The Wall Street Tyrant's Fake Wife

Jalynn stood in front of the mirror in the women's restroom at New York City Hall. She took a deep breath. The harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Her chest rose and fell in rapid, uneven jerks. She pressed her palms flat against the cold porcelain edge of the sink. Her heart hammered against her ribs so hard it made her teeth ache.

She raised her trembling hands to her head. Her thick, wild black hair cascaded down her back in loose waves. She grabbed a fistful of it and twisted it hard. The pull on her scalp sent a sharp sting behind her eyes. She pinned the hair back into a tight, severe low bun. Not a single strand was left out of place.

She reached into her purse and pulled out a rough paper towel. She pressed it against her mouth and scrubbed. The friction burned her skin. The bold, aggressive red lipstick smeared across the white paper like a bloodstain. She kept rubbing until her lips felt raw and swollen. She pulled out a pale, muted pink gloss and applied a thin layer.

She stared at the stranger in the mirror. The woman looking back at her was a perfect imitation, her expression molded into the same submissive, gentle look as Ericka Vance. Deryl Atkins's dead fiancée. A wave of pure, physical nausea hit Jalynn's stomach. Acid burned the back of her throat. She gripped the sink tighter until her knuckles turned completely white.

The image of her father flashed behind her eyes. Silas Horton looked ten years older than he had a month ago. The crushing debt and the looming trust crisis had carved deep, dark hollows into his cheeks. His hands shook every time he held a pen.

Jalynn squeezed her eyes shut. She slapped her own cheeks, the sharp sting forcing her to focus. She opened her eyes and forced the corners of her mouth up. She practiced the smile. It was quiet. It was obedient. It was everything she was not.

She looked down at her clothes. The conservative, cream-colored tweed suit scratched against her collarbones. It felt like a straitjacket. She grabbed her vintage clutch from the counter, pushed open the heavy bathroom door, and stepped out into the hallway.

Her low heels clicked against the marble floor. The sound echoed in the empty corridor. Every step felt like a physical blow to her spine. She was walking toward her own execution.

At the end of the hall, K.C. Fleming stood outside a private waiting room. Deryl's chief assistant was staring down at his expensive watch.

K.C. heard her approaching and looked up. His eyes scanned her conservative suit and her tightly pulled hair. A flicker of surprise crossed his face, followed instantly by a cold, mocking glint in his eyes. He knew exactly what she was doing.

He didn't say a word. He just reached out and pushed the heavy oak door open. He stepped aside, his posture stiff and entirely professional.

Jalynn squeezed the vintage clutch until the metal clasp dug into her palm. She sucked in a breath of stale air and walked into the room that would seal her fate.

The air conditioning inside the waiting room was blasting. The sudden drop in temperature stripped the heat from her skin. A violent shiver ripped through her shoulders.

Deryl Atkins stood with his back to her. The Wall Street titan looked like a statue carved from solid ice. He was staring out the massive floor-to-ceiling window, his broad shoulders blocking the sunlight.

He heard the door close. He turned around slowly. His dark, piercing eyes locked onto her. The gaze felt like a physical weight pressing down on her chest. He scanned her from the top of her tight bun down to her sensible shoes.

Jalynn immediately dropped her chin. She stared at the polished wood floor. She perfectly mimicked the shy, timid posture that Ericka was famous for. She made herself look small.

Deryl didn't speak. He walked straight to the long walnut table in the center of the room. He picked up a thick stack of papers and tossed them onto the surface. The heavy thud echoed in the quiet room.

"Read it," Deryl said. His voice was completely devoid of warmth. It sounded like metal scraping against ice. "Understand your place in this arrangement. Do not attempt to cross the boundaries set in that contract. You are a placeholder. Nothing more."

Jalynn bit down hard on the soft inside of her cheek. The metallic taste of blood flooded her mouth. She kept her head down.

"I understand completely," Jalynn said. Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper. "I don't expect anything else."

She walked to the table. She picked up the heavy Montblanc pen resting next to the papers. She didn't need to read the clauses; she knew they would be designed to humiliate her. All that mattered was the outcome. She flipped straight to the last page and signed her name in quick, fluid strokes.

