The penthouse was silent when we returned.
The city lights glittered beyond the glass walls, distant and indifferent, while the space between Alexander and me felt heavier than it had all night.
He loosened his tie as soon as the door closed, his movements precise, controlled. The man who had smiled for cameras and whispered reassurances to me disappeared in seconds.
"You did well," he said without turning around.
"That's it?" I asked. "A performance review?"
He paused, then faced me. "That's what tonight was."
I slipped off my heels, my feet aching. "Vivian didn't think so."
His eyes hardened. "Vivian's opinions no longer matter."
"They looked like they did."
Silence stretched between us.
Alexander walked past me toward the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water. He drank it slowly, as if measuring each second.
"You don't need to concern yourself with her," he said finally. "She's irrelevant."
"I don't like being lied to," I replied.
His gaze snapped to mine. "Then don't ask questions you don't want answered."
The words stung.
"I'm your wife," I said quietly. "Even if it's pretend."
His expression didn't change. "Exactly. Pretend."
Something in my chest tightened.
I turned away, suddenly exhausted. "I'm going to bed."
"In your room," he added.
I stopped. "I know the rules."
I walked down the hallway, every step reminding me that this place wasn't mine. My bedroom door closed softly behind me, cutting off the rest of the penthouse—and him.
Sleep didn't come easily.
The image of Vivian's knowing smile replayed in my mind, over and over. She had looked at me like I was a placeholder.
A substitute.
I changed into the silk nightdress laid out on the bed. It was beautiful. Expensive. Completely unnecessary.
I was brushing my hair when a knock came at the door.
My heart jumped.
I opened it to find Alexander standing there, his suit jacket gone, shirt sleeves rolled up.
"What is it?" I asked cautiously.
"There's something you need to understand," he said.
I stepped aside reluctantly, letting him in.
He didn't sit. He stood near the window, hands in his pockets, looking out at the city.
"Tonight wasn't just about appearances," he said. "Our marriage will be watched. Closely."
"Because of her?" I asked.
"Because of me," he corrected. "Any sign of weakness will be exploited."
"Weakness like… emotions?" I asked.
"Yes."
I crossed my arms. "You kissed me tonight."
"For the cameras."
"You almost kissed me," I corrected.
His jaw tightened. "That won't happen again."
"Because you're afraid?"
He turned slowly, his gaze sharp. "Because it would complicate things."
The air between us shifted—tight, charged.
"And if I can't follow that rule?" I asked softly.
He took a step closer. "Then you will be in breach of contract."
"So will you," I shot back. "You touched me."
His eyes darkened.
"That," he said quietly, "was necessary."
I looked up at him, my heart pounding. "You don't get to decide what's necessary for me."
For a moment, something dangerous flickered in his expression.
"Don't forget why you're here," he said coldly.
I flinched.
"Goodnight, Elara."
He turned and left, the door closing behind him with finality.
I leaned against it, breathing hard.
Public wife.
Private stranger.
That was my role.
I slid into bed, staring at the ceiling.
Somewhere down the hall, a door closed.
And for the first time since signing the contract, I realized something terrifying.
The man I had married wasn't heartless.
He was afraid.