The morning sun cut through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Titan Enterprises like a blade, illuminating the war room on the sixty-eighth floor. Julian Rhodes stood at the head of the conference table, his hands braced on the polished surface, studying the documents spread before him like a general surveying a battlefield.
"Three years," he said quietly. "Three years of investigation, and we still don't have enough."
Marcus Griffin, head of security and Julian's oldest friend, leaned back in his chair with a frustrated sigh. He was 31, compact and efficient, with the kind of eyes that missed nothing. "We have offshore accounts. We have shell companies. We have witness testimony from two former Ashford employees who saw Clark doctoring the books. What we don't have is the smoking gun. The physical evidence that ties it all together."
Diane Foster, Titan's CFO, tapped her pen against her tablet. She was precise in everything she did, from her perfectly tailored suits to the way she organized financial reports. "The paper trail has to exist somewhere. Clark Thorne isn't sloppy. He's kept records. Insurance, probably, in case he needs leverage."
"Which means they're either in his personal safe or somewhere in the Ashford Industries executive offices," James Park added. Titan's legal counsel was younger than the others, barely 25, but brilliant. "Somewhere he can access them but keep them secure."
Julian straightened, turning to face the window. Below him, the city sprawled in every direction, a kingdom of glass and concrete. He'd built Titan Enterprises from nothing, turning a single tech patent into a multinational empire. He was 30 years old and controlled more wealth than most people could comprehend.
And he couldn't touch Clark Thorne.
"We can't break in," Julian said. "Anything we found would be inadmissible in court. We need legal access."
"Which we don't have." Marcus spread his hands. "Clark's not going to invite us in for tea. And Harper Thorne..." He paused, pulling up a photo on his tablet. "She's an unknown variable."
Julian took the tablet, studying the image. Harper Thorne at a charity gala, her dark hair swept up, wearing a dress that probably cost more than most people's cars. She looked elegant. Untouchable. And very, very alone.
"She's twenty-four," Diane said softly. "She lost both parents six months ago and inherited a company she's barely old enough to run. Clark's been circling her like a shark ever since."
"She's holding her own," Marcus countered. "Our intelligence says she's sharp. Graduated top of her class, worked her way up through Ashford's management structure. She's not just some spoiled heiress."
Julian continued to study the photo. There was something in Harper's eyes, even frozen in that moment. A kind of brittle determination that reminded him of himself at that age, when he'd been fighting to keep his first company alive.
"Clark's moving the money," he said finally, handing the tablet back. "We tracked another transfer last night. Two million to the Cayman account. If we don't stop him soon, he'll drain Ashford dry and disappear before Harper even realizes what's happening."
The room fell silent.
James cleared his throat. "So what do we do?"
Julian turned back to the window, his mind working through possibilities like chess moves. He'd spent years building a reputation as someone who saw three steps ahead, who turned obstacles into opportunities. There had to be a way in. There had to be…
"I'm going undercover," he said.
The silence that followed was deafening.
"You're what?" Marcus stood up. "Julian, you're the Chairman of Titan Enterprises. You can't just disappear."
"No one knows my face." Julian faced them calmly. "I've made sure of that. No photos in the press, no public appearances, every board meeting behind closed doors. Clark Thorne has never seen me. Neither has Harper Thorne. To them, I'm just a nobody."
"Where exactly are you planning to go undercover?" Diane asked carefully. "The mailroom at Ashford Industries?"
"Lumière."
They stared at him.
"The restaurant?" James's voice was incredulous. "Our restaurant?"
Titan Enterprises owned Lumière through three layers of shell companies. It was one of dozens of properties in their portfolio, a five-star establishment that catered to the city's elite. Julian had eaten there exactly twice.
"I need to think," Julian said. "I need to step away from this office and see the problem from a different angle. And Lumière is..." He paused. "It's where Harper Thorne goes. Two, three times a week, according to our surveillance. She sits in the corner, orders wine, and thinks."
Marcus's eyes narrowed. "You want to get close to her."
"I want to understand her. If I'm going to find a way into Clark's operation, I need to know who Harper Thorne really is. What she wants. What she's afraid of." Julian moved to the window again. "And maybe, if I'm in the right place at the right time, opportunity will present itself."
"This is insane," Diane said flatly.
"Probably." Julian smiled slightly. "But I learned a long time ago that the best opportunities come from unexpected places. Set it up, Marcus. Contract chef, two-week trial period. Name... Jay Miller. Simple. Forgettable."
Marcus muttered something under his breath but pulled out his phone. "You're going to owe me for this. And if the board finds out the Chairman is flipping omelets in a kitchen somewhere..."
"They won't." Julian's voice was confident. "You'll handle daily operations. Route anything critical through secure channels. As far as anyone knows, I'm on a private retreat. Unreachable."
James shook his head slowly. "You really think this will work?"
