Chapter 2 No.2

Cara stepped toward the curb, lifting an amused eyebrow at her phone. "Joker? Did you finally get traced trying to mine crypto on your school's mainframe again?"

"Worse! A billion times worse!" Julian wheezed through the speaker, clearly pacing over crushed gravel. "I'm at Auden Academy. I got into a fight!"

Cara paused, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. Auden Academy was the crown jewel of Upper East Side prep schools-a neo-Gothic fortress built exclusively for old generational dynasties, senatorial bloodlines, and hedge fund royalty.

"A physical fight?" Cara mused. "With your keyboard-warrior upper body strength, you actually threw hands?"

"I didn't throw hands, I threw my custom noise-canceling headset!" Julian yelled hysterically. "The kid's nose leaked a little blood, and now his mother-who happens to sit on the board of trustees-is in the Dean's office demanding my public execution!"

"So wipe their disciplinary server," Cara suggested casually. "You have the backdoor exploit."

"There's no time! The Dean has me trapped in his office right now," Julian panicked. "They're demanding a parent show up, but mine are in Geneva. If my uncle finds out... Nemesis, I'm dead. He's a complete psycho-he'll literally murder me!"

A vague mental image of an uptight, balding corporate tyrant crossed Cara's mind.

"So what's your play, kid?"

"You have to come!" Julian begged, bargaining with desperate speed. "You have to pose as my family! Tell them you're my new aunt! The one who just married my uncle in secret! Nobody in high society has seen her yet anyway!"

Cara nearly choked on the crisp night air. "An aunt? Are you entirely out of your mind?"

"Please! I'll transfer my entire allowance for the next six months! I'll buy you that limited-edition mechanical keyboard you wanted!" Julian wailed. "Auden Academy, 79th and Madison. Just walk in and look intimidating!"

Standing under the streetlamp with Hailie's toxic text still burning in her mind, Cara knew going home to an empty apartment would be miserable. Putting some prep school snobs in their place for her gaming buddy sounded like the perfect way to blow off steam.

"Give me twenty minutes," Cara said.

A jubilant shriek blasted through the speaker before Cara terminated the call. She hailed a yellow taxi, slid into the backseat, and watched the Manhattan skyline blur past her window.

Twenty minutes later, Cara walked through the heavy wrought-iron gates of Auden Academy.

Under the Gothic stone archway, a teenage boy in a rumpled navy blazer was pacing back and forth, chewing his thumbnail and frantically checking his phone.

Cara walked up and stopped a few feet away.

"Joker?"

The kid snapped his head up. He recognized the cool, sharp voice instantly, but as his eyes scanned her-taking in the high-waisted tailored trousers, the silk blouse, and the drop-dead gorgeous woman standing under the lamplight-his jaw dropped. He just stared, completely frozen.

"Nemesis...?" Julian's voice cracked. "Wait. This is what you look like?!"

Cara raised an amused eyebrow. "What were you expecting? Sweatpants and thick glasses?"

"I thought you were a regular computer nerd!" Julian babbled, his brain short-circuiting as he looked her up and down. "Why do you look like a CEO who buys hedge funds for fun?! You're literally terrifyingly hot!"

"Shut up, Joker," Cara said dryly, flicking his forehead. "Brief me on the script before I change my mind and leave you to the wolves."

"Right, right-operational briefing!" Julian babbled frantically, dragging her down the mahogany-paneled corridor. "First, real-world protocol: my actual name is Julian Kensington. The kid whose face met my headset is Mark Croft, and his mother is an insufferable snob on the board of trustees."

Cara gave him a sharp sideways look. "Julian Kensington? As in... the Kensington shipping dynasty?"

"Yeah, generational wealth, whatever," Julian brushed it off with a desperate wave. "More importantly: what's your real name so I don't accidentally call you 'Nemesis' in front of the Dean?"

"Cara. Cara Lewis."

"Great. Aunt Cara, your new husband-my terrifying uncle-is Beck Greer. You guys supposedly eloped quietly last month."

"Beck Greer?" Cara stopped dead in her tracks, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor.

The name hit her like a headline on a Bloomberg terminal. "As in... Greer Global Holdings? The Wall Street titan?"