Deryl narrowed his eyes. He watched her hand move across the paper. The muscles in his jaw flexed as he evaluated the speed of her compliance.

A sharp knock on the door broke the heavy silence. A city clerk walked in, carrying a clipboard and a wide, overly enthusiastic smile.

"Good morning," the clerk said, oblivious to the suffocating tension in the room. "I just need both of your signatures here on the marriage license, with me as your witness."

Deryl took the pen from Jalynn's hand. Their fingers didn't touch. He signed his name with aggressive, sharp strokes. There was no hesitation. No reverence for the act.

He handed the pen back to her. Jalynn took it. Her fingers trembled slightly. She pressed the tip to the paper and signed her life away.

"Congratulations," the clerk said. "You are officially husband and wife." The clerk pulled a small velvet box from his pocket and placed it on the table.

Deryl picked up the box and snapped it open. Inside sat a massive, flawless diamond ring. The symbol of the Atkins family matriarch.

He reached out and grabbed Jalynn's left hand. His grip was rigid. His skin was freezing cold. He shoved the heavy ring onto her ring finger. The metal scraped against her knuckle. It felt like a shackle snapping shut.

Jalynn kept her eyes on the floor. "Thank you," she whispered. She injected the exact right amount of pathetic gratitude into her voice.

Deryl dropped her hand. He didn't even look at her face.

"My lawyers will wire the initial funds to the Horton accounts within the hour," Deryl said, his voice flat. He didn't bother to look at her as he spoke, already turning toward the door. K.C. followed right behind him.

The heavy oak door clicked shut.

Jalynn's shoulders instantly dropped. The fake, timid smile vanished from her face. Her facial muscles ached from the strain.

She lifted her left hand. The massive diamond caught the harsh light of the room and threw cold sparks across the walls. She let out a long, shaky breath. Her chest felt hollow, but her mind was clear. Horton Enterprises was going to survive.

Jalynn pushed the heavy glass doors of City Hall open. The early autumn sun of Manhattan hit her face. The bright light stabbed at her eyes, forcing her to squint.

A sleek, black Porsche 911 was idling at the curb. The engine gave a low, aggressive growl. Audrey Bishop, her best friend, sat in the driver's seat. Audrey slammed her palm against the horn, the loud blast cutting through the street noise.

Jalynn walked fast. She yanked the passenger door open and dropped into the low leather seat. She tossed the vintage clutch into the back. It hit the floorboards with a dull thud.

The second the car door clicked shut, Jalynn reached for her throat. Her fingers dug into the clasp of the tight pearl necklace. She ripped it off. The pearls clattered loudly against the center console. She took a massive breath, her lungs finally expanding all the way.

She reached to the back of her head and pulled the pins out of her hair. The tight bun unraveled. Her thick, dark waves tumbled down over her shoulders. She ran her fingers through the roots, scratching her scalp to get rid of the lingering pain.

Audrey watched her with wide eyes. She reached into the small cooler behind the seat, pulled out a chilled bottle of champagne, and shoved it toward Jalynn.

Jalynn grabbed the bottle. She didn't bother with a glass. She put the cold glass rim to her lips and tipped her head back. The icy liquid burned a path down her throat. The sharp carbonation hit her stomach, finally settling the nausea that had been rolling inside her for hours.

Audrey slammed her foot on the gas pedal. The Porsche shot forward, merging aggressively into the heavy traffic on Fifth Avenue.

"Well?" Audrey asked, keeping her eyes on the road. "How bad was it?"

Jalynn let out a harsh, bitter laugh. She dug into her purse and pulled out the tube of bright red lipstick. She flipped down the sun visor and stared at her reflection. She dragged the bold color across her lips, completely covering the pathetic pink gloss.

"The Wall Street tyrant looked at me like I was a piece of trash stuck to his shoe," Jalynn said. She snapped the lipstick tube shut. "But the money is in the account."

Audrey gripped the steering wheel tighter. "Deryl Atkins is a dangerous man, Jalynn. If he ever finds out you're faking this whole timid act, he will destroy you."

