hand just enough to make it convincing, “but it happened. You made me believe we could endure anything.”

There was an audible reaction from the crowd. A few soft awes. Margaret dabbed at her eyes.

Julian smiled. He believed it passed for human.

Ellie glanced at him, just for a second, the corner of her mouth lifting. This was deliberate. She was enjoying this. She was taking a very public rise out of him.

The ceremony dragged on. Ellie stayed committed. Every now and then, she leaned closer and murmured, “I deserve a Dora Mavor for this.”

“You’re unsettling,” Julian muttered back.

“Thank you,” she said brightly.

Then it was time.

“You may kiss the bride.”

Julian turned toward Ellie. She smiled at him in a way that was very clear and very pointed. Don’t you dare make this weird.

So he didn’t.

He leaned in and kissed her cheek. Light. Polite. Efficient.

Someone booed. Whoever it was, Julian immediately hated him.

The officiant cleared his throat. “You may kiss the bride. As husband and wife.”

They turned to face each other again.

Ellie’s smile tightened, just a fraction. She leaned in and whispered, “Just get it over with.”

Fine.

Julian bent down and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. It was brief, controlled, and exactly as planned.

Except.

Ellie froze.

A tiny pause. A barely-there hitch in her breath. Her hand tightened in his, and when she pulled back, she was trembling. Just a little. Enough that he felt it.

She recovered fast. Smiled. Turned to the crowd.

Applause erupted.

Julian stayed still, processing.

That wasn’t performance anxiety. That wasn’t stagecraft. That was unfamiliarity. Genuine, unpracticed, unmistakable.

He had assumed experience. He had assumed competence across the board. Ellie was an actress, after all.

Apparently, there were gaps in her résumé.

Interesting.

Also inconvenient.

He released her hand as the officiant moved on, already recalibrating several assumptions he hadn’t realized he was operating under.

---

Ellie smiled.

She smiled because smiling was safe. Smiling was muscle memory. Smiling was what you did when 350 people were staring at you and your brain had just briefly left your body.

Okay. Cool. So that just happened.

That was…a kiss.

Her first kiss.

Ever.

Not even a stage kiss. Not even a fake one with bad blocking and worse lighting. She once played a flower. A literal flower. With interpretive arm movements. There had been no kissing involved in that production.

Calm down, Ellie. Part of the job.

Except. No. It wasn’t. This was not in the contract. There had been clauses about discretion, housing, insurance, and pretending to enjoy dinners with rich people who asked invasive questions. There had been no clause about lips. Or the fact that Julian’s mouth was warm and brief and very real and now her knees were considering a minor rebellion.

She kept smiling.

She tilted her head slightly, just enough to sell happiness, just enough to hide the internal screaming.

Did I look weird? Was that too stiff? Was I stiff? Oh god, was I stiff. He probably noticed. Everyone noticed. Margaret noticed everything. Margaret probably had notes.

She forced herself to breathe through her nose.

In. Out. You are fine. You are a professional. You are a married woman now. On paper. On very fancy paper.

She glanced sideways at Julian and immediately looked away because that was dangerous territory. He looked exactly the same. Calm. Unbothered. As if he hadn’t just kissed someone who was internally filing paperwork titled First Kiss Ruined By Contractual Obligations.

The applause washed over her, and she waved slightly because that felt appropriate and because her hands needed something to do other than shake.

It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t fireworks. It wasn’t anything she had imagined during the many nights she’d told herself she was fine waiting.

It was quick. Controlled. Efficient.

Of course it was.

She kept smiling anyway, because if she stopped smiling she might start laughing, and if she started laughing she might cry, and if she cried someone would ask why, and she absolutely did not have an answer prepared for that.

Part of the job, Ellie.

Just…maybe the weirdest part so far.

Chapter 17: One Piece of an Anomaly

Julian closed the door behind them and immediately appreciated the silence. Weddings were inefficient by design. Too many people, too many feelings, too many pauses where nothing productive happened.

Ellie collapsed into a chair with theatrical commitment. “I’m tired.”

“You performed your ass into the ground,” Julian said, loosening his collar. “Of course you’re tired. And what exactly was the rain monologue? You nearly convinced someone we’d lived through a shared trauma.”

Ellie laughed, bright and unbothered. “Tell me the truth. Was it good?”

“No one does that,” he said. “That was unhinged.”

“I bet you twenty dollars you’d do that to someone someday.”

“Not happening.”

“Then bet me twenty dollars,” she said easily.

He looked at her. “The fact that you’re only betting twenty means you don’t believe it either.”

Ellie shrugged. “I’m cheap. But I fully believe there’ll be crying involved.”

“You’re delusional.”

“You just haven’t met the one yet.”

He paused. He did not miss the irony of being asked existential questions by the woman he was contractually married to. He also didn’t miss that he’d walked himself into it.

“What about you?” he asked, before deciding whether that was wise.

She stood and examined herself in the mirror, smoothing the skirt of her dress. “If I had that person, you’d be talking to a very boring, very uninterested fake wife. Spoiler alert, not me.”

That felt pointed. He chose not to unpack it.

Instead, he pivoted. Safely. “Someone told me Vivienne offered you two million.”

“Yeah. And?” Ellie said, still inspecting her reflection.

“You declined.”

“Yes.”

He waited. Nothing followed. No justification, no speech, no defensive rambling. That alone was unusual.

“Why?” he asked.

She turned to face him. “What do you mean, why?”

