Six Months Trial Marriage: Married To The Industry Devil

The bachelorette party was in full swing,

laughter and clinking glasses filling the

elegant banquet hall of Parker's Restaurant.

Tyla Parker felt the room spin gently around her.

She'd had far too much champagne, far too quickly.

Tomorrow was her wedding day, the culmination of years with her fiancé, Jace. She shouldn't be this drunk.

Not tonight.

A wave of nausea hit her, and she pressed a hand to her stomach. "Excuse me, " she murmured to the cluster of friends around her, slipping away before anyone could protest.

In the hallway, she nearly collided with one of the servers-a young woman balancing a tray of empty flutes.

"Sorry!" Tyla gasped.

The server smiled warmly. "No worries, Miss Parker. You okay?"

Tyla nodded weakly and continued to the ladies' restroom.

Inside, she splashed cold water on her face at the sink, letting it trickle down her flushed cheeks. The coolness steadied her a little. She straightened, smoothing her dress in the mirror, then headed back to the party.

The hall buzzed with energy-family and friends toasting her future happiness.

But as Tyla scanned the room, she couldn't spot Jace.

He'd promised to stop by later, after his own low-key bachelor gathering with the guys.

She needed him now, needed his arms around her, his reassuring kiss. "Sweet Jace," she whispered to herself, her eyelids heavy. "Where are you?"

Unsteady on her feet, she drifted toward the exit, thinking fresh air might help.

Halfway there, muffled giggles and whispers caught her ear from a side corridor leading to the staff restrooms.

She paused, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "Some people can't even wait for a room, " she thought, shaking her head.

But then a familiar voice froze her in place-low, intimate, unmistakably Jace's.

Curiosity overriding her haze, Tyla crept closer. The door to the staff restroom was ajar, a sliver of light spilling out. Peering through, her heart plummeted.

There was Jace, pressed against the wall with Edna-her best friend since culinary school, the woman she'd trusted above all others. They were locked in a heated embrace, kissing passionately, hands roaming with desperate urgency.

Edna pulled back slightly, breathless. "Let me have you one last time... while I still can."

Jace's fingers traced her jaw. "God, I've missed this. Missed you."

"Promise me, " Edna whispered, her voice fierce. "Promise you'll come back to me-to us-once you've got what you want from that spoiled little heiress."

Jace chuckled softly, leaning in to nip at her neck. "Baby, you know I will. I'm only marrying her for the empire. Once the papers are signed and I'm named full CEO of Parker's Restaurant chain, we'll push her out. I'll elevate you-make you the world's top chef, just like you deserve. Then we ditch her for good. But until then... we keep it quiet."

Edna giggled, pulling him closer. "Deal. As long as our little secret stays safe." Their laughter mingled as they kissed again, deeper this time.

Tyla's knees buckled. She gripped the wall to stay upright, the alcohol turning to ice in her veins. This couldn't be real. Sweet Jace-the man from a modest background she'd fallen for, the one she'd sacrificed everything to support. She'd abandoned her own dreams of being a chef after winning the prestigious Bon Appétit competition in France, becoming America's darling of the culinary world. When her father died, he'd willed the entire Parker empire to her-the restaurants that catapulted their family into the top ten richest in the country.

But Jace had convinced her to sign it all over to him in the prenup, claiming it was for "their future." He'd persuaded her to step back from the kitchen, handing the reins to Edna instead. And all this time... he'd been sleeping with her best friend? They had a child together?

Tears blurred her vision as the full weight crashed down. Betrayed by the two people she'd loved most. Tomorrow, she was supposed to marry him.

Silent sobs choking her, Tyla turned away, stumbling toward the exit. The night air hit her like a slap as she pushed through the doors, tears streaming freely now. She was a ghost of herself-shattered, alone.

Lost in grief, she stepped into the street without looking. Headlights flared, a horn blared, and tires screeched.

Would she even make it to the altar to confront him? Or had the betrayal already destroyed everything?

The Rolls-Royce glided to a silent halt. A tall figure emerged from the back seat-broad-shouldered, impeccably dressed, his every movement radiating the quiet authority of a man who commanded empires. His handsome features were sharp yet composed, the kind of face that belonged on the covers of business magazines. He was unmistakably Julian Crestwood, CEO of The Golden Crest, the city's most prestigious restaurant chain and the cornerstone of a powerful, revered family dynasty.

