POV: Alina Maxwell
The elevator ascended through the building with a smooth, whispered efficiency that seemed to mock the chaos churning in Alina's chest as she stood beside Gina Chen, Aiden's assistant, watching the floor numbers climb higher and higher until they reached a altitude that made her feel dizzy with more than just the height. Her single suitcase sat at her feet like a lonely testament to how little she owned, how few possessions she had managed to accumulate in twenty-two years of existence, and she found herself wondering what Aiden would think when he realized that everything she owned in the world could fit into a space smaller than his office closet.
"Mrs. King?"
Alina spun around to find Gina Chen standing in the doorway. Aiden's assistant looked professional but kind, though there was something careful in her eyes.
"I'm sorry," Alina said, stepping away from the desk. "I was looking for a pen."
"No need to apologize. This is your home now." Gina held out a sleek black pen. "Mr. King had to leave for Chicago this morning, but he wanted me to help you get settled."
Of course he'd left town on the day she was supposed to move in. Alina tried not to show her disappointment.
"When will he be back?"
"Friday. He travels frequently for business."
Two hours earlier, Alina had stood in the elevator with her single suitcase, watching the floor numbers climb higher and higher. Everything she owned fit in one bag, and she'd wondered what Aiden would think about that. Now she wondered if he cared at all.
The penthouse was beautiful—expensive furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows with an incredible city view. But it felt cold, like a hotel rather than a home.
"The master bedroom is upstairs," Gina said, leading her through the living room. "But Mr. King has set up the guest room for you. He thought you might be more comfortable having your own space."
The words hit hard. Even here, in what was supposed to be their shared home, Aiden was keeping her at a distance.
The guest room was lovely, with its own bathroom and city view. Fresh flowers sat on the dresser. But standing there with her suitcase, Alina felt like a visitor rather than someone who belonged.
"There are a few things to go over," Gina said, pulling out her tablet. She handed Alina a credit card and a schedule. "Public appearances will be coordinated through me. There's a clothing allowance and personal shopper for events."
Alina nodded, trying to focus on the details.
"Will I see him much when he's in town?" she asked quietly.
Something flickered across Gina's face—sympathy, maybe.
"He's usually home by eight or nine when he's not traveling," Gina said carefully. "But I should warn you—Mr. King isn't good at personal relationships. He disappears emotionally. The closer someone tries to get, the higher his walls become."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I think you should understand what you're dealing with," Gina said gently. "He's not cruel, but he's complicated."
After Gina left, Alina explored the penthouse. In the kitchen, she found a coffee mug with a hospital logo hidden in the back of a cabinet. In the master bedroom, a book about cardiac surgery sat on the nightstand. Each reminder of Veronica felt like a knife in her chest.
She was making tea in the kitchen when something caught her eye—a small camera mounted in the corner near the ceiling. Then another by the front door. Security cameras throughout the penthouse, monitoring everything.
Her hands shook as she realized she was being watched, recorded. Did Aiden not trust her? Or was this normal for wealthy people?
The phone rang, making her jump. The caller ID showed —Aiden.
"Hello?" she answered quickly.
"Hey." His voice was warm, intimate in a way that made her heart skip. "I missed you today."
Relief flooded through her. Maybe she'd been wrong about everything.
"I missed you too," she said softly.
"I can't wait to see you tonight. Dinner at our usual place?"
"Tonight?" Alina frowned. "But you're in Chicago until Friday."
There was a long pause. When Aiden spoke again, his voice was different—cooler, more distant.
"Alina? I thought... this was someone else."
Her heart sank. He hadn't been talking to her at all.
"Sorry," came a woman's voice in the background. "I grabbed the wrong phone. This is Veronica."
The line went dead.
Alina stood frozen in the kitchen, the phone still pressed to her ear. Aiden was in Chicago with Veronica. They had dinner plans at "their usual place."
Everything became clear.The separate bedrooms. The way he'd left town the day she moved in.
She wasn't his wife. She was his cover story.
The security cameras suddenly felt more sinister. Was someone monitoring her reactions? Making sure she played her part correctly?
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. Alina looked through the peephole to see a woman with a press badge and a camera.
"Mrs. King? I'm Jennifer Walsh from Seattle Society magazine. Could I ask you a few questions about your sudden marriage to one of the city's most eligible bachelors?"
Alina's blood went cold. How had a reporter found her so quickly? And what was she supposed to say?
The woman knocked again, more insistently. "We know you're in there, Mrs. King. We just want to hear your side of the story. There are rumors that your husband is in Chicago with his ex-girlfriend right now. Care to comment?"
Alina backed away from the door, her heart racing. This was a nightmare. She was trapped in a penthouse with security cameras watching her every move, while reporters lurked outside asking about her husband's affair.
Her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number: "Saw the news about Aiden King's secret wife. Interesting timing, considering Dr. Johnson just posted a photo of them together in Chicago. You might want to check her Instagram."
With shaking hands, Alina found Veronica's social media account. The latest post showed her and Aiden at an elegant restaurant, his arm around her chair, both of them smiling. The caption read: "Perfect evening with my favorite person. Some things never change. ❤️"
Posted twenty minutes ago.
The reporter was still knocking. The security cameras were still recording. And somewhere her husband was having a romantic dinner with the woman he actually loved.
Alina sank onto the expensive sofa and realized the true cost of her arrangement. She wasn't just trading three years of her life for financial security. She was trading her dignity, her peace of mind, and any chance at real happiness.
The knocking stopped, but she could see the reporter's shadow still moving outside the door. This was her life now—watched, monitored, and trapped while the man she'd married lived his real life with someone else.
Her phone rang again. This time it really was Aiden.
"Alina," he said, his voice tense. "Don't answer the door. Don't talk to any reporters. I'll handle this."
"Handle what?" she asked, though she already knew.
"It's complicated. I'll explain when I get back."
The line went dead again, leaving her alone with the cameras, the reporters, and the crushing realization that her marriage was already a lie—and everyone was about to find out.
Her phone buzzed again. She hoped it was Aiden, concerned about the reporters. But it was just Leah, texting to ask how the move had gone, and as Alina stared at the message, she realized she had no idea how to answer that question, no words to describe the strange mixture of gratitude and loneliness that was settling over her like a blanket she hadn't asked for but couldn't seem to remove.
The penthouse was everything she had never known she wanted, and somehow, sitting there in the perfect kitchen of her perfect new home, she had never felt more lost in her life.