“It’s more than what I can offer. You could walk out right now with two million.”

“That’s true.”

“So why?”

Ellie hesitated, then shrugged. “I made an agreement with you, and I’ve already disappointed my brother enough. I’m broke, not for sale. Well, parts of me are, but you get the point. I don’t like disappointing people I happen to like.”

The word landed louder than it should have.

Like.

Julian registered it, filed it, and immediately disliked how much attention his brain gave it.

“You’re not supposed to like me,” he said, because that felt important to clarify.

She smiled. “Don’t get cocky. I still don’t like you. I just dislike your stepmother more.”

He couldn’t tell if she was serious or performing. With Ellie, the line was always thin and inconveniently blurry.

“But seriously,” she continued, tone softer but steady, “I intend to see this through. We agreed. No amount would make me walk. I just hope it isn’t twenty million because then I’d have to think about it.”

Julian studied her. No posturing. No angle. Just a statement.

That was the problem.

From a purely logical standpoint, declining two million made no sense. She had debt, limited prospects, and every reason to take the money and disappear. Instead, she was standing in a borrowed room, in a borrowed dress, honoring a promise that benefited him more than her.

He didn’t comment. He adjusted his cuff and nodded once.

Somehow, irrationally, that unsettled him more than any demand ever could.

---

The reception was exactly what Ellie expected and still deeply unprepared for.

Champagne flutes. Linen. People with teeth so white they looked sponsored. Women who hugged Julian a beat too long and smiled at him as if Ellie were a decorative vase someone forgot to move.

She smiled through all of it. She smiled while watching a woman in emerald green laugh too loudly at something Julian didn’t say. She smiled while another one touched his arm, lingered, assessed. She smiled while people asked her what she did and Margaret swooped in proudly with, “Ellie is a musician,” as if that solved everything.

Ellie nodded along, mentally apologizing to evert musician in the world.

She spotted Julian talking to a man who looked important in a way that came with private jets. Ellie slid in smoothly, looped her arm around his, and smiled.

“Husband,” she said brightly. “Dance with me.”

Julian leaned down. “I don’t dance.”

“I suggest you do,” she whispered sweetly, “because these people are asking me questions and I will cry for real if one more person asks what I do for a living.”

He studied her for half a second, then nodded and led her to the dance floor.

She exhaled the moment they were moving.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you very much,” Ellie said. “After this, I am ordering McDonald’s and no one can stop me.”

He hummed, neutral, which felt rude considering she was actively holding herself together.

So she poked him.

“Tell me,” she said, “was your first marriage like this?”

“No. Court wedding.”

“Did Margaret like her?”

He shot her a look. Ellie met it head on.

“Come on, Julian,” she said. “If we’re spending ten years of our lives together, you should be open to conversations.”

“You’re just nosy,” he said, spinning her.

“Correct. So answer.”

“Margaret tolerated her at best.”

“Where is she now?”

“No idea,” he said. “Last I heard, she got an attending position at Johns Hopkins.”

“Attending?”

“She’s a pediatrician.”

Ellie paused mid step. Oh. That explained the looks. The questions. The expectations. She laughed softly. “Wow. Now I feel wildly inadequate.”

Julian glanced at her. “Don’t. You’re doing a great job.”

She smiled. “Can you say that again?”

“No.”

Ellie laughed and leaned closer. “Come on. Say it with me. Ellie, you’re the best.”

“Shut up.”

They were interrupted by the host calling for a toast. Champagne appeared in their hands. Glasses raised. Smiles pasted.

Then someone said it.

“Play for us, Ellie.”

Ellie’s brain left her body.

Oh no. Oh no no no.

Everyone was looking at her now. Margaret beamed. Julian’s family smirked. This was it. The moment. The public unraveling.

Julian leaned in. “Let’s go pretend we can’t wait for our honeymoon.”

Bless him.

Unfortunately, Lucy appeared.

Sweet, cheerful, dangerous Lucy.

“Come on, Ellie,” she said, grabbing her hand and dragging her toward the piano.

Ellie smiled. Her soul screamed.

She let herself be pulled forward, heart racing, face calm.

She thought, as she reached the bench, You prepared for this. Didn’t you?

Right?

Right.

---

Julian was already drafting an exit strategy.

He stood there with a champagne flute he had no intention of finishing, scanning the room for the cleanest path out, the least dramatic extraction. He blamed himself entirely. He had fed Margaret a lie Ellie had not consented to perform, and now Ellie was standing in the center of a room full of people who enjoyed catching others failing in public.

Forget the inheritance, he thought. Marcus could have HaleCare. He could set Lucy up for life and walk away clean. This was not what Ellie signed up for. She was not hired to be humiliated or paraded as proof of someone else’s superiority.

He was halfway through calculating how fast he could cross the room without making it worse when Ellie sat at the piano.

That stopped him.

She looked nervous. That part was obvious. Her shoulders were tight, her smile a fraction too fixed. Julian felt a sharp irritation toward Lucy for dragging her there and toward himself for allowing any of this to happen.

Then Ellie played.

Bach.

Not passable Bach. Actual Bach. The kind that required discipline and time and the ability to sit still with frustration.

She missed the second note.

Julian inhaled, already bracing.

Ellie stopped, laughed, and said, “Sorry, you guys watching me makes me nervous.”

The crowd chuckled. The tension loosened. Julian exhaled despite himself.

She started again.

This time she didn’t try to impress. She didn’t show off. She kept it clean and short, controlled, purposeful. Enough to prove the point without inviting scrutiny. A strategic performance. Julian recognized that immediately.