"What's wrong with you, young lady?" he asked, his deep voice carrying genuine concern beneath its natural command.

Tyla Parker turned toward him. Even in her dazed state, the sheer presence of the man-wealth and power distilled into human form-made her breath catch. Then recognition hit her.

"Julian... Julian Crestwood?" she whispered, the name slipping out before she could stop it.

He didn't respond immediately; his phone had already begun to ring. He answered with a curt nod to the caller.

"Speak."

His secretary's voice came through, tense. "Boss, Amber couldn't make it to the office to sign the marriage agreement."

Julian's jaw tightened. "What do you mean she couldn't make it? I had the registry open at this hour-something most people couldn't arrange in a lifetime. Find a replacement. I need someone willing to sign the contract tonight. Now."

He ended the call with a decisive tap.

That was when Tyla spoke, her voice surprisingly steady despite the chaos of the evening. "I'll do it."

Julian paused, turning his piercing gaze fully on her. He studied her for a long moment, as though weighing the sincerity behind her words.

"Are you certain?" he asked, his tone low and firm. "This isn't a decision to make lightly."

"Yes," Tyla replied without hesitation. "I'm ready. I'll sign it now."

He arched a brow. "Your name?"

"Tyla Parker."

Julian gestured subtly to his assistant, who had been waiting discreetly by the car. The man stepped forward at once.

"Run a quick background on Miss Tyla Parker," Julian instructed quietly.

The assistant nodded, tapped efficiently on his tablet, and moments later murmured the results into Julian's ear.

Julian's expression remained unreadable. "Very well. Get in the car."

Tyla obeyed, sliding into the luxurious leather seat. The drive to the registry office was smooth and silent, the city lights blurring past the tinted windows. They signed the papers with clinical efficiency; the officiant, clearly accustomed to accommodating the elite at odd hours, issued the certificate without comment. By the time they returned to the car, exhaustion and the remnants of alcohol overwhelmed Tyla, and she drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

...

When Tyla awoke, soft morning light spilled across an expansive, impeccably arranged bed. The sheets were silk, the room vast and tastefully opulent. For a heartbeat she panicked, clutching the covers to her chest, fearing the worst.

Her eyes landed on Julian, seated in a nearby armchair, a cup of coffee in hand, watching her with calm detachment.

"Relax," he said evenly. "Nothing happened between us last night. You were in no condition for anything but sleep."

Tyla sat up slowly, fragments of the previous night reassembling in her mind. The betrayal. The bar. The Rolls-Royce. The contract.

"We're... actually married now?" she asked, needing confirmation.

"Yes," Julian replied. "I intended to brief you on the terms last night, but you were, understandably, in no state for it. This is a trial marriage-six months."

"A trial marriage?" Tyla echoed, frowning.

"Exactly as it sounds. For the next six months, our marriage remains confidential. After that period, we decide whether to make it public-or dissolve it quietly."

Tyla absorbed his words, then tilted her head. "And the reason for the trial period? You want to... observe me? Make sure I'm not after your money?"

Julian's lips curved in the faintest hint of amusement. "Nothing so cynical, Miss Parker. It's simply practical."

Before she could press further, her phone buzzed on the nightstand. The name on the screen made her stomach twist: Jace.

She stared at it for a second, then answered with forced calm.

"Hello, Jace."

"Tyla, where are you?" His voice was casual, as if last night's betrayal had never happened.

"I got drunk," she lied smoothly. "My sister booked me a room at a lodge. I crashed there."

"Oh, good. Listen, I need a favor."

Tyla's grip tightened on the phone. "Are you at the registry office right now?"

"Of course not. We'll do that another time. Something bigger just came up-The Golden Crest reached out. They want to give us a contract. This could change everything for the restaurant, for us, for Edna too."

Tyla forced a smile he couldn't see. "Of course it could."

"So," Jace continued eagerly, "Edna fractured her wrist last night. She can't cook today. The Golden Crest executives are coming to sample our menu. I need you to step in for her-like you've done before."

Tyla closed her eyes, rage simmering beneath her calm exterior. "How did Edna fracture her wrist, exactly?"

"Now's not the time for questions, Tyla. Just get to the restaurant as soon as you can."

She inhaled slowly. "All right. I'll do it-for us, for Edna, for Parker's."

"Thank you, baby. I knew I could count on you."

Tyla ended the call, a cold, wicked smile curving her lips.

