Accidentally Married

June's Pov

I bent down for a moment to adjust my uncomfortable high-heeled shoe that Ella gave me. She comes from a rich home, so she loves dressing up so much. She and Ivy practically dressed me in this outfit that I find to be too revealing for a club party. It's an ordinary club, not a strippers' club. The neon lights slashed across the crowded floor, blinding me in pulses of electric blue and hot pink, while the bass vibrated so violently through the floorboards it rattled my ribs.

"June, stop pulling at the hem!" Ella yelled over the deafening music, slapping my hand away from the micro skirt that kept riding up my thighs. "You look gorgeous! Christian is probably sitting at home rotting, and you're here looking like an absolute queen."

"I look like a different person," I shouted back, finally abandoning my shoe and straightening up.

My chest felt tight, a mix of tequila and pure, unadulterated heartbreak burning in the back of my throat. Just twelve hours ago, my life wasn't supposed to look like this. I wasn't supposed to be sweating in a packed club, drowning my sorrows in liquor while wearing borrowed clothes that barely covered my assets.

I was supposed to be a professional. I was supposed to be employed at least.

That morning, I had woken up in my tiny bedroom, practically vibrating with excitement. It was the morning of the biggest interview of my life. For an entire year since graduating from university as a newly licensed interior designer, I had faced nothing but closed doors and automated rejection emails. Every single day was a cycle of applying, praying, and pacing the floor of the apartment I shared with my older brother, Ryan.

At twenty seven, Ryan carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was strict, overprotective, and rarely smiled, but he loved me fiercely. When our mother abandoned us, I was just a kid in elementary school, and our father passed away during my high school years, Ryan didn't hesitate. He dropped out of college, abandoned his own dreams, and took every grueling, back-breaking job he could find just to keep a roof over our heads and ensure I could finish my education.

"Eat your eggs, June. You need brain food," Ryan had muttered that morning, not looking up from his laptop where he was checking his shift schedule. "And don't be late for your interview, Harrington Architecture & Development Group doesn't wait for anyone. I'm personally rooting for you so don't mess this up."

"I won't mess it up, Ryan. I've got this," I had cheered, practically bounding around the kitchen table as my brother finally stood and left for work. I was bubbly, outspoken, and loud, never the sophisticated type, and certainly not the type to wear designer labels, but I was determined to get this job to finally lessen the financial burden on my brother.

An hour later, I was sitting in the back of a yellow taxi cab, tightly clutching my portfolio to my chest. New York traffic was an absolute nightmare, and the digital clock on the dashboard was ticking down dangerously close to my interview window. My palms were sweating, my heart racing as the cab crawled block by block.

Then, my phone rang.

It was Christian. My boyfriend of three years. We had started dating during our sophomore year in university, and I thought we were building a life together. Relief washed over me as I answered, completely expecting a sweet pep-talk to calm my pre-interview jitters.

Instead, his voice through the speaker was ice cold.

"June, we need to end this," he said, his tone flat and unyielding. "I'm breaking up with you."

I let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh, assuming it was a sick, twisted joke. "Christian, what? My interview is in a few minutes, and I'm already running late in traffic. I really need to focus right now, please don't play with me."

Through the receiver, Christian let out a mocking, cruel chuckle. "An interview that you will still fumble anyway because of your basic dressing and your unpolished self. You lack elegance, June. My parents are hosting corporate galas now, and I can't keep bringing a girl who treats a five-star restaurant like a fast food joint. You're just... never going to be enough for where I'm going. I'm not joking. We are done."

The line went dead.

The verbal rejection hit me like a physical blow. The absolute cruelty of his timing shattered my composure right there in the backseat of the cab. My chest violently tightened, and a suffocating panic attack triggered instantly, leaving me gasping for oxygen as the entire car started to spin.

"Miss? Are you alright back there?" the cab driver asked, casting a nervous glance through his rearview mirror.