When she finished, she stood, bowed once, and the applause came fast and sincere.

Julian watched faces shift. Skepticism replaced with approval. Margaret looked delighted. Vivienne looked annoyed. That alone felt worth something.

Ellie walked straight to him, looped her arm through his, and said quietly, “I need air.”

Julian did not hesitate. He took her hand and pulled her away from the crowd, ignoring a few disappointed glances. This was no longer negotiable.

---

They ended up in the far corner of the garden, half-hidden by hedges that had clearly been planted for privacy and gossip control. Ellie bent forward, hands on her knees, breathing hard, the wedding still humming faintly behind them.

Julian stood there, watching her inhale air as if she had sprinted through the vows.

She looked up at him, hair slightly loose now, cheeks flushed. “Was I convincing?”

That was the question she led with. Not did I embarrass myself, not did they buy it. Convincing.

“I didn’t know you could play the piano,” Julian said.

“I can’t,” she said laughing, finally straightening, the tension draining from her shoulders.

He frowned. “Then how?”

Ellie dropped onto a nearby garden chair, head tipping back. “I studied one piece for this exact scenario. Private lessons are expensive, but I’d say it paid off.”

Julian stared at her.

That explained the control. The restraint. The way she had stopped before anyone could demand more. It was a contingency plan. He recognized those immediately.

“Why?” he asked.

She paused, eyes drifting back toward the glowing reception tent. Then she shrugged, casual but not careless. “It would be terrible if I humiliated you. A classy wife probably shouldn’t do that to her husband.”

She said it lightly, teasing. Almost flippant.

Julian did not laugh.

She didn’t have to do that. He had given her multiple exits, financial and otherwise. He had been explicit about it. She could have walked away the moment things became uncomfortable.

He reminded himself, firmly, that she was paid. That this was still a job. That preparation was part of the contract.

And yet.

Would anyone else have done that for him?

Would anyone else have declined two million dollars without turning it into leverage, without mentioning it, without treating it as a negotiation chip?

He had not told her what Margaret truly wanted. He had not framed this as a test of endurance or commitment. There was no incentive structure that explained this level of foresight.

If this was what staying looked like when it became inconvenient, he had underestimated it entirely.

Ellie groaned softly. “Please don’t let them make me play again. I only know one piece and I stopped because I forgot the next key. I’ve never been good at memorizing things, so I really hope that sold it.”

Julian felt thoughts piling up that he had no intention of sorting through tonight. He set them aside with practiced efficiency.

“Still craving McDonald’s?” he asked, holding out his hand.

Her face lit up. “Oh my god, yes. Please. Enough pretending for one night.”

And that was how Julian Hale, Managing Director, HaleCare Group heir, newly married, found himself sitting in a McDonald’s booth with a woman in a wedding dress, watching her eat fries with genuine satisfaction.

He did not understand her.

But for the first time that evening, he stopped trying to control the variables and simply observed the anomaly.

Chapter 18: Sniffing is a Crime

Ellie continued to be someone Julian could not model.

In public, she was polished. Demure. She laughed at the correct intervals, nodded at the right people, used the right fork without checking which one it was. He knew she was acting. He had hired her to act. But the execution was so precise it occasionally disrupted his confidence in the premise.

And as soon as the bedroom door closes, Ellie reverted to herself, unfiltered and loud, opinions spilling out as if she had been holding them hostage all day. She argued for sport. Tested boundaries because they existed. Treated him as though he were a puzzle she was mildly bored of and determined to poke anyway.

Somehow, she had also won Margaret and Lucy. That alone should have been studied.

That evening, after a long day of meetings and two hours of Seb reminding him to be nicer to his partners, Julian collapsed onto the bed fully dressed. He was exhausted. He wanted silence. Ideally for the next twenty four hours.

Ellie was on the couch, trying to sleep.

To be clear, he had never asked her to sleep there. The bed could comfortably accommodate four adults and a small dog. They had shared a room for months. He had not touched her once. He was still unclear why she behaved as though proximity to him was a health hazard.

He closed his eyes.

Then someone tugged his arm.

“Get up.”

He kept his eyes shut. “Why.”

“I’m sick of sleeping on the couch.”

He groaned and turned away.

“Julian.”

He pulled the pillow over his head.

She yanked it off.

“No one is forcing you to sleep on the couch, Elena,” he said, voice flat. “I’m tired. Leave me alone.”

“Guess what,” she said brightly. “I’m also tired. From doing nothing.”

He stared at the ceiling.

“What’s wrong with the theatre scene in Willowridge?” she continued. “Nothing. Because there isn’t one. I want to check Edmonton, but I can’t, because I suck at directions and I will absolutely get lost and die.”

“You will not die,” Julian said.

“That’s what people say right before they die.”

She kept talking.

Pacing now. Back and forth. Barefoot on expensive carpet. She waved her hands while speaking, as if the walls might interrupt her if she didn’t assert dominance first.

“This isn’t even about the bed,” she announced, pointing nowhere in particular. “Okay, it is a little about the bed. But it’s mostly about boredom. And also dignity. And my spine.”

She stopped and turned to Julian, who was still lying there, eyes closed, clearly pretending she did not exist.

“I cannot spend another night on that couch,” she continued, undeterred. “That thing hates me. And I get it, I chose the couch, but I didn’t choose it forever. I just didn’t know how to migrate to the bed without making it weird.”

