The next morning brought a stillness that was unusual in Alexander's penthouse.
Catalina stirred under the silky sheets, blinking against the soft light filtering through the curtains. She was still wearing one of his shirts, her long hair messy against the pillow. For a moment, she forgot the chaos of her wedding day, the paparazzi, the screaming, the fear. All that existed was this bed, this room, the faint scent of Alexander's cologne lingering in the air.
And then reality slammed into her like a wave.
She sat up abruptly, her heart pounding.
This isn't my home.
This isn't my life.
She looked around—expensive furniture, spotless floors, minimalistic design. All cold. All pristine. All his.
She was living with Alexander Moretti.
The city's most feared CEO. A man who had offered her protection... and a fake marriage.
A knock at the door interrupted her spiraling thoughts.
"Come in," she said, voice hoarse.
The door opened smoothly, and there he was. Alexander, already in a dark tailored suit, crisp white shirt underneath. His hair was slicked back, as always, and a silver watch glinted on his wrist.
But what caught her most off guard was the coffee in his hand.
He handed it to her.
"You take it with one sugar," he said.
She blinked, confused. "How did you—?"
"You asked for it that way yesterday. I remembered."
Her fingers closed around the warm cup, and her throat tightened for a reason she couldn't name.
"Thank you," she whispered.
He nodded and turned away, but then paused.
"I have meetings this morning. You'll be alone for a few hours. My staff knows you're here and won't bother you unless you ask."
She looked at him, unsure. "And... what should I do in the meantime?"
He hesitated.
That pause said more than any words.
"You don't have to do anything," he said finally. "Just… breathe. Rest. No one's chasing you here."
But he didn't add what they were both thinking.
No one's chasing you yet.
—
Later that day, Catalina wandered through the apartment barefoot, her fingers trailing over marble countertops and spotless glass surfaces.
The space was beautiful. Lavish.
But so very empty.
No photos. No personal items. No traces of a life lived here—just a man existing.
She stopped when she reached his office. The door was slightly ajar.
Curious, she stepped inside.
It was immaculate, like the rest of the place. Shelves lined with books. A sleek desk with a laptop, a notebook, and a fountain pen laid perfectly parallel. Behind the desk hung a large abstract painting—cold tones, sharp edges.
But what truly caught her eye was the photo frame turned face-down on one of the shelves.
Her curiosity got the better of her.
She reached for it and slowly flipped it over.
A younger Alexander stared back at her. He looked barely out of college, standing beside a boy who looked like his twin—except this boy was smiling. Big, genuine, happy. The kind of smile she had never seen on Alexander.
They looked so alike. Brothers, maybe?
The moment felt too intimate. Like she was trespassing into a place she had no right to be.
She quickly returned the frame to its original position—face-down.
Then she heard a voice behind her.
"You're not supposed to be in here."
She jumped and spun around.
Alexander stood at the doorway, expression unreadable. His jaw was tight.
"I—I was just walking around. I didn't mean to pry," she said quickly.
His eyes flicked to the photo, then back to her.
"You saw it."
It wasn't a question.
She nodded, hesitantly.
Silence stretched between them like a taut wire.
"That's my younger brother," he said eventually. "Lucas."
She waited for more. But he didn't offer it.
"I didn't know you had a brother," she said softly.
"I don't," he said, his voice clipped. "Not anymore."
The words dropped like stones between them.
Catalina's heart ached. She wanted to say something, anything. But what do you say to a wound that deep?
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
He nodded once, then turned and left without another word.
—
That night, Catalina couldn't sleep.
The apartment was too quiet. Her thoughts too loud.
She found herself pacing, her mind full of questions. About him. About their arrangement. About the cold pain in his eyes when he spoke of his brother.
She wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water, only to find Alexander there too.
He was sitting in the dark, a glass of something stronger in his hand, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened. A man out of place in his own life.
"You're awake," he said without turning.
"So are you," she replied, stepping closer.
He gestured to the other stool.
She sat.
For a while, they didn't speak. The silence between them felt different now—less cold, more... fragile.
"Do you ever regret it?" she asked suddenly.
He looked at her.
"Regret what?"
"Your life. The choices you made."
He took a sip of his drink.
"Every powerful man has regrets," he said after a moment. "But they're useless. Regret changes nothing."
She looked down at her hands.
"I regret almost everything," she said. "Running. Ruining the wedding. My mother's disappointment. I left everyone behind."
"You saved yourself," he said. "There's nothing to regret about that."
She met his eyes, surprised.
For the first time, she saw something raw in them.
Understanding.
Maybe even admiration.
"What about you?" she asked softly. "Who did you leave behind?"
A long pause.
Then: "Everyone."
Her breath caught.
Their eyes held, and the air between them shifted. Warmer. Heavier.
She reached out, almost without thinking, and placed her hand on his.
He didn't pull away.
Instead, his fingers turned and gently closed around hers.
Neither of them spoke.
Because in that quiet moment—in the middle of the night, surrounded by ghosts—they understood each other.
Two broken people.
Two lonely hearts.
Two strangers bound by an impossible contract… and something deeper they couldn't yet name.
—
The next morning, the mood shifted.
Catalina woke to find a neatly folded note on her nightstand.
Catalina,
There's a dress waiting for you in the closet. Formal. I need you to accompany me tonight. It's a charity gala. You'll be playing the role of Mrs. Moretti.
Act accordingly.
— A.M.
Her heart thudded.
Her first public appearance as his wife.
Could she really do this?
Could she walk into a room full of powerful people, lie through her smile, pretend to be the bride she never wanted to be?
But she had no choice.
Not if she wanted to stay protected.
Not if she wanted to stay free.
Hours later, she stood before the mirror in a floor-length midnight blue gown that hugged her curves and shimmered under the light. Her hair was swept into a soft chignon, delicate diamond earrings dangling from her ears.
She barely recognized herself.
The door opened, and Alexander stepped in.
He stopped cold when he saw her.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then: "You look... perfect."
Her heart skipped.
"You don't look so bad yourself," she said, eyeing his tailored black tuxedo.
He offered his arm.
She took it.
And together, they descended into a world of flashing cameras, hungry eyes, and dangerous secrets.
Tonight, the game would begin.
And Catalina had no idea just how high the stakes would be.