Julian didn't answer immediately. He thought about Clark Thorne's smug face in the photos Marcus had shown him. He thought about the stolen money, the ruined lives, the crimes hidden behind expensive suits and corporate doubletalk.
"I think," he said finally, "that I'm tired of waiting for Clark to make a mistake. Sometimes you have to create your own opportunities."
The kitchen at Lumière was chaos wrapped in elegant choreography. Julian had forgotten how much he enjoyed this, the precision and heat and constant motion. It was so different from boardrooms and stock reports, so immediate and real.
He worked the line with practiced efficiency, his hands moving through prep work while his mind stayed sharp and focused. Pierre Dubois, the head chef, watched him with grudging approval.
"You're good, Jay," Pierre said in his thick French accent. "Too good for contract work. Where did you train?"
"Here and there." Julian kept his answer vague. "Picked it up over the years."
It wasn't entirely a lie. He'd spent two summers during college working in restaurant kitchens, learning the trade because he'd been fascinated by the combination of art and science. Then business school had consumed him, and cooking had become something he did alone in his apartment when he needed to think.
"Well, you should stay," Pierre continued. "I could use someone with your skills on permanent staff."
"I'm just passing through."
Pierre shrugged and moved on to terrorize one of the sous chefs about his knife work. Julian returned to his prep, efficiently breaking down vegetables with movements that were automatic now.
Across the kitchen, Tommy, a young line cook barely out of culinary school, was struggling with a sauce reduction. Julian watched him for a moment, then set down his knife and walked over.
"The heat's too high," he said quietly. "You're burning it instead of reducing it."
Tommy flushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I..."
"Don't apologize. Just adjust." Julian turned down the burner and demonstrated the proper technique, his movements calm and patient. "See? Low and slow. Let it concentrate naturally."
Tommy nodded, watching carefully. "Thank you, Chef Jay."
Julian squeezed his shoulder. "You'll get it. Just takes practice."
He returned to his station, aware of Pierre watching him with newfound respect. It felt good, he realized. Not being the Chairman for once. Not being the man everyone feared or wanted something from. Just being Jay, a contract chef who knew his way around a kitchen.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Julian pulled it out discreetly, glancing at the screen.
Marcus: Clark transferred another million this morning. He's accelerating. We're running out of time.
Julian deleted the message and pocketed the phone. He knew they were running out of time. That's why he was here, gambling that proximity to Harper Thorne would reveal something, anything, that could help.
"Jay!"
He looked up. Pierre was gesturing toward the dining room.
"There's a guest who wants to see you. Table twelve."
Julian's pulse quickened. He glanced through the kitchen pass into the dining room and felt everything inside him go still.
Harper Thorne sat at a corner table, a glass of wine untouched at her elbow. She was watching the kitchen with focused intensity, and even from this distance, Julian could see the calculation in her eyes.
"Did she say why?" he asked, keeping his voice casual.
Pierre shrugged. "No idea. But she's a regular. Very important. Don't keep her waiting."
Julian untied his apron slowly, his mind racing. Why did Harper Thorne want to see a random chef? What could she possibly want?
Only one way to find out.
He walked into the dining room, wiping his hands on a towel. Harper watched his approach with the same focused intensity, studying him like he was a puzzle she was trying to solve.
Julian stopped at a respectful distance from her table. "Ma'am. You asked to see me?"
Up close, she was younger than her photos suggested. There were shadows under her eyes that makeup couldn't quite hide, and her hands, folded on the table, were tense.
She was exhausted, Julian realized. And desperate.
"Sit down," Harper said.
It wasn't a request.
Julian hesitated, playing confused, then pulled out the chair across from her and sat. "If there was a problem with your meal, I apologize. I can speak to Chef Pierre…"
"There wasn't a problem." Harper cut him off with the precision of someone used to controlling conversations. "What's your name?"
"Jay." He paused, as if uncertain. "Jay Miller."
"How long have you worked here, Jay?"
"Three weeks."
"Do you like it?"
The question surprised him. Julian let that show on his face. "Yes, ma'am. It's a good kitchen."
Harper leaned forward slightly, and Julian caught a hint of expensive perfume, something subtle and complex. Her gray eyes never left his face, searching for something he couldn't identify.
"I'm going to make you an offer," she said quietly. "I need you to listen to everything before you respond. Can you do that?"
Every instinct Julian had honed over years of negotiations kicked into high gear. Something was happening here, something he hadn't anticipated. He nodded slowly.
"I need a husband."
The words hung in the air between them like smoke.
Julian stared at her, genuinely shocked for the first time in years. Of all the things he'd expected Harper Thorne to say, that hadn't even made the list.
"Legally," Harper continued, her voice flat and businesslike. "For one year. It's a business arrangement, nothing more. You would live in my home, attend necessary public events, and follow specific rules I'll outline in a contract. In exchange, I'll pay you five million dollars."
Five million dollars.
