The first thing Tracy noticed was the silence.
Not peaceful silence — the kind that weighed on her chest and reminded her she didn't belong here.
Alex Knight's penthouse was a cathedral of wealth: cold glass, sleek marble, chrome edges that gleamed like a blade. Every surface was polished enough to show her reflection — a reflection that didn't fit this world.
She dropped her small suitcase by the door, painfully aware of how out of place it looked next to his expensive Italian leather furniture.
"Your room's down the hall," Alex said, his voice deep and even. He didn't look up from his tablet. "Second door on the right."
Tracy crossed her arms. "Not the master suite, I assume?"
That earned her a glance — sharp, cutting, but faintly amused. "You'll find I'm not that predictable, Miss Morgan. If I wanted you in my bed, I wouldn't hide it behind fine print."
Her cheeks burned, but she refused to look away. "Good to know," she muttered.
Alex set down the tablet and approached her, slow and deliberate. The way he moved made her heart race against her will — every step a reminder that this man could own a room just by breathing.
He stopped close enough that she could smell him — cedar, smoke, and something darker.
"Don't mistake my restraint for kindness," he said quietly. "You wanted this deal. Now you'll live by it."
Her pulse jumped. "I'm not afraid of you."
His gaze flicked to her lips, then back to her eyes. "Then that makes one of us."
Before she could respond, he turned away, the moment shattered like glass underfoot. "Dinner's at seven. Don't be late."
Her new room looked like a luxury suite in a magazine — massive bed, soft lighting, muted gold tones. But it wasn't hers. Not really. Every inch whispered that she was here on borrowed time.
She unpacked slowly, trying not to think about what she'd traded for this.
Security? Yes. Stability? Maybe.
Freedom? Definitely not.
When she finished, she found herself drawn to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city glowed beneath her, alive and untouchable. She pressed a hand to the glass, wondering how far she'd fallen — or how close she was to something she couldn't name.
Dinner was an exercise in tension.
Alex sat at the head of a long, gleaming table, sleeves rolled, collar open just enough to reveal the sharp lines of his throat. He didn't speak at first, just watched her as the staff placed each course with silent precision.
Finally, he broke the silence. "You didn't ask why I chose you."
Tracy's fork paused midair. "Would it have mattered?"
His eyes lifted, cold and assessing. "It should. Most people don't end up sitting across from me without a reason."
She set her fork down, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "Then why me?"
He leaned back, the faintest smirk curving his lips. "You have a spine, Miss Morgan. You don't crumble when cornered. I find that… useful."
"Useful," she repeated, bitterness slipping into her tone. "That's what I am to you."
Alex's voice dropped lower. "Don't mistake function for insignificance. The most dangerous pieces on a chessboard are often the ones underestimated."
There it was again — the way he spoke in riddles, making her feel like there were layers she couldn't see.
But something in his words stirred something reckless in her chest.
"Then you'd better hope you're not underestimating me," she said quietly.
His gaze darkened, holding hers in a silent war neither of them seemed willing to lose.
The air between them hummed — charged, dangerous, alive.
Then, as if nothing had happened, he stood and dismissed the staff with a nod. "Tomorrow, we start appearances. You'll need a fitting in the morning. I'll have my tailor come up at ten."
"Appearances?" she asked.
He gave her that half-smile again — the kind that never reached his eyes.
"Engagements, parties, investors… people who need to see a man like me as more than a threat. And for that, I need a fiancée who looks like she belongs at my side."
Her stomach turned. "So I'm your reputation rehab project?"
His smile widened slightly. "Something like that. But you'll play your part well, won't you, Miss Morgan?"
She swallowed hard. "You'll get what you paid for, Mr. Knight."
He stepped closer, fingers brushing the edge of her jaw — not quite a touch, more like a warning.
"I always do."
Then he was gone, leaving her alone in the vast penthouse, pulse pounding and skin tingling where his presence lingered.
Tracy exhaled shakily.
What have I gotten myself into?
Outside, the city pulsed with light — but up here, in Alex Knight's world, everything felt darker.
And she was starting to suspect that beneath the ice and power, her captor might just be more broken — and more dangerous — than anyone realized.