She crossed her arms, then immediately uncrossed them because she needed her hands to talk.

“Because apparently if I move to the bed on my own, that means I want to sleep next to you. Which I don’t. I just want an actual mattress. That’s it. That’s the dream. A mattress. Why live in misery when I’m living in a mansion? That math is not mathing, Julian.”

She realized she had stopped pacing. Julian had sighed. The deep, long sigh of a man who had lost the will to argue.

Then he moved.

She barely had time to register that he was standing before he was suddenly in front of her. One arm wrapped around her waist and she was off the ground.

“Oh my god what are you doing—”

He lifted her easily. Embarrassingly easily. Tossed her onto the bed with the efficiency of someone disposing of a very loud pillow.

She landed with a soft bounce, stunned.

“Problem solved,” Julian said, already lying down on his side of the bed, eyes closed again, as if this had been a perfectly normal interaction.

Ellie lay there for a second, processing several things at once. One, she had been picked up with one arm. Two, it was disturbing. Three, it was also…annoyingly attractive. She chose not to unpack that.

She yanked the blanket up to her chest.

“I’m telling you, Julian,” she warned, pointing a finger in his direction. “Do not try anything. I will end you.”

Without opening his eyes, he replied, “I have zero desire in you, Elena. You could stand there naked in front of me and I would do nothing.”

Her brain screeched to a halt.

Excuse her?

Zero desire?

She stared at the ceiling, mildly offended in a way she didn’t expect. Who did he think he was? A monk? A marble statue? A man immune to basic human biology?

Rude.

She pulled the blanket tighter around herself, rolled onto her side, and turned her back to him.

Fine.

She was sleeping in a real bed now. Victory was hers. Even if her pride had taken a very small, very annoying hit.

---

Ellie woke up warm.

Not heater warm. Cozy warm. Her body hummed with it, half asleep, brain floating somewhere between dream and denial. She burrowed closer to whatever was radiating that comfort, sighing because wow, this mansion finally understood central heating.

Then her nose caught up.

That was not linen.

That was…human.

Musk. Clean. Definitely not a pillow.

Her eyes snapped open.

Her face was next to Julian’s neck.

Nope. Absolutely not. This was a stress dream. A very specific, very rude stress dream. She leaned back slowly, inch by inch, heart thudding, preparing to wake up to the couch, the cold, and her dignity.

Except she didn’t.

It was real.

Julian was right there. Breathing. Warm. Solid. In a plain T shirt that had no business looking that unfair on him. His hair was a mess, dark and soft and doing that thing where it looked better unstyled. Sleep had taken the sharp edges off his face, relaxed his mouth, turned him from intimidating CEO into something dangerously approachable.

Ellie stared.

Okay. Objectively speaking. Purely observational. With zero attraction involved. Julian Hale was very attractive.

She would deny saying that in court.

She smirked despite herself. Awake Julian was an asshole. Awake Julian corrected her posture and her phrasing and the way she said “schedule.” Awake Julian was all control and precision. Sleeping Julian looked harmless.

He was actually nice, if you look past his attitude. Which was deeply inconvenient because she hated that she could not properly hate him.

Every week he checked in. Always reminding her she could walk away. She appreciated it at first. Truly. But lately it annoyed her in a way she had not unpacked yet, because sometimes she did not want an exit. Sometimes she wanted someone to say stay.

She sighed, eyes tracing his face.

Then the thought arrived.

What does he smell like up close?

No. Absolutely not. That was creepy. If the roles were reversed, Julian would be dragged on the internet and banned from brunch.

But wouldn’t you want to know? her intrusive voice whispered, smug.

She squinted at the ceiling.

This was not attraction. This was curiosity. Anthropological curiosity. She was a theatre actress. Observation was part of the job.

Her rational brain protested weakly as she leaned in.

Just one sniff.

Musk. Clean. Warm. Annoyingly good.

Closer.

No.

Yes.

One more. Make it quick.

She leaned toward the curve of his neck when his voice cut through the silence.

“What are you doing?”

Time stopped.

Ellie froze, soul exiting through her ears. She jerked back so fast she forgot the laws of gravity, caught her foot in the blanket, and face planted onto the floor.

Pain exploded in her nose.

Her dignity followed.

“Elena, are you okay?” Julian asked, suddenly very awake.

“No,” she said into the carpet.

She rolled onto her back, clutching her nose, staring up at the ceiling while her intrusive voice whispered, worth it.

Shut up.

---

Ellie decided she could not face Julian today.

Not after the incident. Capital I. She executed a clean avoidance maneuver. Skipped breakfast. Slid past him in the hallway with the agility of someone evading an ex at a grocery store. Told Margaret she wanted to explore downtown, which sounded adventurous and intentional and not at all like running away with no plan and unresolved feelings.

So she walked.

Shops. Streets. Cold air biting just enough to keep her brain busy. She called Ethan during his shift, mostly to hear a voice that did not belong to a man she had accidentally sniffed. Ethan reported, with great enthusiasm, that Hannah had her full hours back and that Ellie could come home anytime. Then he interrogated her in a very loving, very police officer way about her emotional state and extracted a promise that she would be home for Christmas.

She hung up smiling and guilty, which was her default emotional pairing.

Eventually she wandered into a bookstore.

Not just a bookstore. A bookstore with a coffee bar. The kind where you could sit all day and no one would judge you for ordering a second cup and reading half a novel you did not buy.

Perfect. Hideout secured.

