Marcus Blackwood's office occupied the entire top floor of the Blackwood Tech tower, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city. Today, that view was completely lost on him as he paced behind his desk, phone pressed to his ear. The leather of his expensive Italian shoes made soft clicking sounds against the marble floor.

"You're certain about this, James?" He pinched the bridge of his nose, the scent of his custom cologne lingering in the air. "The entire deal could hinge on my marital status? That's..." He caught his reflection in the window and straightened his tie automatically, the silk sliding smoothly between his fingers. "Yes, I understand the cultural implications. Thank you for the intel."

Hanging up, Marcus stood still for a long moment, mind already racing through potential solutions like lines of code. He needed a wife. Temporarily. Someone intelligent enough to play the part convincingly, sophisticated enough to navigate high-society functions, and practical enough to understand this was strictly business.

A woman's face flickered through his mind - the one who had performed at the Symphony Hall Charity Gala three months ago. Unlike the usual socialites who frequented such events, she'd caught his attention with her quiet self-possession. During their brief conversation at the after-party, she'd demonstrated a sharp wit and refreshing directness, without the usual flirting or hints about her relationship status.

Now, standing in his office at 9 PM on a Tuesday, Marcus did something he rarely did: acted on impulse. He picked up his phone again.

"Sandra, get me her contact information. Yes, the one from the Charity Gala. And clear my schedule for tomorrow evening."

The private dining room at Le Petit Jardin was exactly what Marcus needed – discrete, elegant, and most importantly, soundproof. The soft strains of a violin played in the background as the woman arrived right on time. Marcus's steely eyes swept over her figure, noting how she wore the same quiet confidence he remembered, triggering an unwelcome wave of heat from his neck to the tips of his ears.

He stood, gallantly pulling out her chair with a soft scraping sound against the hardwood floor. Returning to his seat across from her, he felt one last moment of hesitation – a rare occurrence for the decisive CEO. But the contract was too important.

Treat it like a business deal, Marcus.

"Well, you probably know who I am. Marcus Blackwood. We met at a charity event," he began, his voice maintaining the controlled tone he used in board meetings.

A waiter appeared beside them like a silent shadow. "Just the wine for now, 1982 Lafite Rothschild, thank you," he said with a regal nod, dismissing the staff without so much as a glance. His focus remained fixed on her face, studying her reaction.

"I need a wife," he said bluntly, then immediately regretted not leading up to it more carefully. "A *temporary* wife," he clarified, reaching for his briefcase with a leathery creak. "As for the arrangement, I've prepared a contract outlining the terms. It includes a substantial compensation package, of course, as well as provisions for maintaining the illusion of our relationship."

He slid the document across the table, the paper making a soft rustling sound as it moved between them.

"Do you agree? You just need to sign."