Chapter 4:
Eden hadn't meant to fall asleep on the penthouse couch.
But between dodging Verena's sugar-coated daggers, smiling like her life depended on it, and surviving five-inch heels, she was done.
She woke to stillness.
Thick. Soft. Almost… safe.
A blanket had been draped across her shoulders.
Cassian Wolfe was gone. But the evidence of him lingered.
On the coffee table sat a silver tray:
Water. Painkillers. Chocolate-covered almonds.
Eden blinked.
She hadn't said anything about the headache.
Of course he noticed anyway.
The man was arrogant. Infuriating.
And impossible to ignore.
She padded barefoot down the hallway, fingertips grazing the cool marble walls.
Her door creaked open—
Her suitcase still sat by the bed, untouched.
Taped to it was a note in Cassian's impossibly neat handwriting:
"You're in the master suite now. Guest room's under renovation. – C."
Eden stared.
At the note.
At the suitcase.
At the hallway.
Then muttered, "You've got to be kidding me."
The master suite was larger than her old apartment. Twice over.
The bed looked like it could host a royal summit.
The fireplace flickered softly across the glass walls, Manhattan glowing in the distance like a city from a dream she'd stopped having.
She stepped inside, cautious.
No personal touches. No framed photos. No clutter.
Just luxury. Clean and cold.
It looked exactly like Cassian Wolfe.
Half the walk-in closet was filled already.
Pressed suits. Custom shirts. Black dress shoes.
The other half now held her clothes.
Her size. Her style.
Her entire life, mirrored and hung up like she belonged here.
It made her stomach twist.
She didn't hear him come in.
"I see you found the note," Cassian said from the doorway.
Eden turned. "I thought we agreed—no more power moves without my say."
He leaned against the doorframe. "Not a move. The guest suite really is under renovation. I had soundproofing installed."
"Why?"
His mouth twitched. "Because we might need it."
She flushed. "That's not funny."
"It wasn't a joke."
Eden crossed her arms. "Nothing is happening between us. Real or fake."
Cassian stepped forward, unbuttoning his cuff. "We're sharing a room. The staff knows. My father knows. Verena knows. You said we had to sell it."
"And if I say no?"
"Then I'll take the couch."
That stopped her.
Cassian Wolfe. CEO. Power incarnate. Offering the couch.
Her chest tightened.
"You'll stay," she said. "But we keep our distance."
"Deal."
That night, the bed felt too big and too small all at once.
Cassian lay on one side, a fortress of pillows between them, scrolling through his tablet.
Eden turned off her lamp. "What are you reading?"
"Financial Times."
She snorted. "Of course."
A pause.
"What would you be reading?" he asked.
"Probably a graphic novel. Or something sad and poetic so I can quote it dramatically."
He chuckled. "That tracks."
Another pause.
"Did you always want to be an artist?" he asked.
"Yeah. Ever since I was a kid. I used to draw on pizza boxes. My mom saved them—called them 'ghetto masterpieces.'"
He smiled faintly. "That's... oddly charming."
"And you? Did you always want to be a business overlord?"
"No," he said quietly. "I wanted to be a pianist. My mom taught me."
Eden turned her head.
"What happened?"
"She died. I stopped playing."
Silence.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
He didn't reply.
But he reached over and turned off his lamp.
For the first time, they slept in the same bed.
And it didn't feel like a lie.
The smell of fresh coffee pulled her from sleep.
Eden sat up, hair a mess, mascara smudged.
Cassian stood in the kitchen—barefoot, shirtless, flipping an omelet like a man who definitely shouldn't be able to cook.
She blinked. "Who are you, and what did you do with Cassian Wolfe?"
"Shhh," he said, not turning. "I have a reputation to ruin."
She slipped onto a barstool. "Why the breakfast?"
"Damage control."
He handed her a tablet.
The headline made her groan:
"Fake or Forever? Cassian Wolfe's Surprise Engagement Blows Up the Internet"
Photos filled the screen.
The kiss.
The hand-holding.
The way he looked at her when no one else was around.
Eden sighed. "Do we have a PR team?"
"Three," he said. "You meet them today."
She tasted the omelet. It was… perfect.
Of course it was.
"We need to be more convincing," Cassian added. "Online. Post something. The ring. You. Us."
"You want me to become your influencer fiancée?"
"Only if you use that exact phrase in the caption."
She rolled her eyes.
But later, on the balcony, sunlight brushing her skin, she took a picture.
Her hand.
The ring.
The skyline behind it.
Caption:
"Never expected this… but sometimes, the unexpected becomes unforgettable. 💍 #WolfeAndMe"
Ten minutes later: 4,000 new followers.
An hour later, Verena posted a photo.
She was lounging in Cassian's former penthouse.
Caption:
"Some things can't be replaced. But they can be upgraded."
Cassian threw his phone across the room.
Eden picked it up. "Wow. Subtle."
"She's testing us."
"Then let's pass."
He looked at her, serious now. "How?"
Eden stood. Walked closer.
"By turning this into the best damn performance of our lives."
Cassian stepped into her space. Close.
"Are you ready for that?"
Her voice was soft. "Are you?"
His reply was a kiss.
Hot. Deep. Hungry.
Not for show.
Not for anyone else.
For them.
But just as she leaned into it—
He pulled away.
"We leave for the Hamptons tomorrow," he said, voice thick. "My father's birthday. Verena will be there."
Eden nodded, breathless.
"I hope she chokes on her champagne."
Cassian smiled.
And for the first time since this charade began, Eden realized something dangerous:
She wasn't just pretending anymore.