She approached the counter, ordered coffee, reached for her bag, and found she had no cash on her.

“Do you accept Interac?” she asked, already bracing.

The woman behind the counter smiled sympathetically. “It’s not working at the moment.”

Great. Fantastic. On brand.

“Where’s the nearest ATM?” Ellie asked.

“A few minutes walk.”

“Can you reserve my table while I run over quick and withdraw?”

The woman shook her head. “Sorry. Tourist season. Tables fill up fast.”

Ellie stared at the counter, weighing her options. Leave. Cry. Steal a book and flee the country.

“Okay, I’ll just—”

“I got it.”

The voice came from behind her.

Ellie turned, instinctively prepared to refuse out of politeness, pride, and basic stranger danger. “You don’t have to, I—”

“It’s fine,” the man said easily. “As long as you don’t mind sharing the table. It’s just me.”

She paused. Assessed. He looked normal. Friendly. Not murdery. Most importantly, he had coffee money.

“Oh. Yeah. Sure,” she said. “I mean. Thank you. That’s really kind.”

And now she was sitting in a cozy bookstore café, hands wrapped around a cup she did not technically pay for, across from a man whose name she did not know, trying not to think about how this was already less awkward than breakfast would have been.

Her life was weird.

Chapter 19: Seeing it Through

Ellie stared at the book in her hands.

She was not reading it.

She was, in fact, staring past it. At the man sitting across from her.

This was becoming a problem.

He did not give bookstore and latte art vibes. He looked rugged in a way that suggested actual work. Hands that did things. Outside. Possibly involving tools. The kind of man who would not hesitate to get his hands dirty, which sounded vaguely erotic in theory but, if she was being honest, mostly just meant competent.

She immediately stopped that thought.

Who was she to judge anyone’s job situation? Between the two of them, she was the one whose résumé currently consisted of unpaid passion projects and vibes.

The man leaned back, sipping his coffee, reading in silence. Every now and then he checked his phone. Calm. Unbothered.

Every time he glanced up, Ellie panicked and hid behind her book.

Why am I acting like a teenager?

She knew the answer. He was exactly the type she used to daydream about. Rugged. Quiet. Probably knew how to fix things without Googling first. The opposite of her current living situation, which involved a man who sighed every time she spoke.

The man cleared his throat.

She immediately buried her face deeper into the book.

“Hey,” he said.

“Yes?” Ellie replied in what she hoped was her normal voice and not the voice of someone experiencing attraction for the first time at twenty seven.

He tilted his head. “Your book is upside down.”

“What?”

Before she could react, he reached out, gently took the book from her hands, and turned it the right way.

“There,” he said, smiling. “Now you can read better.”

Ellie stared at the book. Then at him.

“It’s a new hobby,” she said quickly. “Learning to read upside down. Very niche. Very cerebral.”

He smiled, clearly amused. “You’re a tourist.”

“Sort of,” she admitted. Then, because her mouth was faster than her pride, she added, “Are you leaving anytime soon?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Want me to leave?”

“No,” she said too fast. “I mean, I need to pay you back. I can transfer you money or run to the ATM if you can save the table.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“But I really need to,” she insisted. “Can you wait? I just need to grab cash.”

“Need to buy something?”

“I’m actually hungry,” Ellie admitted.

He stood. “What do you want?”

“You don’t have to—”

“I’ll grab it. You can transfer after.”

She agreed, immediately watching him with the intensity of someone who had seen one too many crime documentaries. Roofies were still a thing. Vigilance was character development.

He returned with her food and sat back down.

“Okay,” Ellie said, pulling out her phone. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

They argued for a full minute. Polite. Stubborn. Two immovable objects armed with manners.

Finally, he leaned back and said, “I like keeping favors. You can pay me back some other way someday.”

Her brain ran through seventeen scenarios in half a second and rejected all of them.

“That is highly unlikely,” she said firmly. “You probably won’t see me again, so let me pay you.”

He shrugged. “Then I’ll take it as we’re not meant to see each other again. It happens.”

Okay. Smooth.

Ellie smiled despite herself. And because she was already talking to him, in a public place, with witnesses and exits and caffeine, she figured she might as well enjoy a conversation with someone who did not sigh every time she breathed.

“So,” she said, leaning forward. “Where do bored tourists go on this side of town?”

He closed his book, smiling, and started talking.

---

Ellie realized she was enjoying herself about ten minutes too late.

It had been months since she left Toronto, and she had not noticed how much she missed talking to someone she did not have to edit herself around. No careful wording. No mental checklist. No correcting tone, volume, posture, existence.

Just talking.

The man’s name was Caleb Moore. Local handyman. The kind everyone in Willowridge called when something broke, rattled, leaked, or made a noise it should not. He ran a family owned construction and auto repair business and apparently fixed both houses and cars with equal confidence.

Yes, he liked coffee. Yes, he liked books. Apparently his friends found this deeply suspicious and never let him forget it.

He was single. Ellie learned this because she was nosy and had the impulse control of a caffeinated squirrel. He had a dog named Sammy, owned his own house, and still had family in town.

He seemed genuinely amused when she told him she was a theatre actress. Or used to be. That she was from Toronto. He did not ask for clarification. He did not correct her wording. He just listened.

They talked about her family. About his. About nothing important and somehow everything felt lighter.

Then Caleb asked, “So what brings you to Willowridge?”

Ellie paused.

She considered lying. She was very good at it now. Olympic level, honestly. But she was tired. Lying had started to feel heavy, even when it was small.