I couldn't breathe. Tears blinded my vision, spilling over my cheeks and ruining my makeup.

Terrified and completely unable to sit still in the confined space, I choked out a sob. "Pull over. Please, just pull me over!"

I threw a handful of cash at the front seat, shoved the door open, and practically stumbled onto the crowded New York sidewalk. I collapsed onto a nearby public bench, burying my face in my hands, sobbing so violently that I lost all track of time.

By the time the severe panic attack finally subsided and I managed to gather my breathing, I frantically wiped my face and sprinted the remaining two blocks to the Harrington Group headquarters. But it was too late. When I burst into the towering lobby, my chest heaving and portfolio rumpled, the stone-faced receptionist delivered the final blow: the graduate selection panel had officially closed for the day.

I had missed my shot. I had failed Ryan.

When Ella and Ivy found out what happened later that afternoon, they didn't offer pity. They brought pure, unadulterated chaos. They stormed into my apartment, hauled me out of my bed of sorrow, and refused to let me mourn a man who judged my worth by the label on my clothes.

Which brings me right back to the present, standing at the bar of the city's wildest club, trying to forget that I was a jobless, single college graduate.

"Another round!" Ivy called out, sliding a vibrant green shot toward me. Her sweet face was flushed from dancing. "To erasing Christian from your memory banks."

I grabbed the glass and threw it back. The liquid burned, cutting through the numbness in my chest. For the first time all night, I laughed. The alcohol was finally taking over, blurring the sharp edges of my heartbreak. I threw my hands in the air and let Ella drag me into the middle of the pulsating crowd. I danced, letting my hair fall loose, losing myself in the rhythm, ignoring the buzzing of my phone in my purse whenever Christian's name flared up on the screen.

"I need air," I gasped out after what felt like hours, navigating the sea of moving bodies.

I turned around too quickly, my uncoordinated feet slipping slightly on the slick floor. Before I could regain my balance, I crashed directly into a broad, solid chest.

Splash.

The amber liquid from the stranger's glass poured directly down the front of his pristine white button down shirt.

"What the hell?" a deep, smooth voice barked above me.

I looked up, my vision a little hazy, and stopped breathing. The man towering over me was devastatingly handsome. Sharp features, a jawline that could cut glass, and dark eyes that were currently glaring down at his ruined shirt.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry!" I blurted out. I immediately grabbed a napkin from a nearby table and began frantically rubbing at his chest. "I completely lost my balance. These shoes are death traps, and your shirt is totally ruined, and...."

He caught my wrist, his grip firm. A jolt of pure electricity shot straight up my arm.

"Stop, stop," he said, an amused smirk breaking through. "You're just rubbing the stain deeper, sweetheart."

"Right. Sorry." I pulled my hand back, my cheeks flushing hot under his intense gaze. "I'm June. And I'm a professional disaster, apparently."

He didn't offer his name in return, just let his dark eyes track over my face, lingering on my lips.

"Don't worry about the shirt, June. But you definitely owe me a drink to replace this one."

We squeezed through the suffocating crowd to a quieter, dimly lit booth in the back of the VIP lounge. As he ordered a new round of drinks, the conversation flowed with a shocking, effortless ease. Within an hour, the booming bass of the club faded into the background. He spoke about structures, scale, and spatial design with an unexpected, magnetic intelligence that made my inner designer swoon. He was funny, sharp, and possessed a confident charm that made me completely forget the toxic words Christian had spewed at me just hours before.

"You're not like the usual girls who come here," the stranger murmured, leaning closer until his shoulder brushed mine. "You're real. Bubbly. It's refreshing."

"My ex thought I lacked elegance," I confessed, the heavy intake of alcohol stripping away all my filters. "He dumped me over the phone today because I'm 'too ordinary'."

The stranger leaned in even closer, his warm breath brushing against the shell of my ear, sending a delicious shiver down my spine. "Then your ex is a complete idiot. There is absolutely nothing ordinary about you, June."