"Yeah, that Greer," Julian urged, tugging her sleeve toward the heavy double doors labeled Dean of Students. "Just remember: the man is a pathological germaphobe who hasn't let a woman within three feet of him in a decade. But don't worry, he's never in town anyway!"

Inside, the tension was suffocating.

Behind a massive walnut desk sat Dean Peterson, sweating profusely in his tweed suit. On the leather chesterfield to the left sat Mrs. Croft, draped in pastel Chanel and radiating generational arrogance, hovering over her sniffling son.

Every eye snapped toward the door.

Dean Peterson adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, frowning. "Julian, who is this young woman?"

Julian took a deep breath, puffing out his chest while gripping Cara's elbow. "This is my aunt! My uncle Beck's new wife!"

Cara smoothly stepped into the light, letting a radiant, flawlessly composed smile curve her lips.

"Good evening, Dean Peterson. Mrs. Croft," Cara said, her voice dropping into an immaculate, aristocratic cadence. "Apologies for the delay. Manhattan traffic was atrocious."

She took the leather armchair opposite the Dean, crossing her slender legs with lethal elegance.

Cara looked over at Mark Croft, who was holding an ice pack and quietly sipping a juice box.

"A broken nose from a plastic gaming headset?" Cara asked, her tone dry and completely unimpressed. "Mrs. Croft, if Julian had actually attacked your son, the boy would be in an ambulance right now, not sitting comfortably on the sofa drinking apple juice."

Dean Peterson shifted uncomfortably behind his walnut desk, wiping the sudden sweat from his forehead.

Mrs. Croft shot to her feet, her face mottled with fury. "How dare you interrogate my son! Peterson, call campus security immediately and have this imposter thrown off school grounds-"

A sharp, heavy knock rattled the oak doors.

The administrative secretary cracked the door open, her voice trembling violently. "Dean Peterson... Mr. Greer is here."

The heavy double doors swung open, and Beck Greer stepped into the office.

He wore a tailored charcoal suit, his broad shoulders and quiet presence instantly shifting the entire room's gravity. His cold blue eyes swept across the space, taking in the terrified Dean, his pale nephew, and finally... Cara.

Cara's pulse spiked for a single second.

It was him.

The man from the restaurant lobby-the stranger she had literally told to get out of her way less than thirty minutes ago.

Julian's terrifying Wall Street uncle wasn't out of town. He was standing right in front of her.

A sharp realization hit her: this man had watched her entire breakup from the mezzanine. He knew she was single, knew she had just dumped her ex, and knew this secret marriage was a complete, fabricated lie.

If he denied it, campus security would drag her out for fraud.

Most people would have broken under his stare. But Cara Lewis didn't do fear.

As Beck's eyes locked onto hers with quiet, unreadable amusement, Cara made a split-second, reckless calculation: If I'm going down, I'm taking the titan down with me.

She didn't flinch. She didn't look away.

Instead, Cara rose gracefully to her feet, closed the distance between them, and smoothly slipped her arm through Beck Greer's left arm, pressing close against the warm wool of his jacket.

Beck's entire frame stiffened instantly, the muscle beneath his sleeve turning to rock. Julian squeezed his eyes shut in pure horror, practically bracing for his germaphobic uncle to violently throw her across the room.

Cara tilted her chin up, meeting Beck's stunned, icy gaze with the most dazzling, helplessly sweet pout she could muster.

"Honey," Cara murmured, her voice dripping with affectionate reproach. "What took you so long? Julian and I were being bullied."

The entire room froze in absolute terror.

Julian stared at his gaming partner, his jaw practically hitting the Persian rug.

Beck looked down. His glacial blue eyes traced the delicate hand resting securely on his bicep, then moved slowly upward to meet her defiant, mischievous amber gaze.

He remembered her fire in the restaurant foyer. He had reviewed her entire financial file on his tablet five minutes ago in the back of his Maybach.

One beat. Two beats.

Then, before anyone could breathe, Beck lifted his large, calloused right hand and gently covered Cara's fingers, lightly stroking her knuckles with deep, possessive familiarity.

"My apologies, darling," Beck's deep, velvety baritone rumbled through the quiet room. "Traffic was heavier than expected."

He turned his chilling gaze toward the sweating Dean.

"Now," Beck said softly, the quiet tone infinitely more terrifying than a roar. "Who in this room had the audacity to touch my wife?"