The drive was awkwardly silent.
Ethan stared at his phone, barely moving a muscle, while I sat beside him, completely still but screaming inside.
My mind couldn't stop spinning through the chaos of the night.
My present life.
Could I pull this off perfectly? Could I be what he needed me to be? What Audrey needed me to be? Ethan had already arranged for him to be transferred under the care of his personal doctor. Everything else—meds, home care, whatever came next—was now in my hands.
My past life.
Would I ever go back to being that Lena? The invisible one, the girl who got by in the background? Somehow, I doubted it. This marriage—no matter how fake—threw a spotlight on me I never asked for.
My future.
All those debts I cried over at night? Gone. Audrey's tuition? Handled. I'd live in luxury. Ride in cars I'd only seen in movies. Dress like I belonged to another world.
The thought brought tears to my eyes—but I blinked them back. This wasn't just gain. This was sacrifice.
In exactly 30 minutes, the car pulled up to a mansion I'd never seen before. A place that looked like it belonged on the cover of an architecture magazine. The night couldn't hide its brilliance.
A bodyguard opened the door. House helps, young and older, all dressed in coordinated black and white uniforms, stood neatly in line at the entrance.
Ethan gestured for me to follow him as they chorused, "Congratulations, sir… ma'am."
My heels dangled in one hand. My heart pounded in my chest.
The hallway sparkled, practically glowed. I couldn't help but slow down, my eyes scanning every polished surface, every detail too perfect to exist in real life.
Then Ethan's hand gently gripped mine.
"No one knows the real deal," he said. "Just the two of us, Christian, and both legal advisers—Vivian and the other one you met. That's five people. If a sixth ear hears about this arrangement… especially your brother…" He looked me dead in the eyes. "It's cancelled. And the penalty… you don't want to know."
I swallowed hard and nodded.
"You're my wife now. For the next three months. I don't want them asking questions," he added, voice calm but sharp like a blade.
He led me into the bedroom.
"Our bedroom," he stated.
It was bigger than my mother's entire apartment. Modern. Cold. Impressive. Overwhelming.
"You can explore the rest of the house tomorrow," he said. "For now, shower, change, whatever you need."
"I… I didn't bring any clothes."
"About that," he said, tapping a button on the wall. Moments later, a woman in her forties appeared, composed and ready.
"Sir?"
"Take my wife to her wardrobe. Make sure she has everything she needs."
"Yes, sir."
I followed her through a long corridor until we stopped in front of what I could only describe as a shopping mall disguised as a closet.
"This is your wardrobe," she said, sweeping her hand across the luxurious space. "Everything is arranged by occasion. If you don't mind, I'll pick something appropriate for your wedding night."
My jaw nearly dropped at the volume of clothing, the textures, the luxury. It was insane. All of it.
I reached for a pair of comfortable pajamas… but paused. It was my wedding night—even if it was all pretend.
I took the lacy ivory piece she'd picked and turned to leave but stopped at the door. "Thanks for your help… but next time, I'll choose what I want myself."
She blinked in surprise, but nodded. "Of course."
I didn't mean to sound harsh, but I had to set boundaries. If I was going to live here, even temporarily, I needed to protect the tiny pieces of myself that still felt mine.
When I walked back into the room, I froze.
Ethan stood shirtless in the dim light, his toned body glistening from a fresh shower, his torso marked with the soft shadows from the room's grey décor. My eyes—traitors that they were—roamed freely.
He was beautiful.
I hated that I noticed.
In a different world, in a real marriage, I wouldn't have hesitated. But this world… this deal… it was all paper and timelines.
Just as I got lost in the silence, he turned to me and walked over. My breath caught. My heart practically banged against my ribs.
But he didn't stop in front of me.
He reached over my head and grabbed a towel hanging on the back of the door.
"I'm heading to the gym. Didn't have time this morning," he said, tossing the towel around his neck like it was nothing.
"You want to join?"
I blinked out of my thoughts. "No, I'm good. I need a bath. It's been a long day."
He nodded once and walked out, leaving
As the door clicked shut behind him, I turned toward the massive bed.
There were no cameras. No eyes watching. Nothing but me and the quiet truth:
I was a stranger in a rich man's house…
Wearing silk that wasn't mine…
In a life that didn't feel like mine either.
And yet—I had to play the part.
Three months. That's all.
But somehow… it already felt like a lifetime.
---
The bathroom was warm, filled with soft steam and the faint scent of lavender. I soaked in the tub longer than necessary, letting the silence wrap around me like a second skin. When I finally stepped out, I changed into the lacy nightwear the maid had picked—something I normally wouldn't have worn, but somehow, tonight didn't feel like mine to dictate.
I lay on the enormous bed, still damp from the steam, staring blankly at the ceiling. My thoughts twisted and turned like a storm cloud. I didn't cry. I didn't blink. I just… existed. Like a shadow in someone else's life.
The door creaked open minutes later.
Ethan walked in, a towel around his waist, another slung across his shoulder. He paused when he saw me—still, wide-eyed, vulnerable.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice softer than I expected.
I gave a small nod. "Just tired."
"Take your time," he said, and walked into the bathroom.
