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I turned away, busying myself with the coffee maker. If she only knew it wasn't just one night—it was an accidental marriage followed by a very deliberate night together. But that revelation would have to wait.

"There's something else," she said suddenly, her tone shifting. "You're not telling me everything. When I encouraged you to go to that gala, I meant have fun, maybe flirt a little. But you've gone from professional antagonism to disappearing for two days. What really happened that night?"

I froze, my back to her. Giselle had always possessed an uncanny ability to sense when I was hiding something.

"Harlow." She slid off the stool, coming to stand beside me. "What's really going on?"

I sighed, knowing resistance was futile. "It's more complicated than just sleeping with him."

"How complicated?"

"I can't tell you yet. Not until after the licensing approval." I met her eyes. "I promise I'll explain everything then, but for now, I need you to trust me."

She studied my face for a long moment. "Are you in danger?"

"No. Nothing like that."

"Are you making choices that feel right to you, even if they break your usual rules?"

The question caught me off guard with its perceptiveness. "Yes."

Her expression softened. "Then I trust you. But I want to meet him."

"What?"

"This man who's got you breaking rules and keeping secrets. I want to meet him. Properly. Not just hear about him from society pages."

"Giselle, I can't just—"

"Yes, you can. Call him. Dinner tonight. Neutral territory." Her expression brooked no argument. "I need to see this guy for myself—the one who managed to get my sister from reluctant gala date to overnight guest in less than 48 hours."

I recognized the determination in her stance. There would be no dissuading her. "Fine. One dinner. But we keep things professional in public."

"Cross my heart." She made the childish gesture we'd used since we were kids. "Now call the man who's got my rule-abiding sister breaking protocol and tell him her sister can't wait to meet him."

While I made the call, Giselle wandered through my condo, stopping at my bedroom door. "Can I borrow your coral sweater? The one with the scoop neck?"

"In the second drawer," I called, waiting for Easton's assistant to connect me.

A few moments later, I heard Giselle's voice from my bedroom. "Harlow? What's this?"

I looked up to see her standing in the doorway, holding the cheap chapel-provided band between her thumb and forefinger. The metal had already started to tarnish, a faint greenish tint visible along the edge.

"Holy shit, Harlow." Her eyes widened comically. "You actually married him. This is real."

I ended the call hastily, rushing to take the ring from her. "It's not what you think."

"It's a wedding ring. What else could it be?"

"It's complicated."

"You keep saying that." She folded her arms. "Start explaining."

I sank onto the edge of my bed, suddenly exhausted. "We got drunk after the gala. Ended up at one of those 24-hour wedding chapels. It was a mistake, a drunken accident we're going to fix as soon as the licensing review is complete."

Giselle stared at me for a long moment, then burst out laughing. "You? Harlow 'I-have-a-ten-year-plan' Clarke? Got drunk-married in Vegas?" She collapsed beside me on the bed, shoulders quaking with mirth. "This is the best thing I've ever heard."

"It's not funny," I protested, despite my lips twitching traitorously. "It's a disaster."

"It's hilarious," she countered, wiping tears from her eyes. "And weirdly perfect."

"Perfect? This could destroy my career if anyone at the commission finds out."

"Or it could be the universe kicking you out of your comfort zone." She picked up the ring again, studying it. "Why did you keep this? If it's just a drunken mistake, why not throw it away?"

The question caught me off guard. Why had I kept it? I could have left it in Easton's drawer, thrown it away, melted it down. Instead, I'd asked for it, brought it home, placed it among items I kept safe.

"Evidence," I said weakly. "In case we need to prove the marriage was real for the annulment."

"Bullshit." She placed the ring on my nightstand with deliberate care.

"If this was just about legal evidence, you'd have taken a photo of the marriage certificate.

You wouldn't be keeping a cheap ring that looks like you got it out of a carnival vending machine.

" She studied my face with her artist's precision.

"You kept it because this means something to you. He means something to you."

"That's ridiculous. Four days ago, I considered him my professional adversary."

"And now?"

"Now he's... I don't know." I ran a hand through my hair. "It's complicated."

"You said that already." Giselle sat beside me, her expression softening.

