The morning after the gala, Emily woke to the faint aroma of espresso and the distant sound of piano music echoing from the main living room.
For a moment, she forgot where she was.
No family estate.No silk sheets from childhood.No warm hand curled beside hers.
Just a cold penthouse. And a colder contract.
She pulled on a robe and followed the sound.
Alexander Knight was seated at the grand piano by the window, shirt sleeves rolled up, fingers gliding across the keys with effortless grace. The melody was unfamiliar — slow, haunting, aching.
She stood there, unnoticed, until the final note lingered and faded into silence.
"You play," she said softly.
He didn't turn. "Only when I can't sleep."
Emily tilted her head. "And last night's performance didn't lull you into dreams?"
He finally looked at her. There was something in his eyes she couldn't read. A flicker of vulnerability… gone as quickly as it came.
"I didn't know you were awake," he said, standing. "There's coffee in the kitchen."
She crossed her arms. "We need to talk."
"About what?"
"Last night."
He said nothing, waiting.
"You warned me not to fall in love," she said, voice steady. "But you're the one who stepped in. You defended me. Why?"
Alexander walked past her, pouring himself a cup of coffee like they were discussing the weather. "Because Nathan Blake is a parasite. You don't owe him anything."
"That's not an answer."
He looked at her then. "You were hurting. And it pissed me off. That's all."
Emily held his gaze. "You're good at pretending you don't care."
"I'm not pretending."
She sighed. "Fine. Then we stick to the rules."
He raised an eyebrow. "You're the one who keeps trying to break them."
She opened her mouth to reply — but her phone buzzed on the counter.A text.Nathan.
Can we talk? Just once? I never got to explain.
She stared at the screen. Her fingers hovered over the keys.
Alexander noticed. "Let me guess. The past wants a second chance."
She ignored him and slipped the phone into her pocket.
Later that day, Emily sat alone at a quiet café downtown — a place she used to visit with her mother before everything collapsed. It still smelled like cinnamon and comfort.
Nathan arrived five minutes late. Same confident stride. Same tailored arrogance.
He sat across from her like nothing had changed.
"I didn't think you'd agree to meet," he said.
"I almost didn't."
He looked at her, studying her face. "You look… different. Colder."
"Money does that," she said flatly.
He chuckled, but she didn't.
"I wanted to explain—"
"You left," she cut in. "When my father was arrested. When my house was seized. When I needed you."
Nathan leaned forward. "I was scared, Em. Everything happened so fast. Your name was in the news. I didn't know what to believe."
"And yet now that I'm Mrs. Knight,' you find your voice again?"
He flinched. "I just… I miss you."
"No, Nathan," she said, standing. "You miss who I used to be. Before the storm. Before the ruin."
He reached out, gently touching her wrist. "If you ever change your mind—"
"I won't."
She left without looking back.
When Emily returned to the penthouse that night, Alexander was on the balcony, shirt sleeves rolled again, sipping scotch with the skyline stretched behind him.
"You met with him."
It wasn't a question.
She walked toward him, expression unreadable. "I needed closure."
"And did you get it?"
"I got confirmation," she said. "That walking away was the best thing he ever did for me."
Alexander took a sip. "Good."
She stood beside him, the silence between them heavier now, but different. Not cold — just full.
"Do you ever regret things?" she asked suddenly. "Decisions. People."
He didn't answer right away. Then:"Every day."
Emily nodded. "Same."
He looked at her. The wind played with her hair. The city pulsed beneath them like a heartbeat.
"Do you want to go somewhere?" he asked.
She blinked. "Now?"
He finished his drink. "You said we're pretending to be married, right? Married people go places. Have dinner. Smile in public."
She smiled — the first real one in days. "You're suggesting a date?"
He smirked. "I'm suggesting an illusion."
She walked past him toward the elevator. "Then let's make it look real."
That night, they dined at a quiet rooftop restaurant overlooking the Hudson River. No press. No photographers. Just soft jazz, candlelight, and a full moon.
Emily sipped her wine, eyes locked on Alexander. "You don't talk much."
He shrugged. "There's not much to say."
"You know everything about me. My scandals. My debts. My trauma. But I know nothing about you."
He met her gaze. "That's by design."
She leaned forward. "Then tell me something true."
He hesitated.
Then: "I lost someone. Years ago. It made me… careful."
Emily didn't ask who. The pain in his voice was enough.
"I'm not looking to break you," she said.
"Good," he replied. "Because I'm already broken."
They sat in silence again — but it wasn't awkward. It was almost… comforting.
The waiter brought dessert. Emily tasted it and smiled.
"This is the first time I've felt like a person in weeks," she said.
Alexander didn't reply. Instead, he reached across the table, brushing a crumb from her cheek with surprising gentleness.
Her breath caught.
He didn't move his hand.
"I'm not used to this either," he said quietly.
"To what?"
"Caring."
Emily swallowed.
In that moment, the contract felt very far away.