When his large hand slid around my waist, pulling my back flush against his chest, the last remnants of my caution completely shattered. Every point of contact felt like an explosion of heat through the thin fabric of my dress. He tilted my chin up, his dark eyes burning with an intense, raw desire that made my breath hitch. When his lips finally met mine, the entire room dissolved. It was a breathless, demanding kiss. His tongue slid into my mouth, claiming me with a fierce possessiveness that left me completely undone. My hands locked behind his neck, pulling him closer as the friction of our bodies ignited a fire low in my stomach.

He pulled back a bit, his heavy gaze locking onto mine, his thumb stroking my flushed jawline.

"Coming with me?" he whispered, his voice a gravelly, seductive challenge.

I hesitated for a single, fleeting second. A tiny voice in my head warned me about Ryan, warned me about the emergency interview Ella had set up for me the next morning. But then I looked at his breathless smile, felt the intoxicating ache between my thighs, and threw caution to the wind.

I nodded, my voice thick with desire. "Yes."

The ride to his luxury penthouse was a blur of heavy hands and whispered promises against the leather seats of his car. The moment the heavy oak door of his apartment clicked shut behind us, the tension exploded.

He pinned me against the wall, his hands immediately tangling in my hair as his mouth devoured mine again. I groaned, arching my back into his solid frame as his hands slid down to grip my hips, lifting me slightly until my legs wrapped instinctively around his waist. The reveals of my micro-skirt suddenly became a blessing as he tore the fabric away, his fingers bruising my skin.

He carried me down the dark hallway, never breaking the kiss, before tossing me onto the center of a massive, king-sized bed. The luxury surroundings faded into complete irrelevance. I watched, my chest heaving, as he ripped off his stained white shirt, revealing a sculpted, hard chest and perfect abs.

He slid over me, his heavy weight becoming a comforting anchor, his lips tracing a path of fire down my neck. "You are so beautiful," he growled against my skin.

In the electric, fast, and intoxicating moments that followed, the pain of the breakup and the fear of the future finally erased themselves. We lost ourselves in each other until, wrapped tightly in the heavy sheets and tangled in his arms, the exhaustion of the day finally took over. For a few hours, the world outside simply didn't exist.

June's POV

I opened my eyes, and the pounding headache of a vicious hangover immediately settled in behind my eyelids.

As my vision cleared, I froze. A heavy, muscular arm was draped possessively across my waist. I looked at the stranger sleeping peacefully beside me, and pure panic seized my throat. What had I done? I was the responsible girl. I didn't do one-night stands.

Carefully, I pinched his wrist and lifted his arm, attempting to slide out from beneath the silk sheets.

Before my feet could even hit the floor, a sharp, electronic blare pierced the quiet room. Six o'clock. I winced, wondering why a man who clearly owned a multi-million dollar luxury penthouse needed to wake up at the crack of dawn.

The annoying alarm kept ringing until the stranger stirred. He blinked against the morning light, his dark hair messy, looking entirely too attractive for someone who had just opened his eyes. He sat up, the sheet slipping down to reveal the hard, sculpted lines of his chest, and slapped the top of his phone to kill the noise.

His dark eyes tracked me across the room. I was currently caught mid-motion, desperately trying to step into my underwear without falling over. My face burned so hot it could have fried an egg.

"Going somewhere?" His voice was deep, laced with an early morning gravel that sent an unexpected, illicit shiver straight down my spine.

"Um, yes. Good morning," I squeaked, abandoning all grace as I scrambled around the floor to grab Ella's discarded micro-skirt. "I have to get home. My brother is probably losing his mind, and I have a million things to do."

He chuckled, leaning back against his plush pillows, entirely unbothered by my frantic energy. "No coffee first? I make a mean espresso."

