The apartment Elias brought her to wasn't an apartment at all—it was an entire floor of a glass-and-steel skyscraper in the heart of the city. When the elevator doors slid open, Serena was met with marble floors, high ceilings, and a sweeping view of the skyline that made her blink twice.
"This is… yours?" she asked, stepping out slowly.
"Ours," Elias corrected, striding past her. "For the next year."
The place was immaculate. Every piece of furniture looked like it had been chosen by a professional, from the black leather sofa to the sleek dining table positioned beneath a chandelier of cascading crystals. Even the air smelled expensive—subtle, clean, with a faint trace of cedar.
Serena's modest apartment above the bakery suddenly felt like a distant memory.
"There are two bedrooms," Elias said, setting his briefcase on the counter. "Yours is down the hall, second door on the right. Mine's across from it."
So close, yet not the same. The contract's no intimacy unless mutually agreed clause hovered in her mind.
She wandered into her room, where an entire wardrobe had been filled with clothes in her size—dresses, tailored pants, silk blouses. Even her favorite perfume sat on the vanity, along with a box containing a diamond bracelet that caught the light with every movement.
"How did you—?"
"Your measurements were easy to find. As for preferences, I made an educated guess," Elias's voice came from the doorway.
Serena turned. "You've been doing your homework on me."
"I don't like surprises," he said simply.
The first evening passed in a quiet dance of avoidance. He worked in his office, making calls in a tone that was calm but sharp, like a blade. She unpacked, explored the kitchen, and pretended not to notice how often her gaze drifted to his closed door.
At dinner, they sat across from each other at the long dining table, the distance between them feeling both too much and not enough. The food—a delicate seafood risotto prepared by a private chef—was exquisite, but Serena barely tasted it.
"You'll need to attend a charity gala with me tomorrow night," Elias said halfway through the meal. "You'll be introduced to several people as my wife. We'll need to look… convincing."
Her fork paused midair. "Convincing?"
"Yes. We'll hold hands, exchange small gestures. People notice the little things."
She raised an eyebrow. "And if I'm not a good actress?"
His lips curved just slightly. "Then I'll make it easy for you."
The way he said it sent a shiver down her spine—half warning, half promise.
Later that night, lying in her luxurious bed, Serena stared at the ceiling. She could still hear him moving around in the room across the hall, the low rumble of his voice as he spoke on the phone.
The city glittered beyond the glass walls, but inside, the air was thick with something unspoken. The contract said no romance, but the silence between them felt charged, alive—like a match waiting for a strike.