The rain started just after midnight, a soft drumming against the penthouse windows that made the city lights blur into streaks. Serena sat curled on the couch, a blanket over her legs and a half-read book in her lap. She'd been trying to lose herself in fiction, but her thoughts kept circling back to the look on Elias's face during the board meeting two days ago—pride, yes, but also something heavier.
When the elevator chimed, she expected him to come in, loosen his tie, maybe pour a drink. Instead, he stepped inside with a taut expression, his phone still in hand.
"Long night?" she asked, setting the book aside.
He didn't answer right away, just slipped the phone into his pocket and came to stand near the window. "I ran into Isabelle."
Serena's fingers tightened on the blanket. Isabelle—his ex-fiancée, the one who had once been the perfect match in his parents' eyes, the one who had looked at Serena with barely concealed disdain at the charity gala months ago.
"Where?"
"Lobby of the Westbridge Hotel," he said. "She was… friendly. Too friendly."
Serena rose from the couch, crossing her arms. "And what does that mean?"
Elias's gaze flicked to hers, sharp. "It means she knows something. Or thinks she does. She mentioned the bakery, asked how long you planned to keep the 'act' going."
The word hung between them—act—and Serena felt her stomach knot. "She still thinks this is a performance."
"She's not the only one," Elias admitted.
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the rain. Serena wanted to dismiss it, to say Isabelle's opinion didn't matter, but the truth was, it did—at least to the people watching their every move.
"Do you want me to avoid her?" Elias asked suddenly.
"No," Serena said after a moment. "If she's fishing for information, I'd rather know what bait she's using."
His mouth curved slightly, though there was no humor in it. "You're sharper than they give you credit for."
"They will learn," she said, her voice steady.
Later that night, as they lay in bed—together, but not quite touching—Serena felt the tension still thrumming under Elias's skin. She reached out, resting a hand lightly on his chest. "We're not an act," she murmured.
He caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "No," he said. "But we'll have to prove it. And not just to them."
Something in his tone told her he wasn't talking about Isabelle anymore.