"I'm really not a coffee person. Or a morning person. Or a... one-night stand person," I muttered. I shoved the dress over my head and scanned the room for my keys, refusing to look him in the eye. I was a complete, unpolished disaster. "This was great. Really. You were great. But I need to run."

"So, there will be no next time?" An amused smirk played on his lips. "You usually vanish on people before the sun is fully up?"

"Let's just keep it as a beautiful, anonymous memory," I pleaded, finally spotting my heels and shoving them into my purse. "Goodbye, stranger."

Before he could answer, I bolted out of his bedroom and down his private elevator. The moment I hit the pavement outside, my stomach dropped as I pulled out my phone and saw three missed calls from Ryan. Panic flared, but I quickly typed out a text: 'Hey Ry! I crashed at Ella's place. Her mom managed to pull some major strings and snagged me a last minute emergency interview at Harrington Group today! We're doing heavy portfolio prep right now. Wish me luck!'

A minute later, his reply came through: 'Good. Don't waste this second chance. Call me when it's over.'

I let out a breath of pure relief and hailed the first cab I could find.

Four hours later, I was standing in the towering, glass and steel lobby of Harrington Architecture & Development Group. Ella's family connections had worked an absolute miracle. After missing my scheduled interview the day before, her mother had managed to slide my portfolio into a last minute slot for their highly competitive Graduate Development Program. I had spent the last three hours scrubbing the smell of tequila off my skin, covering my dark circles with heavy concealer, and squeezing into a borrowed navy pantsuit that felt entirely too tight across my hips.

"June Brooks?" a receptionist called out, gesturing toward a massive set of frosted double doors. "The panel is ready for you. Third floor, conference room B."

I swallowed the lump of anxiety in my throat, smoothed down my jacket, and stepped inside.

The room was breathtaking, all sleek mahogany tables and floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. Three people sat at the long evaluation table. A middle-aged woman with a stern bun, an older gentleman in a tweed jacket, and...

My heart stopped dead in my chest. Every drop of blood drained from my face.

Sitting right in the center, looking immaculate in a tailored charcoal suit and a crisp white shirt, was the stranger from last night.

His dark eyes locked onto mine, widening for a fraction of a second in absolute shock before his features instantly smoothed into a professional, unreadable mask.

"Welcome, Miss Brooks," the stern woman said, completely oblivious to the silent cardiac arrest I was experiencing. "I am Director Vance, this is Mr. Sterling, and this is Ethan Harrington, our Executive Director of Project Acquisition."

Ethan Harrington. The name echoed in my brain like a bomb. He wasn't just a wealthy stranger from a club. He was a Harrington.

"Good... good morning," I stammered, my voice cracking slightly as I sank into the lone chair facing the panel.

Ethan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and clasping his hands together. A small, dangerous smirk played at the corner of his lips. "Let's begin, Miss Brooks. Your portfolio looks impressive, but I see you missed your scheduled appointment yesterday. Care to explain why stability and punctuality seem to be an issue for you? We take corporate dedication very seriously here."

The jerk. He was playing with me. He knew exactly why I had missed it.

"I had a sudden... personal emergency yesterday, Mr. Harrington," I replied. I forced my voice to steady, holding his gaze with all the defiance I could muster. "But I assure you, I am entirely focused on my career. My design philosophy revolves around creating functional, emotional spaces within strict structural boundaries."

"Fascinating," Ethan murmured, his gaze dropping to my lips for a terrifying second. "Let's see if your execution matches your philosophy."

For the next twenty minutes, the interview was a masterclass in absolute torture. Ethan didn't let up. He asked sharp, rapid-fire questions about land feasibility, zoning laws, and spatial layouts. I answered the best I could, my naturally bubbly personality occasionally cutting through the terror, but my brain was screaming the entire time. I slept with a Harrington. I had wild, uninhibited sex with Ethan Harrington.

"Thank you, Miss Brooks," Director Vance finally said, closing her folder. "We will review your performance and notify you of our decision."