“I got married,” she said.

Caleb nodded easily. “Oh. Sorry, I didn’t know you were married.”

“It’s not…” Ellie stopped. Thought.

Was this infidelity? Technically no. Legally yes. Emotionally complicated. Ethically confusing. Would it be fair to expect someone else to walk into a situation where they automatically became a third party to a perfectly legal marriage?

She did not finish the sentence.

“We’re just talking anyway. Where’s your husband?”

“Home,” Ellie said.

“Home as in Toronto, or home as in here?”

“Here,” she said. “He grew up here.”

Caleb took another sip of his coffee. Then he nodded again, slower this time.

“I’m sorry for bothering you,” he said. “If I’d known you were married, I wouldn’t have started this conversation.”

Ellie smiled. “It’s fine.”

But inside, something shifted.

This was what Julian meant when he talked about putting her life on hold. She had thought about it. Really thought about it. She just had not expected it to extend to conversations. To coffee. To simple human curiosity.

Caleb gathered his things. “It was nice talking to you, Ellie. I enjoyed it. Don’t worry about the food.”

He nodded once and walked out.

Ellie let out a breath she did not realize she was holding.

So much for freedom.

So much for discretion.

---

Julian was not worried.

Worry implied emotion. Concern. A lack of control. He did not do those before noon.

Ellie left that morning without telling him. Not even a courtesy update. She informed Margaret she was going downtown, skipped breakfast, skipped eye contact, skipped him entirely. The fact that she told his grandmother instead of him sat poorly in his chest, a small irritation that kept tapping for attention.

He told her her private life was hers. He meant it. Still, there was a difference between privacy and basic logistics. As long as she was in Alberta, she was under his roof, his responsibility. That was not ownership. That was common sense. If something happened, the call would not go to Margaret. It would go to him.

He replayed the morning while pretending to read emails.

She had been embarrassed. He knew that much. Anyone with half a brain would be after that incident. What irritated him was that she chose avoidance over conversation. Adults talked things through. They did not flee to downtown and disappear for hours.

And then there was the other part. The part he did not enjoy acknowledging.

He did not mind waking up that way. Not even slightly. That realization bothered him far more than her avoidance. He preferred discomfort that could be solved with a contract or a conversation. That reaction had no clean solution.

So yes, he was irritated.

By seven, his work was done. His inbox was clear. Ellie was still not back.

He checked his phone. No message. No missed call.

This was becoming inconvenient.

He dialed her number. It rang. No answer.

Julian stared at the screen, then stood, grabbed his jacket and keys, and headed out. If Ellie Bennett insisted on avoiding him, he would remind her that disappearing without notice was not part of their arrangement.

He was not worried.

He was simply going to find his wife.

---

Ellie sat on a cold park bench with her knees pulled up to her chest, chin resting on denim, rehearsing escape routes that did not involve walking back into that mansion and accidentally making eye contact with Julian Hale.

Option one: sneak in, grab snacks, retreat to bedroom, pretend to be asleep forever.

Option two: fly back to Toronto, be broke again, eat instant noodles, cry a little, regain moral superiority.

Option three: simply exist and hope he forgets she exists.

She sighed. Option two sounded dramatic but fair. Also expensive. Also very much her own fault.

“I drove around town looking for you.”

Her spine stiffened before her brain caught up. She looked up and there he was, coat on, jaw tight, irritation packaged neatly into a well-dressed man walking straight toward her.

Great. Option four had arrived uninvited.

Julian sat beside her, close enough that she could feel his presence without looking at him.

“Is it so hard to let me know where you’re going?” he asked.

She hugged her knees tighter. “I told Margaret.”

His head snapped toward her. “Yes, and that’s exactly the problem. I’m the one responsible for you here.”

The word responsible landed heavier than it should have.

“Sorry,” she said.

He exhaled, long and controlled, then leaned back against the bench, staring ahead instead of at her. That somehow felt worse than being lectured.

The silence stretched. She hated silence. Silence made room for thoughts. She did not want thoughts right now.

“So,” she blurted, because apparently self-preservation had clocked out for the day, “I met someone earlier.”

“And?” Julian asked.

The word came out clipped, neutral. He was proud of that. Neutral was safe.

“We had a great conversation,” Ellie said. “He was nice. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. But the moment I mentioned I’m married, he kind of bolted. I mean, what was I expecting?”

Julian stared ahead at the path cutting through the park, jaw tight. Nice. Great conversation. Bolted. He catalogued the words instead of the irritation blooming under them.

Who exactly had she been talking to?

“That’s when I fully understood what you meant when you said I’m putting my life on hold,” she added.

He exhaled through his nose. Ellie had a habit of understanding things at the most inconvenient moments.

“So what are you thinking?” he asked.

“I honestly thought of flying back to Toronto.”

There it was. Said casually, as if she were considering switching coffee orders.

Julian felt the irritation shift, rearrange itself into something less tidy. This was not about HaleCare. He had contingencies for HaleCare. Backup plans. Fallbacks. Entire flowcharts built around failure.

He had even imagined an outcome where this arrangement ended early. Cleanly. Respectfully. Margaret disappointed but eventually appeased. He could manage that.

What he had not anticipated was the sensation of Ellie actually saying it out loud.

“You’re free to go, Elena,” he said. “No one’s stopping you.”

That was true. He made sure it was true. He had said it from the beginning. He kept his word.

“That’s the thing,” she said quietly. “I’m free to go. But there’s no place in this world where someone is asking me to stay.”

