Chapter 3 The Registry of Lies

The morning sun over London was pale and indifferent, filtering through the high windows of the Westminster Register Office. Pearl Lawrence stood by the heavy oak doors, her fingers twisting the strap of her handbag. She had barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Julian’s smirk or her grandmother’s stern face.

She had dressed with calculated simplicity—a cream-colored tailored suit that screamed authority rather than "bride." This wasn't a wedding; it was a merger.

"He won't show," she whispered to herself. Why would he? She had picked a stranger out of a bar like a stray kitten. For all she knew, "Gabriel Martins" was a fake name, and he was currently halfway to Manchester with a story about a crazy rich woman who tried to buy him.

Then, the bell above the door chimed.

Pearl’s breath hitched. Gabriel walked in, and for a moment, the bustling lobby seemed to go silent. He had traded his hoodie for a suit that looked… well, it looked like it came from a high-street department store. It was slightly too stiff, the fabric clearly a cheap polyester blend, but on him, it looked like Armani. He carried himself with a terrifyingly natural grace that the cheap clothes couldn't hide.

"You’re late," Pearl said, masking her relief with a sharp tone. She checked her diamond-encrusted watch. "It’s 8:05."

Gabriel offered a sheepish, lopsided grin. "The bus was running behind. I thought about taking a taxi, but I figured I should start saving my allowance early."

Pearl rolled her eyes, though her heart gave a traitorous little flutter at the sound of his voice. "Let’s get this over with. My lawyer is inside with the witnesses. Remember: one year. You get a room in my villa, a modest stipend, and in return, you are the devoted, quiet husband of Pearl Lawrence. No scandals, no trouble."

"And no feelings," Gabriel added, his dark eyes locking onto hers. "You made that very clear last night."

"Good. As long as we understand each other."

As they walked toward the inner sanctum, Gabriel felt the weight of the burner phone in his pocket. It had been vibrating all morning with frantic messages from Marcus Reed, his Chief of Operations.

“Sir, the board is losing their minds. The merger was 90% complete. Why are we pulling out? Where are you?”

Gabriel ignored it. For the first time in ten years, he felt alive. Since taking over the Martins Group at twenty-one, every person he met wanted something from his bank account. But Pearl? She wanted him—or at least, the version of him she thought was a struggling nobody. She wanted to "take care" of him. The irony was delicious.

The ceremony was clinical. A few words from the registrar, the scratching of pens on parchment, and the cold exchange of two simple gold bands Pearl had purchased on her way there.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the registrar said with a practiced smile. "You may kiss the bride."

Pearl stiffened. She hadn't accounted for this part. She turned to Gabriel, ready to offer a polite cheek, but he was faster. He stepped into her space, his hand finding the small of her back. His touch was warm, sending a jolt of electricity through her tailored jacket.

He leaned down, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that was supposed to be for show, but felt dangerously real. It tasted of mint and unspoken secrets. Pearl’s eyes widened, her hands instinctively clutching his lapels.

When he pulled away, he whispered, "Just making it look convincing for the witnesses, Mrs. Martins."

Pearl cleared her throat, her face flushed a deep crimson. "Don't call me that. In the office, I am Director Lawrence. In the house, I am Pearl. Now, let’s go. I have a company to save."

An hour later, they arrived at Pearl’s luxury villa in Kensington. It was a glass-and-marble masterpiece that smelled of expensive candles and success.

"This is your home now," Pearl said, gesturing to the sprawling living room. "My housekeeper, Mrs. Hudson, will show you to the guest wing. I’ve already had a few sets of clothes delivered for you—better quality than… whatever that is you’re wearing."

Gabriel looked at his polyester sleeve and smiled. "Thank you, Pearl. You’re very generous."

"It’s not generosity; it’s branding. If the press sees you, you can't look like you’re struggling." She paused, her expression softening for just a fraction of a second. "There’s food in the kitchen. Make yourself comfortable. I have to go to the office. Julian is likely trying to lock me out of my own server by now."

As soon as her white Porsche roared out of the driveway, Gabriel’s demeanor changed. The "humble" look vanished, replaced by the cold, calculating gaze of a man who controlled 85% of the UK’s economy.

He pulled out his phone and hit speed-dial.

"Marcus," Gabriel said, walking toward the balcony that overlooked the private gardens.

"Sir! Thank God," Marcus’s voice crackled with relief. "Where are you? We have the meeting with the French delegation in an hour."

"Cancel it. I’m working remotely for the foreseeable future. Also, I need a full financial audit on a company called Pearly Fashion Accessories."

There was a silence on the other end. "The accessories brand? The one owned by the Lawrence family? Sir, that’s a small fish compared to our usual interests."

"That 'small fish' is owned by my wife," Gabriel said, his voice dropping an octave.

"Your… your what?"

"You heard me. And Marcus? Find out who Julian Thorne is. He’s been bothering her. I want a list of every debt he owes, every secret he’s hiding, and every contract his family is currently bidding for."

"Sir, are you planning a hostile takeover?"

Gabriel watched the sunset through the glass, his reflection looking like a predator in wait. "No. I’m planning a gift. Julian Thorne tried to take her empire. I’m going to make sure he doesn't even have a chair to sit on by the time I’m done with him."

"And the lady, sir? Does she know who you are?"

Gabriel looked at the gold band on his finger. "She thinks I’m a charity case. She thinks she’s the one protecting me." He let out a low, dark chuckle. "Let her believe it for now. It’s been a long time since anyone tried to fight for me. I think I’d like to see how she does it."

He hung up and turned back toward the house. He had a "YouTube recipe" to study. If he was going to be the perfect house husband, he had to make sure the steak was perfect when the CEO came home.