I stood up so fast my chair nearly tipped over. I nodded to the panel, completely avoiding Ethan's burning gaze, and practically sprinted out of the building.

By the time evening rolled around, I was a nervous wreck, pacing the floor of our small apartment. The comforting scent of garlic and simmering marinara sauce drifted from the kitchen, where Ryan was busy throwing together dinner.

The front door clicked open, and Ella and Ivy walked in, carrying a box of pastries.

"Tell us everything!" Ella demanded, throwing her designer bag onto the couch. "How did the emergency interview go?"

"I ruined it. It was a complete disaster," I groaned, throwing my face into a sofa pillow. "I'm never getting that job. Never."

Ryan walked out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. His strict, protective gaze softened just a fraction as he looked at my slumped posture. "June, stop stressing yourself out. You're a brilliant designer. If they don't see that, it's their loss."

"But Ry, you've been working so hard for me..."

"Hey," Ryan interrupted, his voice firm but filled with love. "I didn't sacrifice my education for you to sit here and cry over one company. We are not in a rush, nor am I complaining. If this one doesn't work out, we find another. Now, sit tight. I'm going to finish making this pasta so you girls can eat."

He headed back into the kitchen, leaving the three of us in the living room. The moment the door swung shut, I grabbed Ella and Ivy by their arms and dragged them into my tiny bedroom, slamming the door behind us.

"What is wrong with you?" Ivy asked, laughing at my manic behavior. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Worse," I whispered fiercely, clutching my head. "You remember the hot stranger from the club last night? The one-night stand?"

"Yeah? The one whose name you didn't even get?" Ella smiled, raising an eyebrow.

"I got his name today," I hissed, my eyes wide with panic. "He was sitting on the interview panel. He is Ethan Harrington. The Executive Director of the entire acquisition department!"

Ella's jaw dropped. Ivy gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.

"No way!" Ella shrieked. "You are lying!"

"I am not lying! I walked in, and there he was, sitting in a three-piece suit, asking me about architectural blueprints after he spent the night ripping my clothes off!" I fell back onto my bed, groaning in agony. "It was so awkward. He completely grilled me. There is no way in hell they are hiring a girl who ran out of an executive's penthouse at six in the morning. He literally asked me about my punctuality!"

"Oh my god, June," Ivy whispered, a mix of horror and amusement on her face. "That is a literal movie plot. What are the odds? Do you think he'll tell anyone?"

"If he does, I am moving to another country," I muttered into my mattress.

Before Ella could launch into a million questions, the phone in my hand suddenly vibrated. A sharp, rhythmic buzz made all three of us freeze. I looked down at the screen. It was an email notification from the Harrington Group human resources department. My fingers shook as I tapped it open.

Dear Miss Brooks,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected for the Harrington Graduate Development Program as a Junior Interior Designer. You are scheduled to resume in exactly one month.

I stared at the screen, my heart hammering violently against my ribs.

"What does it say? Don't leave us hanging!" Ella demanded, leaning heavily over my shoulder.

"I... I got the job," I whispered, blinking rapidly as if the words would disappear from the screen.

Things were actually beginning to look up.

June's Pov

*One Month Later...*

The air in the glass tower of Harrington Architecture & Development Group didn't feel like normal oxygen; it felt expensive and thick with collective panic. Ten of us from the Graduate Development Program were lined up like neat little soldiers in the sprawling, minimalist corporate lobby, our matching black orientation lanyards weighing down our necks. Everybody else was standing perfectly straight, frantically smoothing down their tailored blazers. I was just trying not to pass out. My first day as a Junior Interior Designer had barely started, and my feet were already staging a violent protest inside my cheap target flats.

"Listen up, everyone," the HR coordinator clapped her hands, her voice a sharp drop in the quiet space. "We are heading up to the executive wing now. The Acting CEO will be making his rounds to personally review your desk placements. Maintain absolute professionalism."

