PART 2:

You will sign a prenuptial agreement. You will receive a monthly stipend of $50,000. Your daughter will be placed in the best private school in Manhattan. In exchange, you will pose as my devoted husband in public. You will not interfere with my life and you will stay out of my way.

” Nathaniel leaned against the doorframe, watching her with a calm, piercing gaze that made Chloe inexplicably uncomfortable. Most men cowed before her. Nathaniel just looked at her like she was a loud, misbehaving bird. “50,000 a month.” Nathaniel repeated, his tone flat. “Is it not enough?” Chloe snapped, pulling out her checkbook. “Name your price.

I don’t care. I just need this done.” Nathaniel glanced back into the apartment, his eyes lingering on Lily, who was sitting on a patched-up sofa. A shadow passed over his face, a brief, dark flash of something incredibly dangerous before it vanished back into the exhausted mechanic persona. “I don’t want your money, Ms. Sterling.

” Nathaniel said quietly. “But Lily needs a safe place. A secure place. Somewhere with walls higher than this.” Chloe frowned, missing the hidden weight in his words. “My penthouse has state-of-the-art security. You’ll be fine.” “Good.” Nathaniel said. He tossed the grease rag onto a side table. “I’ll sign your contract.

” Three days later, the marriage was finalized in a sterile, 5-minute courthouse ceremony. Chloe wore a white business suit. Nathaniel wore a cheap, ill-fitting rental tuxedo. The only witness was Arthur’s lawyer. That evening, Nathaniel and Lily moved into Chloe’s sprawling, 10,000-square-foot penthouse overlooking Central Park.

“These are your quarters.” Chloe said, gesturing to the east wing of the apartment. “Lily’s room is next to yours. I sleep in the west wing. We do not cross paths after 9:00 p.m. The kitchen is shared, but I have a private chef who prepares my meals. If you need anything, speak to my assistant.” Lily was spinning in circles in the massive marble foyer, her eyes wide.

“Daddy, the floor is super shiny. You can slide in your socks.” Nathaniel smiled, a genuine, warm expression that momentarily transformed his rough face. “Careful, bug. Don’t break anything.” He looked at Chloe. “Thank you for the space.” “It’s a contract.” she replied coldly, turning on her heel. “Remember the rules.

” For the first 2 weeks, they lived like ghosts, haunting the same mansion. Chloe worked grueling, 18-hour days, fighting off Richard Caldwell’s relentless corporate sabotage. Her shipping lines in the Pacific were suddenly tied up in bureaucratic red tape, costing her millions daily. The stress was eating her alive.

She began noticing odd things about her new husband. Despite the $50,000 monthly stipend she deposited into an account for him, Nathaniel never touched it. He still woke up at 5:00 a.m., but instead of going to a garage, he made breakfast for Lily, packed her lunch for her new elite private school, and spent hours sitting on the balcony with a cheap burner phone and a worn leather notebook.

One evening, Chloe came home early, nursing a massive migraine. Her deal with Omnicorp, a massive semiconductor manufacturer, had fallen through. Caldwell had outbid her, bribing the Omnicorp executives. She walked into the kitchen and stopped. The private chef was gone. Instead, Nathaniel was standing at the industrial stove, stirring a pot of homemade tomato soup.

He wore a simple black T-shirt that stretched tightly over his back. “Chef is off today.” Nathaniel said without turning around. “Lily wanted grilled cheese. There’s enough if you want some.” “I don’t eat carbs.” Chloe muttered, dropping her briefcase onto the marble island. She rubbed her temples. “And I don’t have time to eat. Omnicorp just pulled out of our supply chain agreement.

We’re bleeding capital.” Nathaniel slowly turned down the heat on the stove. Omnicorp, the Seattle branch? Chloe laughed bitterly. Yes, the Seattle branch. Not that you would understand. It’s corporate politics, Nathaniel. Not a broken carburetor. Nathaniel didn’t react to the insult. He just plated a grilled cheese sandwich, cut off the crusts for Lily, and set it on the counter.

Corporate politics usually comes down to leverage. Who’s the CEO of Omnicorp? Victor Vance? Victor Harrison, Chloe corrected, too tired to care why he was asking. He’s in Richard Caldwell’s pocket. Right. Harrison, Nathaniel murmured. He wiped his hands on a towel. Excuse me. I need to make a quick call. Checking in on my old boss at the garage.

Nathaniel walked out onto the freezing terrace, sliding the glass door shut behind him. He pulled the cheap burner phone from his pocket. The moment the glass door sealed, his posture changed. The tired, slumping mechanic vanished. His spine straightened, his shoulders squared, and his green eyes turned cold and predatory.

He dialed a 12-digit encrypted number. It was answered on the first ring. Thir Sir? A crisp British voice spoke. Sebastian. Nathaniel said, his voice dropping an octave into a low, terrifying register. I need you to pull the leverage file on Victor Harrison at Omnicorp. Right away, Mr. Cross. Ah. Yes.

We hold the debt on his offshore gambling accounts in Macau, roughly 40 million in arrears. We also have the satellite photos of his undocumented meetings with the regulatory commission. Call him, Nathaniel commanded softly, watching the Manhattan skyline. Tell him N H Vanguard is displeased. Tell him if he doesn’t sign the exclusive supply chain contract with Sterling Global by 8:00 a.m.

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