Julian's mind raced, pieces clicking into place with crystalline clarity. The marriage clause in her father's will. It had to be. She was desperate, cornered, and looking for a solution that wouldn't give Clark any leverage.
And she'd chosen him.
"I..." Julian let his voice trail off, playing shocked. "Did you say five million?"
"Yes. Tax-free, held in escrow, released when the year is complete and the marriage is legally dissolved."
Julian sat back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. The gesture was unconscious, genuine surprise bleeding through his careful control. This was... this was perfect. Better than anything he could have planned.
"Why me?" he asked, and beneath the confusion he was playing, he genuinely wanted to know.
Harper's expression didn't change. "Because you're nobody."
The words landed like a slap. Julian felt a flicker of genuine amusement. If she only knew.
"No offense intended," Harper continued coolly. "But I need someone who won't complicate my life, won't want more than money, and won't be a target for people looking to hurt me. You fit that description."
Julian let silence stretch between them, watching her. She was so certain. So confident that she'd found the perfect solution, that she was in control of this situation.
She had no idea she'd just handed him everything he needed.
"This is insane," he said finally, shaking his head. "I don't... I mean, people don't just..." He stopped, as if struggling to process. "Why would you need to get married so quickly?"
"That's not your concern." Harper's tone was ice. "I'm offering you five million dollars for one year of your time. That's all you need to know."
Julian studied her for a long moment. Then, very carefully, he said, "If I agreed... I have one condition."
Harper's eyebrow rose. "You're negotiating?"
"Just one thing." Julian kept his voice humble, apologetic. "I cook. It's what I do, it's... it helps me think. If I'm going to live in your house for a year, I'd need access to the kitchen. To make my own meals, to have that space. It's..." He paused, as if searching for words. "It's how I stay centered."
He watched Harper process this. Saw her dismiss it as harmless, even pathetic. A chef clinging to his identity in the face of overwhelming change.
"Fine," she said. "You can use the kitchen."
Julian nodded, hiding his satisfaction. Kitchen access meant house access. It meant freedom to move, to observe, to plant surveillance equipment in the one place Harper would never think to check.
It meant he'd won.
"This is a lot to process," he said, still playing overwhelmed. "I need... I need time to think about this."
Harper stood, pulling a business card from her purse and placing it on the table between them. "Twenty-four hours. Meet me here tomorrow, same time, with your answer. If you say no, this conversation never happened."
She smoothed her skirt with precise movements, every inch the CEO even in this bizarre situation. "Think carefully, Jay. Five million dollars. One year of your life. It's a fair trade."
Then she walked away, her heels clicking against the marble floor, leaving Julian alone at the table.
He sat there for a long moment, staring at the business card. Harper Thorne's name, embossed in elegant silver lettering. CEO, Ashford Industries.
His phone buzzed.
Marcus: Any luck?
Julian looked at the card, then at the message. Then, very slowly, he smiled.
She thought she was buying a shield. A controllable nobody who would sign her papers and stay out of her way.
She had no idea she'd just invited a wolf into her home.
Julian pocketed the card and stood, walking back toward the kitchen. Pierre looked up as he entered.
"Everything okay?"
Julian tied his apron back on, his movements calm and controlled. "Everything's perfect."
He returned to his station, his hands moving through familiar motions while his mind planned three steps ahead. Tomorrow he would accept her offer. Tomorrow he would become Harper Thorne's husband.
And then, from inside her home, with legal access to everything Clark wanted to hide, Julian would finally destroy the man who'd spent years stealing from people who trusted him.
Harper thought she was using him.
She was wrong.
Across the city, in an office that reeked of expensive cigars and older money, Clark Thorne ended a phone call and leaned back in his leather chair.
"Nine days," he said to the empty room, his voice satisfied. "She has nine days, and she's got nothing. No prospects, no plan, no way out."
His phone rang again. He glanced at the screen and smiled.
"Yes?"
The voice on the other end was rough, professional. "You wanted updates on the girl. She spent three hours at that restaurant today. Lumière. Just sat there watching the staff."
Clark's smile faded slightly. "Watching them? Why?"
"Don't know, boss. But she talked to one of the chefs before she left. Had him sit at her table for a while."
"A chef." Clark's fingers drummed against his desk. "Interesting. Get me his name and background. Everything."
"Already on it."
Clark ended the call and stared at the photo on his desk. His brother, Harper's father, was smiling at some long-ago company picnic. They'd built Ashford Industries together, but only one of them had been smart enough to see its true potential.
"You should have left it to me," Clark said softly. "You were always too sentimental. Now look where it's gotten your daughter. Desperate enough to approach random staff at restaurants."
He picked up the photo and turned it face down.
"Don't worry, brother. I'll take care of everything. Just like I always should have."
The setting sun painted his office in shades of red and gold, and Clark Thorne sat in the center of it all, smiling like a man who'd already won.