I let out a shaky breath, whispering to myself, You've got this, June. Just don't trip. For the love of God, don't trip.

The elevator ride to the top floor felt like climbing a scaffold. When the doors slid open, the luxury layout made my jaw drop. Polished white marble floors reflected the towering glass ceiling, and the walls were decorated with flawless, multi-million dollar blueprints of skyscrapers and smart cities. It was an interior designer's ultimate wonderland. But the breathless awe didn't last long. The moment we stepped into the open concept design department, the entire atmosphere changed.

The low hum of keyboards and hushed phone calls completely died.

"He's coming," someone whispered loudly from a cubicle.

Instantly, every single senior architect and designer stood up at their desk, hands folded politely. The tension in the room was so thick you could carve it with a drafting knife. I squeezed my notebook tightly against my chest as footsteps echoed sharply against the marble floor.

Then, Callum Harrington walked in.

Seriously? Does smiling cost this man actual money? That was my very first thought. He was thirty two, devastatingly hot, and radiating a level of raw, intimidating power that could freeze hot water. He wore a crisp, tailored navy suit that molded perfectly to his broad shoulders, his eyes, cold, piercing, and completely devoid of warmth, scanned the room like a hawk looking for weak prey. He didn't just walk into the department, he owned the entire building by mere existence.

"Mr. Harrington," the head of our department stepped forward, bowing her head slightly. "These are the new graduate trainees assigned to the flagship architecture and design department."

Callum didn't speak immediately. He stopped right in front of our line, his icy gaze lingering on each of us. When his eyes landed on me, my breath caught. I forced a stiff, awkward smile, but his expression didn't even flicker. He just looked at my unpolished flats, up to my slightly loose blazer, and back to my face before speaking in a deep, baritone voice that sent a shiver through my spine.

"I expect zero margin of error," Callum stated, his voice flat and terrifyingly quiet. "Incompetence is an infectious disease in this firm. I don't quarantine it. I eliminate it. Welcome to Harrington Group."

Before any of us could reply, he spun on his heel and strode toward his massive corner office, his assistant scurrying behind him. The HR coordinator turned to me with a sympathetic look.

"Miss Brooks, because your portfolio focused heavily on luxury hospitality spaces, you've been assigned to the desk directly outside Mr. Harrington's office. You will be handling his direct design formatting and internal reviews."

My heart plummeted straight into my stomach. Directly under him? Splendid. Just splendid.

By midday, my nerves had completely taken over. I was sitting at my sleek new desk, sweating profusely as I tried to compile a highly confidential design concept draft for an upcoming luxury hotel project in Dubai. It was a massive, billion-dollar contract. My job was simply to clean up the typography on the spatial layouts and save it into Callum's private digital folder.

"June, did you finish the layout formatting?" a senior designer popped her head over my cubicle.

"The client's board is waiting for an update, and Mr. Harrington needs to see the draft first. Don't send anything out."

"Just finishing the last page!" I called back, my fingers flying across the keyboard.

I was so anxious, my mind running a mile a minute thinking about Ryan, the bills, and my determination to prove I belonged here, but my coordination completely failed me. My finger twitched on the mouse. Instead of clicking the tiny 'Save Draft to Server' icon, my clumsy hand slipped. The cursor flew across the screen, hovering over the corporate email interface that was open in the background.

Click.

My stomach violently turned over. I hadn't saved it. I had just hit 'Reply All' on a global email thread that included the entire foreign investment board, sending a highly unfinished, messy design concept filled with placeholder text and raw sketches directly to our most important client.

"Oh my god," I gasped, staring at the screen in absolute horror. "No, no, no! Undo! Recall!"

Suddenly, the heavy oak door to Callum's office flew open. He stood in the doorway, his face dangerously pale, his jaw clenched so tight the muscles were pulsing.

"June Brooks!" his voice boomed across the entire floor, making three people nearby drop their pens. "In my office. Now."