Jalynn rolled down the passenger window. The wind rushed into the cabin, whipping her dark hair around her face. She didn't care.

"I don't give a damn," Jalynn said over the noise of the wind. "As long as my father's life's work is safe, I will pay whatever price I have to."

The Porsche pulled up to the curb in front of an exclusive, unmarked private club on the Upper East Side. A valet in a crisp uniform immediately stepped forward and opened Jalynn's door.

Jalynn and Audrey walked through the heavy velvet curtains into the dimly lit VIP lounge. The air smelled of expensive cigars and leather.

They walked into a private back room. Jalynn kicked off her low, sensible heels. They hit the wall. She dropped onto the deep leather sofa, letting her body sink into the cushions.

A bartender walked in silently, placed two custom martinis on the low glass table, and walked out. The heavy soundproof door clicked shut behind him.

Jalynn grabbed the stem of her martini glass. She held it out. Audrey tapped her glass against it. The crystal rang with a sharp, clear note.

"To the brand new Mrs. Atkins," Audrey said, taking a sip. Her face turned serious. "So, how are you going to handle your Uncle Gideon?"

The moment Gideon's name hit the air, the temperature in Jalynn's eyes dropped. The relaxed posture vanished. Her spine went rigid.

She gripped the glass so hard the stem threatened to snap. Her knuckles turned white.

"That bastard," Jalynn hissed through her teeth. "He teamed up with outsiders to bleed his own brother dry while my father was having heart palpitations."

"Gideon still has the backing of half the board," Audrey warned. "He could launch a hostile takeover by the end of the week."

Jalynn set her glass down on the table. A dangerous, sharp smile spread across her red lips.

"My last name is Atkins now," Jalynn said. The words tasted heavy and powerful on her tongue.

"I'm not just going to use Deryl's money to plug the holes," Jalynn continued. "I'm going to use his title to crush those old foxes until they beg for mercy."

Audrey frowned. "Do you really think Deryl is going to let you use his name to throw your weight around town?"

Jalynn scoffed. "The prenup only says I have to play the good little wife at his family events. It doesn't say a damn thing about what I can do with my legal name outside his house."

Jalynn reached for her phone on the table. The screen lit up with a new message. It was from her father, Silas.

She opened the text. Her eyes scanned the words. Her stomach dropped, and then a hot, violent rage spiked in her chest.

Gideon is here at the house. He brought his lawyers. They are forcing me to sign the equity transfer.

Jalynn shot up from the sofa. Her blood was boiling. She grabbed her black leather jacket from the armrest and shoved her arms into the sleeves.

"The game starts right now," Jalynn said. Her voice was deadly quiet. "I'm going home to teach my dear uncle a lesson in respect."

Audrey grabbed her car keys from the table. "I'm driving. You need an audience for this."

Jalynn marched out of the private room. Her bare feet hit the thick red carpet with heavy, determined steps. The timid, broken girl from City Hall was dead.

The Porsche tires shrieked against the pavement as Audrey slammed on the brakes. The car jerked to a halt in the wide, circular driveway of the Horton family estate in Long Island.

Jalynn threw the passenger door open before the car even fully stopped. Her feet hit the gravel. In one fluid, practiced motion, she gathered her wild hair and twisted it back into a low, neat bun.

She ripped the black leather jacket off her shoulders and tossed it onto the passenger seat. She smoothed down the front of the conservative cream tweed suit. The fabric scratched her skin, but she ignored it.

Audrey watched her from the driver's seat. She shook her head. To go from a raging force of nature back to a delicate flower in less than three seconds was terrifying.

Jalynn walked fast across the manicured lawn. Her low heels dug into the grass. Before she even reached the heavy front doors, the sound of shouting hit her ears. The noise was coming from the study on the first floor.

She pushed the front doors open. They swung wide on silent hinges. She walked straight down the hallway toward the open door of the study.

Jalynn stopped in the doorway. Her eyes swept the room, taking in the physical positions of everyone inside.