He had no idea what was coming-for him or his mistress.

She might have been a fool once.

But she had learned better.

Miss Parker rose from the bed, smoothing her hair and adjusting her clothes as she prepared to leave for the restaurant. Julian had overheard her conversation with Jace but remained silent on the matter. He was still unraveling the enigma that was his new wife.

"Leaving already?" Julian asked, his voice casual.

"Yes," she replied curtly.

"I'm giving you just three days to move your things here and live with me properly-as husband and wife should."

She turned to face him, her expression inscrutable.

"I thought it's a secret marriage?. No one is supposed to see us together, remember?"

Julian scoffed, setting his coffee cup down on the table with a deliberate clink.

"You are my wife," he whispered, his tone laced with authority. "You should obey your husband. From now on, I'll be keeping a close eye on you. You should have thought twice before signing those papers."

A chill raced down Tyla's spine. Had she made a terrible mistake by marrying him? Yet, even as doubt gnawed at her, she couldn't tear her gaze from his strikingly handsome face. "Understood, hubby," she whispered back, a hint of defiance in her voice.

"Good girl," Julian replied firmly, taking another sip of his coffee.

Tyla sauntered out of the room. One of Julian's guards gestured for her to enter the waiting car. From the window, Julian watched her departure, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other cradling his cup. He had his own preparations to make.

At the restaurant, Tyla Parker-now Tyla Crestwood,stepped into her impeccably organized kitchen. Every ingredient was meticulously arranged, ready for use. She wasn't here to help Edna or her scheming partner Jace. No, this was her chance to reclaim her former glory as a renowned chef.

She had to create a dish that would impress the executives of The Golden Crest, known for their discerning palates-especially the manager and the CEO. Wait... she was married to the CEO. Would Julian be among them today?

"Oh God, what have I gotten myself into?" she muttered.

Rumors painted him as the devil of the culinary world-ruthless and impossible to please. She needed something innovative, far removed from the flavors they were accustomed to. Then it came to her: the one recipe her late father had taught her, Souvenir d'Enfance (Childhood Memory)the very dish that had secured her victory at the prestigious Bon Appétit competition in France.

"Yes," she resolved. "That's the one."

The executives arrived earlier than anticipated. As they settled in, an intoxicating aroma wafted from the kitchen, teasing their senses.

"We can't judge a dish by its aroma alone," Mr. Jackson Crestwood, Julian's father and chairman of The Golden Crest, remarked with a chuckle.

Soon, the plates were presented. Tyla had arranged her creation with the exquisite, signature plating she alone mastered-elegant and evocative, a true work of art.

"Jace, you're about to witness what I'm truly capable of," Tyla thought with a sly inner chuckle.

Edna entered the kitchen, apron tied and a small bandage wrapped around her wrist.

"Hi, Tyla," she said, her greeting dripping with mockery.

"Edna, I hope you win that gold medal again," Tyla shot back sarcastically.

"Thank you, Tyla. One day, I'll repay you for all your 'good deeds,'" Edna replied with a saccharine smile-referring not to kindness, but to her evil intentions towards her.

Tyla curved her lips into a knowing smile. "No need to repay me, Edna. Consider today my gift to you." It was more like a threat but Edna wouldn't think Tyla would do anything to her.

Edna carried the dishes to the executives' table. The plating alone was breathtaking, enough to make mouths water. And the taste-divine. It transported them back in time, evoking the warmth of home and the innocence of childhood. The beef was succulent and moist, melting on the tongue with flavors that lingered like a cherished memory.

Edna watched with smug satisfaction, basking in what she believed was her triumph.

"This brings back the taste of home," Mr. Jackson Crestwood said, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "I can't remember the last time I savored something so comforting."

"This flavor... I've tasted it before, years ago," another executive murmured. "Where...?"

It hit him. "The Bon Appétit competition in France!"

"Ah, yes!" Mr. Crestwood exclaimed. "It was Tyla-the young chef who won that year. Her name escapes me now, but it is unforgettable. Did you create this?" He turned to Edna.

"Y-yes, sir," she stammered.

"Every chef leaves a signature in their cooking-that's what elevates them," Mr. Crestwood continued. "Tell us the name of this dish and share the recipe."

Edna froze. She hadn't anticipated questions. A true chef knows their creation inside out.

"Well... it's called..." she faltered.

Just then, Tyla emerged from the kitchen.