**Chapter 2: The Marriage Gamble** Xaviera Evans stood beneath the sprawling branches of an ancient tree, her silhouette framed by the grand entrance of the Civil Affairs Bureau. She leaned back, eyes narrowed against the midday glare, watching the stream of couples—some glowing with hope, others heavy with regret. She wasn’t here for love. She was here for a transaction. Her father, the cold and calculating Mr. Evans, thought he could auction off her life to secure his grip on the family’s empire. He wanted to use her marriage as a leash to control the Evans Group's shares. But Xaviera was done being a pawn. Today, she would choose her own king. A few yards away, a sleek, obsidian-black car sat idling like a predator in wait. Caleb Mamet leaned against the hood, the very picture of aristocratic impatience. His face, sculpted with sharp, handsome lines, remained a mask of indifference, yet the rhythmic, aggressive tapping of his fingers against his expensive wristwatch betrayed his simmering irritation. The driver, pale and trembling, wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. "Mr. Mamet... I just received word. The Coriell family is still searching for Miss Coriell. She’s... she’s gone missing. If you could just wait a little longer—" "I’ve already waited twenty minutes," Caleb interrupted, his voice a low, icy velvet. He didn’t look up as he adjusted his cufflink. "Tell the Coriells to stop looking. The wedding is canceled." The driver gasped. "But, sir! The old chairman... he was so certain of this alliance. If you walk away now—" "I don't have a hobby for forced marriages," Caleb snapped, his gaze finally lifting, sharp enough to cut. "If she doesn’t want to be here, I certainly don’t need her." "Excuse me for interrupting," a voice drifted over, light yet steady. "But it sounds like your bride has developed cold feet." Caleb turned. Standing there was a woman who looked more like a runaway student than a corporate heiress. She wore an oversized sweatshirt that couldn't hide her slim, graceful frame, her long black hair tied back in a messy, effortless knot. Her skin was porcelain-fair, her features delicate, but it was her eyes—intelligent and daring—that caught his attention. Xaviera offered a small, knowing smile. "It seems we’re in the same boat. My fiancé has also decided to vanish. Since we’re both here to get married and both our partners are missing... what do you say? Shall we marry each other instead?" Caleb raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement dancing in his dark eyes. He gestured for the driver to stay quiet. "I don’t even know your name. Why on earth would I marry a stranger?" Xaviera didn't blink. She stepped closer, the scent of wildflowers following her. "Because if you marry me, you gain 65% of the Evans Group’s shares. Is that a high enough price for your signature?" Caleb’s expression shifted from amusement to intrigue. "I overheard your conversation," she continued, her tone pragmatic. "You need a wife to appease your family. I need a husband to spite mine. It’s a clean, mutual arrangement. Win-win." Before he could dismiss her as a lunatic, she reached into her canvas bag and pulled out a legal document—the share transfer. She held it up, the ink bold and undeniable. "The Evans Group..." Caleb murmured, his eyes scanning her face with renewed intensity. "You’re Xaviera Evans?" Xaviera paused, a hint of surprise crossing her face. "You’ve heard of me?" Caleb didn’t answer immediately. He had heard the whispers. The "country girl" of the Evans family—rumored to be a frail, sickly creature, brainless, vulgar, and constantly trailing a dozen servants just to stay upright. Looking at the vibrant, calculated woman standing before him, he realized the rumors weren't just wrong; they were a smokescreen. Xaviera, used to the silence of rejection from the three other men she’d approached earlier that morning, sighed. One had called her crazy; another had threatened to call the police for fraud. She turned to walk away, ready to scout for the next candidate. Suddenly, a firm hand clamped around her wrist. "Where are you going?" Caleb asked. "Since you aren't interested, I’m going to find someone who is," she replied matter-of-factly. Caleb let out a short, dry laugh. "No need to look any further. I’ll take that deal." Ignoring his driver’s jaw-dropping expression, Caleb turned toward the Bureau’s doors. "Do you have your birth certificate?" Xaviera hurried to catch up with his long strides. "Yes. Everything is ready." She took a breath, her voice softening slightly. "Thank you. And don’t worry—the moment we have that certificate, those shares are yours. You won't regret this." Caleb simply gave her a cryptic smile. "We'll see." Twenty minutes later, the two emerged back into the sunlight. They were no longer strangers; they were Mr. and Mrs. Mamet. In their hands, they held the small, crimson marriage certificates—their shields against the world. The driver looked as though his entire reality had collapsed. "Where to?" Caleb asked, glancing at Xaviera. She was already buried in her phone, her thumbs flying across the screen. "I’ll have the driver drop you off." Without looking up, Xaviera answered calmly, "To your place." Caleb’s eyebrows shot up. "My place?" "I’ve already moved my things out of the Evans house," she explained, finally looking at him. "The plan was to move in with my fiancé today. The partner changed, but the plan remains the same. Unless... you have a problem with your wife living with you?" Caleb looked at the red book in his hand, then back at her. A strange, dangerous glint appeared in his eyes. "No problem at all." The car ride was an exercise in heavy silence. The driver steered the car with trembling hands, feeling as though he were transporting a ticking time bomb. Xaviera, however, seemed perfectly at peace, her focus entirely on her phone—until it erupted into a loud, jarring ringtone. She answered, her voice instantly turning into shards of ice. "What is it?" "What kind of attitude is that?!" A man’s voice roared through the speaker, distorted by rage. "I am your father! Have you no shame? No upbringing? Typical of a girl raised in the dirt of the countryside—" Xaviera leaned back against the leather seat, a cold, triumphant smile playing on her lips as she listened to the man who thought he still owned her. The war had officially begun.