Julian went still.

He did not turn toward her. He did not look at her face. He did not examine why that sentence lodged somewhere it had no business lodging.

Annoying. Entirely annoying.

He cleared his throat. “You’re very aware that I need you more than you need me,” he said, because logic was easier than whatever that was. “And I refuse to be the type of person who guilt-trips someone into staying. But if it were up to me, I would want to see this through to the end.”

There. Factual. Controlled. Reasonable.

Ellie smiled, small and crooked, the kind that suggested she had heard something he did not intend to say.

Then she said, “Also, I didn’t mean to sniff you. That was just my intrusive thoughts winning.”

Julian finally looked at her, expression flat. “I’m your husband,” he said. “I think it’s normal for a wife to do that.”

He did not examine why he said husband instead of contract.

He did not examine why the idea of her leaving irritated him more than any boardroom setback that year.

He absolutely did not unpack it.

He stood up instead, pulled the scarf off his neck, and wrapped it around hers.

“It’s snowing,” he said. “It would be annoying if you get sick out here.”

Ellie froze.

Not because of the scarf. The scarf was warm. Wool, expensive, unmistakably Julian. It smelled clean and familiar in a way that made her chest tighten.

It was the fact that he had come looking for her.

He could have stayed home. He could have let her cool off. He could have done what he always did and waited for things to resolve themselves neatly. Instead, he drove around town, irritated and worried and pretending it was about responsibility.

And suddenly, it did not matter that her life was on hold.

It did not matter that she was technically living in limbo, married but not married, employed but not employed, free but also very much not. Because someone had noticed she was gone and decided that was unacceptable.

That did something to her.

“Let’s go home,” Julian said. “I haven’t had dinner yet.”

Then he walked off, confident she would follow.

Ellie stared at his back for half a second, scarf tucked under her chin, snow landing softly on his shoulders. She hated that the word home landed so easily. She hated that it did not feel wrong.

She stood, jogged to catch up, and linked her arm through his without asking.

He glanced down at her arm but did not stop her.

“We’ll see it through,” she said.

“Good.”

Ellie smiled into the scarf, snow melting against her lashes, and decided she would unpack all of this later. Probably never.

Chapter 20: Busted Heater

The next few weeks passed without incident, which Julian counted as a success.

This was despite his stepmother and half siblings making a consistent effort to remind Ellie that she was a temporary fixture. Subtle comments. Selective invitations. The kind of politeness that came sharpened at the edges.

Ellie, unfortunately for them, was resilient. And petty.

Julian found a quiet, unexpected satisfaction in the way she talked back in that sugar-smooth voice she used when she introduced herself as Elena Hale. The words were pleasant. The intent was not. It was elegant. It was efficient. It was deeply entertaining.

She also solved boredom in a way he did not anticipate.

Ellie started helping the house staff.

At first, there was panic. Polite refusal. A lot of glancing toward Margaret. Ellie responded by begging. Actual begging. She informed them she would start narrating her own thoughts aloud if she did not get something productive to do and none of them wanted that.

They relented.

Julian came home one evening to find her folding linens and discussing the emotional arc of a television character with a horrified but amused housekeeper. He decided to mind his business.

A few days before Christmas, the heater broke.

The staff called someone in. Julian barely registered it. He was busy closing out year end items, tying up loose ends, mentally reorganizing January. He returned from the bank, coat still on, already rehearsing a call he needed to make.

He took three steps inside the house and stopped.

Voices.

From the sitting room.

Ellie’s voice. And a man’s.

“Hold still.”

Julian paused.

That was an odd instruction to give someone in his house. To his wife. His legally married wife. He frowned, already irritated to whoever this person was.

“It’s too tight,” the man said.

Julian’s jaw set.

Too tight was not a phrase that belonged anywhere near Ellie. Or his sitting room. Or a stranger. His brain, unhelpfully, supplied images he did not authorize.

Ellie laughed. “Just one more turn. I think it’s almost there.”

Almost where?

The man grunted.

Julian stared at the wall, recalibrating. Why was there grunting. Why was Ellie negotiating. Why did this sound less like home maintenance and more like something that would require a conversation afterward.

“Careful,” the man said. “If you move, it’s going to slip.”

Julian took a breath.

This was ridiculous. He was being ridiculous. It was a heater. He knew it was a heater. Still, the phrasing was deeply unfortunate and the timing was worse.

Ellie said, “Okay, okay. I’m not moving. Tell me when.”

Tell you when what?

That did it.

---

Ellie did not expect to walk into the sitting room and find Caleb crouched near the heater, sleeves rolled up, looking very much at home.

“Hey,” she said, because that was what you said when life decided to surprise you twice in one week.

Caleb looked up, clearly startled. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” Ellie said, then pointed at the exposed pipes. “So you’re fixing the heater?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I help?”

He smiled, easy and unguarded. “Sure, if you can hold this for me.”

And just like that, she was standing on a chair, arms raised, holding a pipe over her head. It was oddly satisfying. Useful. No pretending. No smiling politely. Just metal and effort and being told exactly what to do.

She was fully focused when Julian stormed in.

“Oh hey,” Ellie said cheerfully, face scrunched in concentration. “He says this model is ancient. Is this house older than you?”

Julian stopped. Looked at Caleb.

Caleb finally glanced up.

“Caleb,” Julian said.

“Julian.”

Ellie blinked. Once. Twice.

“Uhh… you two know each other?” she asked.