I stumbled out of my chair, my legs shaking so badly I could barely walk. When I stepped into his office, the heavy door slammed shut behind me. Callum was leaning over his desk, his palms pressed flat against the mahogany surface, staring at me with pure, unadulterated fury.

"Are you completely illiterate, or just fundamentally stupid?" he hissed, his voice dropping to a terrifying, quiet venom. "I just spent the last two minutes on a high speed secure server intercepting a half baked, catastrophic email draft before it reached the Dubai ministry. If that email had landed in their inbox, we would have lost a three billion-dollar contract before lunch."

"Mr. Harrington, I am so incredibly sorry," I pleaded, my voice cracking as tears pricked the corners of my eyes. "My hand slipped on the mouse, it was a complete accident...."

"I don't care about your hand, and I don't care about your excuses," Callum cut me off, stepping around the desk until he was towering over me, his icy glare boring into my soul. "You are incompetent. Clumsy. A total liability. I am putting a red flag on your file today. If you commit one more mistake... even a single typo, you are fired on the spot. Get out of my sight."

I choked back a sob, nodded rapidly, and rushed out of his office, burying my face in my hands at my desk.

By three in the afternoon, I was a walking ghost. I had spent hours double and triple checking a stack of physical project logs and material acquisition paperwork that required his immediate signature. I walked back up to his door, knocked softly, and stepped inside.

Callum was sitting back in his chair, rubbing his temples, looking profoundly frustrated and stressed out. He looked up as I entered.

"Mr. Harrington, I have the final project logs and the material acquisition documents that need your authorization," I said quietly, keeping my voice professional.

He didn't answer. He didn't even look at me. He just kept staring out the window, his expression dark and completely exhausted, drowning in his own stress.

Assuming he just wanted me to leave the files, I walked over and carefully dropped the thick stack of paperwork directly onto the center of his desk, right over a pile of scattered legal documents he had been messy handling earlier. I turned on my heel, about to slip out of his office before he could yell at me again.

"Hold on," Callum's sharp voice barked, stopping me right at the threshold.

I turned around slowly. He was staring at the pile of papers I had just laid down, his eyes dark with irritation.

"I don't sign anything blindly," Callum muttered, pulling the entire combined stack of paperwork toward himself. He grabbed an expensive fountain pen from his holder and shoved the papers across the desk, right back toward me. "Sign the employee acknowledgment line at the bottom of the stack first. I require every graduate trainee to sign off as the preparer of these documents before I review them. That way, if I notice a single misspelling or a calculation error later, I know exactly who to hold accountable."

"Of course, sir," I nodded quickly, desperate to please him and secure my job.

Believing it was just the standard corporate layout forms I had brought in, I didn't look closely. I was too intimidated by his burning stare. I grabbed the pen, flipped to the page with the blank line, and quickly scribbled my full signature: June Brooks.

But as I went to flip to the other page, sign and hand it back to him, my eyes caught the bold, official legal header at the top of the document. It didn't say Harrington Project Logs.

It read: CERTIFICATE OF MARRIAGE - STATE DECREE.

And right next to my fresh signature, in bold, aggressive ink, was his name: Callum Harrington with his own signature.

My breath completely vanished from my lungs. A sharp, loud scream tore from my throat before I could even stop it. "Oh my god!!"

Callum jumped slightly, his icy composure breaking as his eyes snapped to mine. "What the hell is wrong with you now, Brooks? I told you to stop yelling in my...."

"Look!" I shrieked, my finger shaking violently as I pointed at the paper, shoving it right into his face. "Look what you made me sign, sir!"

Callum snatched the document from my hands. As his eyes scanned the text, his entire body went completely rigid. The color drained from his face, his lips parting in absolute, utter shock. He stared at my signature, then at his own, and back up at me.

"You..." Callum stammered, his voice losing all its cold authority for a split second. "You just signed the court decree. My mother... she....."