I listened to the sound of running water. I didn't know why, but something about it calmed me—anchored me back to the moment. When he returned, dressed in a black shirt and joggers, his hair still damp, he stopped at the edge of the bed.
"Come. A glass of wine won't hurt. Might help you sleep."
I sat up slowly, curious, cautious. "Now?"
"Now," he said, offering his hand. "Let's make your first night here… tolerable."
He led me down the hallway into what looked like a mini-bar tucked inside the house. High shelves of wine, dim lights, and two cozy barstools waited for us. He poured me a glass of red wine and leaned against the counter.
"To your brother," he said, lifting his glass.
"To my brother," I echoed.
We drank.
"He's going to be fine," Ethan added after a pause. "Dr. Kerris is the best. If anyone can give him a chance, it's her."
I looked at him carefully. "Why are you doing all this? You don't even know me."
His jaw tightened, but he didn't answer.
Instead, I pointed to the room. "Everything here is grey… white. Clean. Cold. Why? No color, no warmth?"
He chuckled dryly, staring into his wine. "It's easy to keep neutral things clean."
"That's not an answer."
"I didn't offer one."
He didn't look at me, and I didn't press it.
"Christian," I muttered. "He's more than a personal assistant, isn't he?"
"He is."
And that was that.
The wine hit slowly, warming me from the inside. One glass turned into two, and the edge I'd been holding onto started to blur.
"I never imagined this," I whispered. "My wedding day. I used to picture white flowers, dancing barefoot, giggling with my husband…"
I caught myself, looked away.
"This isn't that," Ethan said. "But the next one could be."
I looked at him again, his eyes unreadable.
"But tonight," he leaned closer, "if you want… I can help you forget all this."
There was no pressure in his voice. No heat. Just an offer in the quiet.
I stared at him.
He was a stranger. But tonight, that somehow didn't matter. What mattered was that I didn't want to feel so alone. Not tonight.
I nodded.
Just once.
He took my hand and kissed it gently. "Then let me make this night… a little less lonely."
The room dimmed.
Fingers tangled.
Breaths caught.
And just when I thought I couldn't feel anything…
I did.
For the first time in a long time—I wasn't just a shadow.
But morning would come.
And with it, the weight of everything we'd done.
--
I wasn't dreaming.
His lips touched mine, and it wasn't soft—it was heated, searching, full of something unspoken. A fire sparked in my chest, traveling through my veins like lightning. Instead of pulling away, I leaned into him, hungry for more. His hands traced my jaw, steady but hesitant.
He pulled back slightly, breathing heavily. "Are you sure you want this?"
I swallowed hard, my chest rising and falling fast. "Yes. I don't want to lose this moment. Not when it's you. Not tonight."
Still unconvinced, he whispered, "Then tell me your name. Just to be sure you're not drunk."
"I'm Lena," I said, looking directly at him. "You're Ethan. And right now, I need you."
He didn't speak again. Instead, his mouth found mine once more, deeper this time—tongue tracing my lower lip, hands wrapping around my waist. The world outside that room faded into nothing.
Then slowly, deliberately, he tugged at the straps of my lingerie with his teeth, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips as the fabric slid from my skin. I had only seen scenes like this in movies—but this wasn't a dream. This was me. This was us. And it was happening.
He kissed his way down to my breasts, then returned to my lips, devouring them as if he couldn't get enough. By the time I was fully bare before him, I wasn't self-conscious. I was burning.
He reached behind the mini bar.
"What's that?" I asked, breathless.
He pulled out a small packet. "A condom," he said. "Didn't want to take chances. Figured you might not be on birth control."
He wasn't wrong. But none of that mattered now. All I wanted—needed—was him.
As he slipped off his joggers, my breath caught. My eyes widened instinctively, and he noticed.
"Scared?" he asked softly.
"No," I said, even though my pulse was racing. "Not if it's with you."
"I'll be slow," he promised. "You're ready. I made sure of that."
He kissed me again, then lowered me gently onto the bar counter, trailing kisses along my thighs until I was shaking with anticipation. When his mouth found the center of me, I nearly cried out. His tongue moved like it had memorized every part of me before even touching me. I clutched the edge of the counter, body arching, moaning his name.
Then, finally, he entered me—slowly, cautiously—until I gasped at the fullness of him. Pain sliced through me at first, sharp and blinding. But before I could flinch, his hands were on me, his lips soothing, his rhythm gentle.
"You're so tight," he groaned against my neck.
The sting faded, replaced by wave after wave of pleasure. I didn't try to count how many times I came. I lost myself in him—in the way he touched me, held me, looked at me like I was something breakable yet irresistible.
He moved me into different positions, each one deeper, more intense, until I couldn't hold in my cries anymore. I had never felt this alive.
When he finally let out a groan, I knew he was done. We collapsed into each other, tangled in breathless silence.
Nothing was said.
It had happened so fast, yet it felt like it had been building for a lifetime.
He pulled away after a moment, glancing at me with a half-smile. "You're quite the screamer."
I flushed but couldn't help the small laugh that escaped.
Without another word, he walked toward the bedroom. I followed quietly, curling into the large bed beside him.
We slept in silence. But as I lay there—his warmth near, yet distant—I couldn't help but wonder…
What happens now?
---