"Look, I'm not here to judge you. I just want to understand what's happening.

One minute you're investigating him, the next you're married to him, then you're sleeping with him.

.. It's a lot of change for someone who color-codes her sock drawer. "

Despite everything, I laughed. "I do not color-code my socks."

"You absolutely do. And your hangers face the same direction. You're the most meticulously organized person I know, which is why this whole situation is fascinating." She nudged my shoulder with hers. "Harlow Clarke, breaking rules and following her heart instead of her rulebook."

"I'm not following my heart," I protested. "I'm... I don't know what I'm doing."

"That's the best part." Giselle's eyes sparkled. "You've spent your entire life following every rule, planning every step. When was the last time you felt truly, messily happy? Not just satisfied with a job well done, but exhilarated?"

The question struck deeper than she could know.

When had I last felt real joy, the kind that bubbles up unexpectedly rather than arrives on schedule?

I thought of Easton's office, of laughter shared over Thai food, of the way he'd looked at me with those storm-gray eyes as if I were precious rather than merely useful.

"I think I'm falling in love with him, Gis," I whispered, the words terrifying in their truth. "And it terrifies me."

"Good." She squeezed my hand. "The best things usually do."

"You don't understand. If the commission finds out—"

"Then you'll figure it out." She stood, pulling me to my feet. "But first, I need to meet this man who's managed to make my rule-abiding sister throw caution to the wind."

***

The commission building's hallways hummed with tension as I made my way to my office that afternoon.

Conversations died when I passed, only to resurface in hushed whispers once I was beyond earshot.

Colleagues who normally greeted me warmly gave tight nods or suddenly became fascinated with their phones.

I caught fragments as I walked—"compromised integrity" and "sleeping with the enemy" and "career suicide."

Each whispered phrase confirmed my fears: word of my collaboration with Easton had spread, and the narrative forming wasn't about innovative oversight. It was about professional impropriety and ethical compromise—exactly what Enzo wanted people to believe.

I kept my expression neutral, my posture straight, refusing to reveal how deeply the whispers cut. Yesterday, these same people had sought my guidance and cited my standards as models.

My office door stood ajar—unusual enough to put me instantly on alert. Inside, I found Camilla waiting, her tailored suit and perfect coif a stark contrast to the turmoil I felt.

"Close the door," she said without preamble.

I complied, taking the seat across from her with carefully constructed composure. "I assume this is about my collaborative oversight approach at the Jade Petal."

"That's what we're calling it now?" Her perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched. "Three commissioners have requested a formal review of your involvement. There's a hearing scheduled for Friday morning."

My stomach dropped, but I kept my expression carefully neutral. "My investigation has been thorough and unbiased. The collaborative approach has already uncovered significant evidence of internal sabotage that traditional methods might have missed."

"So I've heard." She tapped her manicured nails against my desk. "The governor's office is intrigued by the concept of regulatory partnership. They see potential for streamlining oversight while maintaining compliance. It fits their business-friendly agenda for the next legislative session."

And there it was—the real reason behind her unexpected tolerance. Political opportunity.

"Then you'll support my continued involvement?" I asked, meeting her gaze with my own. I'd been told the amber flecks in my hazel eyes became more pronounced when I was determined about something.

"Conditionally." Her gaze sharpened. "You need to make a compelling case at the hearing. Data, results, clear evidence that this approach serves the public interest better than traditional methods."

"I'm preparing comprehensive documentation."

"Good." She paused, studying me with uncomfortable intensity. "Now, about these rumors regarding your personal relationship with Mr. Hardwick..."

My heart rate accelerated, but I kept my expression neutral. "My interactions with Mr. Hardwick have been professional."

"Have they?" She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Because I have reports of you leaving the gala together, spending consecutive nights at the Jade Petal, and working in close quarters with minimal supervision."

"The investigation requires extensive on-site presence," I said firmly. "Particularly given the evidence of internal sabotage."

"Harlow." Her voice softened marginally. "I've supported your career from the beginning because you've always put the commission's integrity first. Whatever is happening between you and Hardwick—professional or otherwise—don't let it compromise everything you've worked for."