"Your mother is not the main subject here!" I cried, panic spiraling out of control. "This is!!" "Undo this! Wipe it off!"

The shock on Callum's face instantly hardened back into pure, defensive fury. He slammed his hand on the desk, standing up abruptly. "Silence! You signed a legally binding state document without reading it! Your sheer incompetence has just created a catastrophic legal nightmare for this entire conglomerate!"

"You shoved it at me!" I yelled back, tears finally spilling over my cheeks. "You told me to sign it!"

"And you did it blindly like a fool!" Callum roared, his eyes flashing with dangerous anger. "That's it. I'm done. You are a loose cannon, Brooks. You are fired! Pack your things and get out of my building right now!"

I didn't even wait. I turned around, grabbed my bag, and ran out of the executive suite sobbing hysterically.

The next twenty four hours were a living hell. I sat on our small apartment couch, wrapped in a blanket, staring blankly at the wall while Ryan tried his best to comfort me. He had bought me comfort food, holding my hand and telling me we would find something else, but the guilt was eating me alive. I had ruined everything on my very first day. I had legally married a billionaire stranger and gotten fired before the sun even set. I felt completely broken, angry at the world, and utterly devastated.

Then the next day, in the afternoon, my phone rang. It was an official line from the Harrington executive suite.

"Miss Brooks, Mr. Harrington requests your immediate presence in his office. A private car is outside your apartment building now."

When I walked back into his office an hour later, the atmosphere was entirely different. The curtains were drawn, and Callum was pacing the floor, looking completely cornered. He stopped when he saw me, closing the door firmly behind me.

"Sit down, June," he said, his voice surprisingly calm, though filled with a strange, heavy weight.

I remained standing, crossing my arms over my chest, glaring at him through dry eyes. "I'm fired, remember? Why am I here, Mr. Harrington? To sign the divorce papers?"

"No," Callum said, walking over to his desk and leaning against it. He looked directly into my eyes, his expression dead serious. "I'm offering you a deal."

I frowned. "A deal?"

"Marriage is the last thing on my mind now, i don't believe in that kind of commitment but my mother is using that marriage certificate to force my hand, believing I should be married inorder to be able to handle a conglomerate. If I annul it right now, she will still force me to marry another person or worse.... invoke a board clause to strip me of my position as Acting CEO and hand the flagship company over to my brother's family. I will lose everything I've built." Callum leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, intense whisper. "I need you to play my fake wife. We play married, act like we are deeply in love, we show up to a few family events to keep my mother off my back, and in return..."

He paused, holding his breath. "...I will reinstate you immediately. No probation. No training wheels. You get a permanent title as a Senior Interior Designer, a massive, handsome salary increase and you can finally support your brother for the rest of his life, and I guarantee you will never face a threat of losing your job in this industry again."

I stood there, completely dumbfounded, at first i thought how could he possibly have known about my brother and how desperate i was for a job but on second thought, he is rich and for rich people to offer you this kind of deal they must have done a background check. My heart hammered wildly in my chest. Fake marriage? To this arrogant, cold monster? It was absolutely insane. I hated the entire concept.

"This is crazy," I whispered, shaking my head. "Sorry sir but with all due respect... You're crazy." "Honestly, i can't do that. It's a lie. It's illegal."

"It's a transaction, June," Callum pressed, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an overwhelming, desperate intensity. "Think about your brother. Think about the stable career you've been begging for over the last year. One choice, and you never have to worry about a job interview again."

I opened my mouth to refuse, but the image of Ryan's tired face flashed in my mind, all the double shifts he had worked, all the sacrifices he had made just so I could hold a degree. This was the one thing I had been so desperate for. A job. And it's been offered to me on a platter regardless of being fired just yesterday.

I swallowed hard, looking at the terrifying billionaire standing before me.

"Fine," I whispered, my voice trembling as I sealed my fate. "I'll play your fake wife."