BEHIND CLOSED DOORS
The elevator ride to the penthouse was silent—too silent.
Elara stood with her hands clasped in front of her, eyes fixed on the glowing numbers climbing higher and higher. Each floor felt like another step away from the life she knew and closer to something she couldn't name.
Lucien didn't look at her once.
When the doors slid open, the city spilled in.
Glass walls stretched from floor to ceiling, revealing a skyline drowned in gold and neon. Cars moved like veins of light far below. This wasn't a home—it was a throne in the sky.
"This is where you'll stay," Lucien said, shrugging off his suit jacket and placing it neatly on a chair. "Your room is down the hall."
Elara hesitated. "We're really doing this."
He finally turned to her, dark eyes sharp. "You signed the contract."
"Yes," she said, lifting her chin. "That doesn't mean I'm not allowed to be shocked."
Lucien stepped closer, stopping just short of her. Close enough that she could smell his cologne. Close enough that the air shifted.
"You'll learn quickly," he said coolly, "that shock wastes energy."
She scoffed. "And control doesn't?"
Something unreadable passed through his eyes.
"You challenged Serena today," he said instead. "In the meeting."
"She accused me," Elara replied. "I defended myself."
Lucien's gaze dropped—to her lips, just for a second.
"You embarrassed my future fiancée."
"Then maybe she shouldn't lie," Elara shot back.
Silence crashed between them.
Lucien reached out—not to touch her, but to press his palm against the glass wall beside her head, trapping her between him and the city.
Her breath hitched despite herself.
"Don't forget your place," he murmured.
"And what place is that?" she asked, her voice steady even as her pulse betrayed her.
His fingers lifted her chin slowly, deliberately—not gentle, not cruel. Possessive.
"My wife," he said quietly. "When it suits me. Invisible when it doesn't."
Anger burned through her chest. "You don't get to turn me on and off like a switch."
His thumb brushed her lower lip—barely there, just enough to leave heat behind.
"Careful," Lucien warned. "You're not as unaffected as you pretend."
She slapped his hand away.
"I won't be owned," she said.
For a moment, something dangerous flashed across his face—something raw.
Then he stepped back.
"You'll attend work tomorrow like nothing has changed," he said coldly. "No one must know."
He turned toward the hallway, then paused.
"And Elara?"
She looked at him.
"This marriage may be fake," he said, voice low, "but the consequences won't be."
He disappeared down the corridor, leaving her standing there—heart racing, body buzzing with anger and something far more dangerous.
Desire.
Elara sank onto the couch, staring out at the city that glittered like it was laughing at her.
Behind closed doors, she was his wife.
In the office, she was his subordinate.
And somehow, she already knew—
This contract was going to ruin them both.