Chapter 4: The Penthouse Cage
The elevator ride to the top floor of Blackwood Tower was silent.
Elara clutched the handles of her designer suitcase—a gift, or more accurately, a prop—dressed in a pale beige blouse and fitted trousers picked by Lucien's stylists. She looked like a CEO's wife already. But inside, she felt like a fraud wrapped in silk.
The elevator doors opened to a spacious corridor with glossy marble floors and abstract art lining the walls. At the end was a tall, matte-black double door.
Her new home.
Before she could reach it, it opened.
Lucien stood there, sleeves rolled up, a glass of dark bourbon in one hand. "You're late."
She stepped in without a word. The penthouse was breathtaking—vaulted ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows with views of the entire city, a grand piano in the corner, and furniture that screamed wealth and silence.
"I had to say goodbye to my old life," she replied.
Lucien closed the door behind her. "It's gone. Start accepting it."
Elara's lips parted to retort, but she stopped herself. Not here. Not yet.
He walked ahead. "Come."
She followed him through the penthouse, each step echoing across the polished floor.
"This is your room," he said, opening a door to a serene suite with muted creams and silvers. "Separate bedrooms, of course."
"Of course," she murmured.
Lucien leaned against the doorway. "The press thinks we've been together a year. They'll look for chemistry. Touches, smiles. You'll need to rehearse."
She faced him. "You think we can fake something like that?"
He stepped closer, gaze pinned to her lips. "I've faked far more complicated things."
She didn't move.
For a moment, silence stretched between them like an electric wire.
Then Lucien turned away. "There's a dinner tomorrow. The governor's charity gala. We attend as a couple."
He walked off, leaving her in the doorway of her lavish new room.
---
Later That Night
Elara stood by the window, staring at the city lights.
A knock tapped on her door—three sharp raps.
She opened it.
Lucien stood with a velvet box in his hand.
"This is for tomorrow," he said, offering it.
Inside was a necklace—delicate silver with a sapphire teardrop.
"It's beautiful," she whispered.
"It belonged to my mother," he said, voice low. "Wear it once. Never again."
Before she could ask why, he was already turning to go.
But as he reached the hall, she called out. "Lucien."
He paused.
"You say not to fall in love," she said. "But I think you already forgot how."
His body stiffened.
Then he walked away without a word.
And Elara finally realized—
She might be the only one in this twisted marriage who still believed love could hurt more than hate.