Caleb smirked. “Yeah. We were friends. Used to.” Then he looked at her. “You know Julian?”

Before Ellie could assemble a sentence that would not sound unhinged, Julian said, “She’s my wife.”

Oh.

Oh no.

Ellie felt her brain short circuit. Wife. That word still felt borrowed, something she kept forgetting she was holding until someone said it out loud.

Julian turned to her. “How did you know him?”

“He’s the guy I mentioned last week,” Ellie said.

Silence followed. The thick, awkward kind that made her painfully aware she was standing on a chair holding a pipe overhead while two men with history stared at each other.

Why did this feel like a love triangle scene.

Why was she suddenly the lead actress in a drama where both men were objectively attractive and she was an entirely average person who tripped over rugs.

Julian broke the silence. “Make sure it’s fixed. I don’t care what you two do afterward.”

Then he walked out.

Ellie stared after him, baffled. What was that attitude. Did she miss a memo. Was there a rule about not knowing men after marriage that no one had told her about.

“Well,” Caleb said lightly, “so you’re the new Mrs. Hale.”

Ellie stepped down from the chair. “Sort of?”

“Sort of,” he repeated, amused.

“Yeah,” she said, gesturing vaguely between the heater, the house, and her entire life. “I mean…”

Caleb gathered his tools. “I have to go. It should be working now.”

“Thanks.”

He hesitated, then smiled. “Let me tell you a secret. Julian was arrested once. His grandmother was livid.”

Ellie’s eyes widened. Arrested Julian Hale was not something she had on her bingo card.

“What did he do?” she asked.

“He lost a bet with me,” Caleb said. “I dared him to run in the snow wearing only his boxers.”

She laughed, delighted despite herself. That explained so much and absolutely nothing.

Caleb handed her his card. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Ellie looked down at the card, then back toward the hallway Julian disappeared into.

Oh. She was absolutely keeping this.

---

Julian could not focus.

He had reviewed the same line in the same report four times and retained none of it. His brain kept drifting to a place he had no interest in visiting, which was precisely why it kept going there.

He sighed, snapped his laptop shut, and immediately regretted the dramatics. It solved nothing. Then he heard a car engine in the driveway.

Caleb’s truck.

Julian stood before he had time to argue with himself and walked to the window. Outside, Ellie stood near the steps, waving. Not a polite wave. Not a perfunctory one. A cheerful, whole-arm wave. Caleb waved back, reversed, and drove off.

Julian watched until the truck disappeared.

Excellent. That was rational. Standing at a window observing his wife wave goodbye to another man was definitely how stable people spent their afternoons.

He left his office and met Ellie as she came through the door.

“What did you and Caleb talk about?” he asked, tone carefully neutral.

Ellie smiled. Not at him. At the air. “That’s a secret,” she said, walking past him without breaking stride.

“Elena.”

“Relax,” she said over her shoulder. “He just said you’re friends.”

Julian stood there for a beat.

Friends.

That word carried historical inaccuracies and unresolved footnotes. He told himself, firmly, that whatever Ellie discussed with anyone fell under her private life, which was explicitly not his concern. He had said so himself. Repeatedly. With confidence. In writing.

So why did it irritate him.

He paced once, then twice, and followed her down the hall before he could stop himself. Ellie was in their bedroom, cheerfully packing a small suitcase.

“Where are you going?” Julian asked.

Ellie stopped mid-step, one hand still on the handle of her suitcase. She turned slowly, already tired and it was barely afternoon.

“I mentioned it to you last week,” she said. “You were barely listening.”

“I didn’t.”

She rolled her eyes so hard she was surprised they didn’t make a sound. “I’m going home for the holidays. I’ll see you in January.”

“You can’t.”

Ellie stared at him.

Her first thought was not anger. It was disbelief. The audacity. The confidence. The way he said it as if she were announcing she planned to steal a company jet, not go home for Christmas. For a split second she wondered if she had imagined the last six months where he repeatedly told her she could walk away anytime.

“Why not?” she asked, calm in the way that always came right before chaos.

“There’s a HaleCare Christmas party,” Julian said. “We have to attend.”

Oh. Of course. A party. Capital letters implied.

Ellie felt something sharp click into place behind her ribs. She had smiled through luncheons, endured side-eyes from women who wore judgment as an accessory, and played piano in front of people who were actively hoping she would fail. But Christmas?

She glared at him. “I have to go home. I promised Ethan.”

“You can spend Christmas with them next year.”

That did it.

The words landed wrong, heavy and dismissive, as if Christmas were a dentist appointment she could reschedule. As if her brother, who raised her, was a footnote. As if time was infinite and not something she had already lost too much of.

“You said my personal life is none of your business,” Ellie snapped. “So what is this?”

“And you agreed to make public appearances with me when needed.”

“Not Christmas,” she shot back. “That’s not what we talked about.”

“I’m still going,” Ellie said, already reaching for her suitcase again. “Christmas is for family. We are not family. Let’s be very clear about that.”

Julian’s jaw tightened. She recognized that look now. The one right before he decided he was done being reasonable.

“Fine,” he said. “You can go to the airport on your own.”

“Fine,” Ellie said, hauling her luggage toward the door. Then she paused, turned back, and smiled sweetly. “And by the way, don’t act so superior. Between us, you’re the one who ran naked in the snow.”

“For the record,” Julian said flatly, “I was in boxers.”

Ellie flipped him off without missing a step.

Merry Christmas to them both.