I Never Actually Married My Husband – Agreeing to the Marriage Alliance [Your account was charged 198,888 dollars at The Zenthian Hotel.] When Vivian Grant saw the charge notification on her phone, she first froze, then a wave of indescribable sweetness washed over her. Today was her third wedding anniversary with Quentin Lowell. That man. He always said they were an old married couple and didn’t need all those flashy formalities, but behind her back, he had prepared such a huge surprise for her. Vivian Grant’s heart skipped a beat, and a smile she couldn’t hide spread across her face. She immediately dropped her phone and rushed into the walk-in closet. After a flurry of activity getting ready, she flung the door open, grabbed her bag, and joyfully hurried off to embrace this belated romance. The car pulled up to the magnificent, glittering entrance of The Zenthian Hotel.
Vivian Grant, holding up the hem of her dress, was about to walk inside in her high heels. “Stop!” Two uniformed security guards extended their arms, blocking her way. “Miss, President Lowell has booked the entire hotel today to celebrate his third anniversary with his wife. We are not admitting any outside guests.” Vivian Grant smiled gently. “I am Mrs. Lowell.” At her words, the guard reacted as if he’d heard the funniest joke in the world. His eyes scanned Vivian Grant rudely from head to toe. “You?” “Listen, lady, there’s a time and place for daydreaming. This isn’t where you belong.” “We’ve already seen President Lowell’s wife. She’s the eldest daughter of the Jennings family. How could it possibly be someone as shabby-looking as you?” The color drained from Vivian Grant’s face, and her heart sank. ‘The eldest daughter of the Jennings family?’ ‘Evelyn Jennings? The childhood sweetheart Quentin Lowell grew up with?’ A powerful sense of unease gripped her heart, but she forced herself to remain calm.
She took the small, red booklet she had treasured for three years from her bag and handed it over. “It’s written here as clear as day. My name is Vivian Grant, and my husband is Quentin Lowell.” “We registered our marriage three years ago. I am the real Mrs. Lowell!” The guard took the marriage certificate suspiciously and opened it. The next second, as if he had seen something utterly ridiculous, he burst into an earth-shattering roar of laughter. “HA HA HA HA HA HA!” He laughed so hard he was doubled over, pointing at the marriage certificate with tears welling in his eyes. “I’m telling you, if you’re going to fake a document, at least make it look real!” “It doesn’t even have an official seal! You dare to show up with a piece of scrap paper and pretend to be Mrs. Lowell?” “Are you out of your mind?!” ‘An official seal?’ Vivian Grant’s mind went completely blank with a loud BUZZ. She snatched her marriage certificate back, her trembling fingers tracing the blank space below the photo. The spot where the official seal should have been was perfectly smooth.
There was nothing there. ‘How could there be no seal?’ “Get lost! Get the hell out of here!” The guard shoved her impatiently. “If you don’t leave now, I’m calling the police!” Vivian Grant staggered from the push, twisting her ankle in her high heel and falling in a miserable heap onto the cold steps. All around her, there was hushed pointing and mocking laughter. ‘There must be some kind of misunderstanding!’ ‘I have to find Quentin Lowell and get to the bottom of this!’ She went around to the back of the hotel, slipping inside with a food delivery truck and sneaking through the greasy back kitchen. The magnificent, glittering banquet hall was right in front of her. Just as she reached out to push the door open, a peal of laughter from within stopped her. Vivian Grant hesitated before pulling her hand back. Through the crack in the door, she saw a dazzling crystal chandelier and heard the strains of elegant music.
The long dining table was filled with people. And at the head of the table sat her husband, Quentin Lowell. He was wearing a perfectly tailored, custom-made suit today, which made him look even more handsome and dashing. But his eyes, usually so gentle and full of smiles, were now focused intently on the woman in his arms. That woman, dressed in a fiery red gown, was stunningly beautiful. It was Evelyn Jennings. “Poor Quentin. Having to lower himself to be with some pauper for five years, all for a piece of research!” “More than just ‘be with her.’ He tricked her with a fake marriage license and played the part of a loving husband for three years!” Quentin Lowell raised his glass. “What do you guys know? Vivian Grant holds the most advanced anti-cancer technology. Once it’s ready for market, the company’s stock value will multiply several times over!” “It’s just been hard on Evelyn.” One of his buddies shot Quentin a knowing look. “You’d better make it up to her tonight, Quentin, or you’ll be in the doghouse!” Evelyn Jennings, the center of attention, gave the person next to her a gentle push, a bashful smile on her face. “Oh, stop it, you guys.” She looked up, her gaze fixed on Quentin Lowell’s perfect jawline. “Quentin, the five years are almost up.
When are you finally going to tell Vivian Grant that this whole thing has been a lie?” Outside the door, the blood in Vivian Grant’s veins seemed to freeze solid. ‘A lie?’ She clamped a hand over her mouth, terrified of making a sound and alerting the people inside. She watched as a flicker of silence crossed Quentin Lowell’s handsome face at Evelyn Jennings’s words. He swirled the wine in his glass before speaking. “Let’s wait a little longer.” That momentary silence was enough to set Evelyn Jennings off. She shot upright, pulling away from his embrace, her beautiful eyes filled with suspicion and accusation. “Wait? Why wait?” “Quentin Lowell, tell me the truth. Have you fallen in love with her?” A complex emotion, too quick to be identified, flashed through Quentin Lowell’s deep-set eyes. He spoke quickly, his voice low and cold. “No. I just thought that if we’re going to end the game, it would be more interesting to do it on a special day, wouldn’t it? Next week is the first anniversary of our child’s death.” “On that day, I will tell her everything.” ‘Child…’ Even the rowdy friend who had been joking earlier was stunned for a second.
Then he clicked his tongue. “Fuck, Quentin Lowell, you’re a ruthless one!” “Personally arranging a car crash to get rid of your own child, and now you’re going to tell his mother on the first anniversary of his death that his father never loved her?” “Tsk, tsk. It’s not enough to kill, you have to crush their spirit too. Man, I’m not even in the same league as you.” BOOM— Vivian Grant felt as though a bolt of heavenly lightning had crashed down upon her, leaving her utterly shattered. A year ago, she had ecstatically shown Quentin Lowell the positive pregnancy test, telling him he was going to be a father. She remembered how he had been as happy as a child, spinning her around in his arms. But not two days later, she was in a car accident on her way home from work. She lost the baby. Lying in the hospital, she cried until she was heartbroken.
Quentin Lowell had held her, his eyes red, looking completely grief-stricken—as if he were in even more pain than she was. ‘So it had all been his design.’ ‘It was all fake.’ Inside the banquet hall, a satisfied smile finally spread across Evelyn Jennings’s face after hearing Quentin Lowell’s plan. She snuggled back into Quentin Lowell’s arms, her voice sickeningly sweet. “Now, that’s more like it.” “Once you come clean to that cheap wife of yours, we can start trying for a baby. I want to have your baby, too.” Vivian Grant couldn’t hear the rest. Her world was spinning, and a sharp ringing was the only thing she could hear. ‘Five years together, a three-year marriage… all an elaborate, meticulously planned lie.’ ‘The child she had lost was just a ‘prop’ he had personally eliminated.’ Leaning on the wall for support, Vivian Grant stumbled away. The cold wind sliced at her face like a knife. She stood at the hotel entrance, watching the endless stream of cars, and took out her phone. Her fingers trembled as she scrolled through her contacts to a number she thought she would never call again. The call connected. “Dad, I agree.” “I agree to come back. I’ll do the marriage alliance.”