Catalina stood motionless in the middle of the massive, glass-walled penthouse, wrapped in the oversized robe Alexander had given her. The early morning sun bathed the room in warm gold, casting long shadows across the polished marble floor. The city skyline loomed just beyond the windows, like a different universe she didn't belong to.
Alexander had been gone since before sunrise.
She hadn't slept much. The events of the past twenty-four hours played on a loop in her head. The wedding. The escape. The rain. The car. Him.
And now—this.
A fake marriage proposal from a man she didn't know. A stranger with eyes like winter and rules sharper than the tailored lines of his suits.
The robe slipped slightly from her shoulder as she padded barefoot toward the kitchen. It was spotless, clinical. Like everything else in the penthouse. Except for the faint scent of his cologne that lingered in the air—rich, smoky, and just a little intoxicating.
She opened a cabinet. Every cup, plate, and glass was lined in precise order. No coffee machine. No cereal boxes. Not even a speck of dust.
It felt... sterile.
Lifeless.
Like him.
A tablet blinked to life on the counter as she passed. A message appeared:
"Sit. Eat. I'll be back at 9:00." — A.M.
She frowned. Sit? Eat?
Was he always like this? Giving orders like a general?
Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn't eaten since the wedding rehearsal dinner. She sat at the long marble table, where a silver dome covered a plate. Lifting it revealed a beautifully arranged breakfast—scrambled eggs, avocado slices, fresh toast, and fruit. Simple, but elegant.
She hesitated.
Was this another part of his "deal"? Silent control even when he wasn't here?
Despite herself, she ate. Slowly. Eyes constantly drifting to the door, half-expecting him to barge in.
But he didn't.
And that was somehow worse.
It was 9:07 when the elevator doors finally opened with a soft chime.
Alexander stepped out in a new suit—dark navy with a crisp white shirt—and his usual impenetrable expression.
Catalina rose from her seat instinctively, feeling like she was back in school and the principal had walked in.
"You're late," she said before she could stop herself.
He looked at her once—just once—and her mouth dried up.
"You were watching the clock?" he asked, setting down his briefcase.
"Maybe I was curious if you'd follow your own rules."
"I always do."
She opened her mouth again, then closed it.
He moved past her, took off his jacket, and began rolling up his sleeves. The veins on his forearms flexed with every movement. Something about the way he did even the simplest things was magnetic and dangerous.
"Did you sleep?" he asked without looking at her.
Catalina stared at his back.
"Some."
"Nightmares?"
She blinked.
"How do you know I have nightmares?"
"You talk in your sleep."
Her face flamed.
"You were listening?"
"No," he said flatly. "I was working. But you weren't exactly quiet."
Catalina crossed her arms.
"Well, maybe if I wasn't kidnapped and thrown into a fake marriage with a man I don't even know, I'd sleep better."
He turned around slowly. His eyes didn't flash with anger. They didn't soften either. Just remained cool, assessing.
"You weren't kidnapped, Catalina. You ran. You chose to get into my car. You agreed to the deal."
"And what exactly does this deal entail?" she asked, exasperated.
Alexander leaned against the counter, arms crossed now.
"Simple. You'll live here. No contact with your family or fiancé. In public, we're married. Behind closed doors, we keep our distance. No questions. No touching. No emotions."
Catalina scoffed. "You can't possibly think—"
"You agreed," he cut her off. "You signed. It's legally binding."
Her jaw tightened. She hated how calm he was. How unaffected.
"So I'm just... your little showpiece?" she spat. "Like one of your cars or watches?"
"Don't be dramatic."
"I'm wearing a robe with nothing underneath, Alexander. I think the drama's already here."
His jaw twitched.
"You'll have clothes by tonight. My assistant is arranging everything."
"Oh, how thoughtful."
He moved toward her then, and she backed away instinctively until her hip hit the table's edge. He didn't stop until he was a breath away.
His voice dropped, low and precise.
"I'm not your enemy, Catalina. I'm the only reason you're not splashed across tabloids this morning. Or worse, dragged back to marry someone you clearly didn't want."
Her breath hitched.
He was right.
She hated that he was right.
Alexander straightened, backing away.
"You'll behave. You'll stay quiet. And you'll follow the rules."
"And if I don't?" she challenged.
His eyes locked onto hers like steel.
"Then this deal ends. And I won't protect you anymore."
Later that day, Catalina wandered through the penthouse, now dressed in sleek, high-end designer clothes clearly selected by someone with taste—and zero personality. Everything was neutral. Expensive. Unmistakably him.
She paused at a hallway that led to the closed wing of the apartment. Alexander had told her she could go anywhere—except there.
So, naturally, that was exactly where she went.
She turned the handle.
Locked.
Of course.
Her fingers brushed the cool metal before she backed away. What was he hiding in there? Another part of the deal he didn't want to share?
A memory crept in—of his eyes when she'd mentioned love at breakfast. They'd flashed. Just once. Almost like pain.
Or maybe she was imagining it.
Still...
She wasn't the only one running from something.
That night, they had dinner in silence.
Across a long table meant for twelve, she picked at her food while Alexander reviewed documents.
"This is the most romantic fake marriage I've ever seen," she muttered.
He looked up. Just once.
"I've never been married. Real or fake."
Catalina raised an eyebrow. "And yet you're so good at it."
He ignored the sarcasm.
"Tomorrow, we'll go public," he said calmly. "There's a charity gala. You'll wear what's provided. Smile. Speak when spoken to."
"And if I trip and fall into a fountain?"
His mouth quirked. Almost a smile. Almost.
"Then you'd be doing better than most of my ex-dates."
That made her pause.
She stared at him. "You actually have a sense of humor?"
"Only when people fall into fountains."
Her laugh—real and bright—caught even her by surprise.
So did the way his eyes lingered on her then.
Just for a second.
Just long enough for the room to feel warmer.
Later, when she lay in the massive guest bed alone, the silence around her was heavy. Too heavy.
Catalina rolled over.
No touching. No questions. No emotions.
She whispered the rules like a mantra.
But as she drifted into sleep, the whisper in her heart returned.
The same one that made her run from the altar.
The same one that now whispered something different.
Dangerous hearts break the fastest.
And hers had just started beating again.