Page 33 of Hitched to My Enemy
"Keep telling yourself that." Her expression softened. "Maybe this marriage isn't fake anymore, Harlow. Maybe it never was."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means there are no accidents in Vegas," she said cryptically. "Only chances the universe gives us to be honest about what we really want."
Before I could respond, Easton returned, his expression tight with concern.
"Everything okay?" I asked, professional instincts immediately alert.
"Torres called. The trap is set." His eyes met mine with significant meaning. "The document is in place, security protocols active."
"Now we wait," I said, the investigator in me taking over despite the personal complications swirling around us. We'd discussed the trap earlier that day—planting falsified financial documents in Easton's private safe that would only interest someone looking for evidence of misconduct.
"Now we wait," he agreed. "And hope we're wrong about who'll take the bait."
After dinner, Giselle hugged me tightly, whispering, "He's a keeper, sis. Whether you meant to catch him or not."
As I watched her leave, I found myself at a crossroads I'd never anticipated. Behind me lay the structured, predictable life I'd carefully built. Ahead, a path filled with complications and uncertainties—but also with possibilities I'd never allowed myself to imagine.
I returned to Easton's penthouse that evening, part of me still marveling at how natural it felt to step into his private space—the minimalist luxury of his design choices reflecting the understated elegance of the Jade Petal itself. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the Strip, the emerald glass panels of his casino gleaming among the city lights below.
I felt his arms wrap around me the moment the elevator doors closed.
"Rough day?" he murmured, his lips finding my temple.
"The worst," I admitted, allowing myself to lean into his strength. "Enzo ambushed me at the commission. There's an emergency hearing scheduled for Friday."
He pulled back enough to study my face. "What do you need from me?"
The simple question—focused on my needs rather than his agenda—undid something inside me. I reached up, tracing the line of his jaw, marveling at how this man who had once been my professional nemesis now felt like an ally I couldn't imagine facing this battle without.
"Just this," I whispered, rising on my toes to kiss him.
What began as comfort quickly transformed into heat. His hands slid beneath my blazer, warm against the silk of my blouse. Mine found the buttons of his shirt, needing to feel his skin against my fingertips. We stumbled toward the bedroom, shedding clothing as we went, our bodies remembering the lessons of the previous night.
His phone rang as we reached the bed, the shrill sound cutting through our shared desire.
"Ignore it," I breathed against his neck.
"I can't." He pulled away reluctantly, reaching for his phone. "It's the security office."
I sat up, instantly alert. He put the call on speaker, Carmen Torres's voice filling the room. As the Jade Petal's head of security, she ran a tight operation that made this breach all the more concerning.
"Sir, someone just accessed your private safe. Used the executive override code."
Easton's eyes met mine, all desire replaced with sharp focus. "Do you have visual?"
"Yes sir. Security footage shows Bryce Delacroix entering your office at 11:42 PM, accessing the safe at 11:47. He photographed the documents with his phone, then replaced them exactly as they were."
The confirmation landed like a physical blow. Bryce. Easton's oldest friend, his right-hand man, the person who'd stood beside him through every triumph and setback.
"Send the footage to my private server," Easton instructed, his voice remarkably steady despite the betrayal unfolding before us. "Lock down access to all financial systems. Change the executive codes. No one gets in or out without my direct authorization."
"Already done, sir."
After he ended the call, Easton stood motionless in the center of the room, still shirtless, his expression utterly blank. I'd seen that look before—the shock of someone whose world had just imploded.
"Easton," I said softly, approaching him carefully. "I'm so sorry."
