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"If you have specific allegations, Mr. Ricci, I suggest presenting them through proper channels," she said coolly.

"Allegations?" Enzo laughed, pulling a manila folder from his briefcase. "My dear investigator, I don't deal in allegations. I deal in documentation."

He opened the folder with theatrical flourish, revealing surveillance photographs. Even from across the table, I could make out images of Harlow and me dancing at last night's gala, leaving the hotel together, standing close enough to suggest intimacy.

"Fascinating evening you two shared," Enzo continued conversationally. "Though these particular images raise questions about the gaming commission's commitment to impartial oversight."

Harlow leaned forward, studying the photographs with detachment. "Those images show two adults at a public event engaging in legal social interaction."

"Social interaction." Enzo savored the phrase like fine wine. "Because my sources suggest your 'social interaction' continued well into the early morning hours, visiting some rather... colorful... establishments around the Strip."

Adrenaline spiked through my veins. If he had photographs from the chapel, if he possessed any documentation of our marriage, both our careers would detonate instantly.

"Your sources are welcome to document any illegal activity they witnessed," I said carefully. "Though I suspect you'll find two adults having dinner and visiting publicly accessible venues hardly constitutes scandal."

"Perhaps not." Enzo's smile widened. "Though I imagine the gaming commission might view their lead investigator's... enthusiasm... for Vegas nightlife differently. Particularly when that enthusiasm involves the very subject of her investigation."

The threat crystallized—he could destroy Harlow's reputation without ever mentioning marriage, simply by painting her as unprofessional and compromised. The commission would have no choice but to remove her from my case after a very public censure that would shadow her entire career.

"What do you want?" I asked bluntly.

"Easton—" Harlow started, but I held up a hand. This was business now, and business was something I understood better than anyone in this room.

"Want?" Enzo's expression projected innocent surprise.

"I want what's best for Las Vegas, naturally.

Stable markets, ethical business practices, public confidence in our regulatory systems." He leaned back, fingers steepled like a man holding all the cards.

"I'd hate for rumors of impropriety to undermine any of those important foundations. "

"And how would you propose preventing such unfortunate rumors?" Harlow asked, her voice carrying arctic chill.

"Oh, I'm sure we could reach some mutually beneficial arrangement.

" Enzo's attention shifted between us like a shark circling wounded prey.

"Perhaps a delay in the Jade Petal's final licensing while these concerning photographs are.

.. properly contextualized. Maybe a more thorough investigation into Mr. Hardwick's business practices, conducted by investigators who haven't been compromised by personal relationships. "

Each word hit like a physical blow. He was offering to bury the photographs in exchange for destroying everything I'd worked to rebuild. Delay the licensing, sabotage my opening, drive away investors already nervous about regulatory approval.

"You bastard," I said quietly.

"Business is business, Hardwick. Nothing personal.

" His smile revealed perfect, predatory teeth.

"Though I admit curiosity about exactly how personal your relationship with Ms. Clarke has become.

My sources suggest there were some rather interesting developments after you left my photographer's range. "

He was fishing, probing to determine exactly how compromised we were. If he had proof of our marriage, he would have produced it already. But his continued exploration meant we might have a chance to control the damage.

I looked at Harlow, seeing my own recognition reflected in her eyes. We were balanced on a razor's edge, one wrong word from mutual annihilation.

"I think this meeting is over," Harlow said, rising with regal composure.

"Mr. Ricci, if you have specific allegations about regulatory violations, you're welcome to file formal complaints through appropriate channels.

Otherwise, I suggest focusing on your own establishments rather than manufacturing conspiracy theories. "

"Oh, this is far from over," Enzo called as we moved toward the door. "I think you'll find that interesting developments have a way of surfacing at the most inconvenient times. The question is whether you want to control the narrative or let it control you."

The conference room door closed behind us with finality. Harlow and I walked in silence toward the elevator, both processing the magnitude of the threat we faced.

"He doesn't have proof," Harlow said quietly as the elevator doors closed. "About the marriage. He's fishing."

"But he has enough to destroy your career anyway," I replied. "Those photographs, spun correctly, would be enough to get you removed from my case and probably suspended pending investigation."

"I know." Her voice remained steady, but I could see the fear beneath her armor. "The question is: what are we going to do about it?"

As the elevator carried us back toward my penthouse, I realized our situation had fundamentally shifted.

We were no longer dealing with a private mistake that could be quietly corrected.

We were trapped in a high-stakes political game where our accidental marriage might be the only thing standing between us and complete destruction.

"We're going to fight," I said finally. "Together."

The word carried implications neither of us was ready to fully examine. But as I looked at Harlow—brilliant, fierce, standing beside me despite every reason to run—I realized that somewhere between the chapel and this moment, our fake marriage had started to feel like something worth protecting.

Even if it destroyed us both.

"Just remember," she said as the elevator climbed toward my penthouse, "this is still temporary."

"Of course," I agreed, though the conviction in my voice wasn't quite what it had been an hour ago. "Completely temporary."

But the way she looked at me when she said it—like she was trying to convince herself as much as me—suggested that we were both starting to realize that maybe some complications were worth keeping.

Even the ones that threatened to ruin everything we'd ever worked for.