Her father, Silas, was slumped back in his heavy leather desk chair. His face was the color of ash. His right hand was clutching his chest, right over his heart. His breathing was shallow and ragged.

Her uncle, Gideon, was leaning over the massive mahogany desk. Both of his hands were planted flat on the wood. He was shouting, pointing a thick finger at a stack of papers sitting right in front of Silas.

Bianca, Gideon's daughter, stood near the bookshelf. She was wearing a ridiculous haute couture dress, her arms crossed over her chest. A nasty, mocking smirk twisted her face.

And standing right next to Bianca was Chuck Larsen. Jalynn's ex-boyfriend. The man who had stolen Horton's trade secrets and handed them to Gideon.

The sight of Chuck's smug, arrogant face made Jalynn's blood physically heat up. A muscle in her jaw ticked. She forced her facial muscles to relax into a blank, unreadable mask.

Jalynn lifted her foot and brought her heel down hard against the hardwood floor. The sharp crack echoed through the room like a gunshot.

Everyone froze. Four heads snapped toward the doorway.

Bianca looked Jalynn up and down. She sneered at the plain tweed suit. "Look who decided to show up. Did you just come from volunteering at a soup kitchen, Jalynn?"

Jalynn didn't even blink at her. Her eyes were locked on Gideon. The air around her felt freezing cold. She walked straight past Bianca, her shoulder brushing past the girl without a second thought.

Gideon stood up straight and scowled. "Step outside, Jalynn. The adults are discussing the survival of this company. This is no place for you."

Jalynn ignored him completely. She walked right up to the desk. She reached out and grabbed the thick stack of papers-the Equity Transfer Agreement.

She lifted the document. Her eyes scanned the top page. The clauses were predatory. They were designed to strip her father of everything. A short, sharp laugh escaped her lips. The sound was dripping with pure disgust.

Jalynn gripped the top of the thick stack with both hands. Her knuckles turned white. She flexed her wrists and pulled her hands in opposite directions.

The thick paper fought back for a second, and then it gave way. A loud, violent tearing sound ripped through the quiet room. She tore the entire stack of documents straight down the middle.

Gideon's eyes bulged out of his head. The veins in his neck popped. "Are you insane?!" he roared. "That was the only money keeping this company out of bankruptcy court!"

Chuck stepped forward, his face red with fake outrage. "Don't be stupid, Jalynn. Horton's cash flow will be completely dead by tomorrow morning."

Jalynn raised her hands. She threw the torn halves of the contract directly at Gideon's chest. The heavy papers hit him and fluttered to the floor like dead leaves.

"Horton Enterprises is not running out of money," Jalynn said. Her voice was calm, steady, and loud. "Our cash flow is going to be stronger than it has ever been."

Bianca let out a loud, shrill laugh. "Are you hallucinating? Where are you going to find tens of millions of dollars in liquid cash today?"

Jalynn didn't look at her. She calmly unclasped her vintage purse. She reached inside and pulled out a single, neatly folded sheet of paper.

She unfolded it and slammed it face-up onto the mahogany desk. The heavy seal of the New York City Hall caught the light.

Gideon frowned. He leaned over and snatched the paper off the desk. His eyes scanned the text. When his gaze hit the line for the spouse's name, his breath hitched. A loud gasp ripped from his throat.

Chuck and Bianca crowded behind him to look. Chuck's face instantly drained of all color. He looked like he had just been punched in the stomach.

Jalynn tilted her chin up. A cold, razor-sharp smile touched her lips.

"I am legally Mrs. Deryl Atkins," Jalynn said. The words hit the room like a bomb.

She pointed a finger straight at the door. "Now take your people and get out of my house, Gideon. Unless you want the Atkins family legal team to explain the concept of trespassing to you."

Gideon started sweating. Thick drops formed on his forehead. He knew the terrifying power of the Atkins conglomerate. He dropped the paper back onto the desk. He ground his teeth together so hard the sound was audible.

Without a word, Gideon spun around and marched out of the room. Chuck and Bianca practically ran after him, their footsteps frantic and panicked.

The front door slammed shut in the distance.