Chapter 2

Cecelia POV: The earthy scent of damp soil and fresh eucalyptus should have calmed me. Emma's Blooms was my safe haven, a quiet little flower shop tucked away in the Chicago suburbs. But today, the familiar environment couldn't wash away the exhaustion clinging to my bones—or the reality of what had happened in Las Vegas. I shoved my left hand deeper into the pocket of my canvas apron. Underneath the thick green fabric, the massive diamond ring felt like a lead weight. I had spent ten minutes in the back room bathroom with liquid soap, frantically trying to pull it off, but the flight and the sheer panic had left my knuckle too swollen. It wouldn't budge. For now, it had to stay hidden. "Cece?" I jumped, spinning around to see my mother, Emma, stepping out from the greenhouse. Her brow furrowed as she took in my pale face and the dark circles under my eyes. "Honey, you look like a ghost. Are you in some kind of trouble?" My heart hammered against my ribs. I couldn't tell her the truth. I couldn't tell her I was legally tethered to a stranger. "Just jet lag, Mom," I managed a weak smile. "And a little... accident in Vegas. It's nothing I can't handle." She studied me for a long moment. I braced myself for the interrogation, but she just sighed softly and nodded, choosing to respect my boundaries. When she went back to the greenhouse, I pulled out my phone with trembling fingers. I opened a browser and typed in the name burned into my memory: Garrick Sinclair. The search results exploded across my screen. My breath hitched. He wasn't just a wealthy stranger. He was the star player for the Chicago Mustangs, splashed across sports pages and tabloids alike. The media called him the "Ice Beast"—a ruthless, cold-hearted force both on the field and off. Staring at his glaring press photo, a chilling realization washed over me. I had somehow collided with a man who lived in a completely different universe. I didn't want his money or his fame. I just wanted my ordinary life back. I decided right then: I would keep this marriage an absolute secret until I figured out a way to quietly undo it.

Garrick POV: I threw my gym bag onto the leather sofa of my penthouse. After a brutal morning practice where my teammates kept asking why I was so off my game, I just wanted to move on from the Vegas disaster. I had shut down their questions in the locker room—my private life wasn't up for discussion. But Marco, my fixer, was already waiting by the kitchen island. He slid a manila folder across the marble counter. "Preliminary background check on your new wife." I grabbed a bottle of water. "Tell me she's a con artist so I can just pay her off." "That's the problem," Marco said, crossing his arms. "Cecelia is a florist. No trust funds, no offshore accounts, no suspicious debts. She doesn't have the profile of a gold digger, Garrick. She has zero motive to get close to you." I frowned, staring at her photo in the file. The investigation directly clashed with my instincts. I thought of the way she had looked at me in the hotel room, the sheer panic in her eyes when she firmly rejected my blank check. For the first time in my life, I couldn't get a read on someone. Before I could process it, my phone buzzed. The caller ID read Chicago Memorial Hospital. Twenty minutes later, I was pacing the sterile, brightly lit hallway of the ER. The suffocating smell of antiseptic clawed at my throat. "I'm sorry, Mr. Sinclair," the doctor murmured, looking down at his clipboard. "Your father passed away shortly before you arrived. Given the sudden nature of his cardiac arrest, there are some inconsistencies. We need to run a few more tests to confirm the exact cause of death." I stared at him, my face a carefully constructed mask of ice, though a violent tremor shook my chest. John Sinclair was dead. The titan who controlled the Sinclair empire, the man I had spent my life fighting, was gone. There were so many bitter words left unsaid between us. "Garrick." I turned to see Davis, the family attorney, stepping out of the shadows. "My condolences," he said smoothly. "I've already secured your father's private files. The arrangements for the estate and the company's controlling shares will be revealed at the will reading tomorrow." "Fine," I said coldly. "There is one more thing," Davis hesitated, adjusting his glasses. "Before I can proceed, I need you to confirm your current marital status." My blood ran cold. "Why?" "Because your father made a highly specific amendment to his trust last week. It hinges entirely on whether you are legally married." I froze. I reached into my jacket pocket, my fingers brushing against the folded copy of the Vegas marriage certificate Marco had handed me earlier. A sickening realization hit me like a freight train. I had thought the wedding was a drunken mistake, a temporary lapse in judgment. I pulled the paper out slightly, my eyes locking onto the ink spelling out Cecelia. She wasn't just a random headache. She was a carefully planted piece on my father's chessboard.