Alexander's words—"This marriage won't last a month"—reverberated in the silence of the massive penthouse.
Noah sat rigid on the sofa, the fresh signature on the marriage contract burning on his desk like a brand. It wasn't the first time he'd been betrayed, but this felt different.
This wasn't a sudden, messy collapse like Kelvin; this was a calculated, cold-blooded confirmation of his temporary, disposable status.
He was a line item on Alexander's balance sheet, a means to an end.
Noah stood up, his exhaustion suddenly replaced by a sharp, invigorating rage.
He went straight to the eastern wing—his wing—and found it was exactly as Alexander had promised: luxurious, impersonal, and entirely separate. It was a golden cage designed for a polite prisoner.
Over the next three days, the penthouse became a battlefield of passive-aggression. Alexander was rarely home, immersing himself in meetings and calls to finalize the merger his marriage had secured. When he was present, the atmosphere was frozen.
Meals were taken in silence, often separated by the length of the enormous dining table. They communicated in clipped, necessary exchanges about the public relations calendar.
One evening, Noah decided to push back. He was sitting in the main living area, reviewing a draft of the official 'couple's statement' that Alexander's PR team had sent him. It was sickeningly saccharine, full of lines about 'deep mutual respect' and 'a burgeoning partnership.'
Alexander walked in, phone pressed to his ear, gesturing impatiently for the butler to adjust the light.
"This statement is rubbish," Noah stated, dropping the draft onto the sleek glass table with a thwack.
Alexander lowered his phone, his expression instantly darkening. "It's boilerplate. Sign it and send it back."
"I won't. It claims we are planning a honeymoon next month. We both know that's a lie. More importantly, it uses terms like 'romantic destiny.' That's not our narrative, Alexander.
Our narrative is strength, ambition, and surprise. We signed a contract; let's own the power play."
"You are here to comply, not to craft the narrative," Alexander retorted, his eyes flashing with annoyance. "You want to be compensated? Then act the part I purchased."
Noah stood, meeting his height with unflinching defiance. "And what part is that, exactly? The grieving fool who gratefully took the first hand extended to him? You think the media hasn't already figured out that this is pure commerce? If we pretend this is romance, we look weak and ridiculous. If we pretend this is business, we look exactly like the powerful couple the board wants you to be."
He walked toward Alexander, closing the physical distance, the palpable tension between them thrumming with every step. "I know you think I did this purely to humiliate Kelvin, and yes, that was a lovely side effect. But you are no different.
You dragged a stranger into your life, bought him with a signature, and now you expect him to be some pliable trophy wife? I am Dr. Noah Li. I have a life, a career, and a mind. And if you want the public to believe in this marriage, you need to treat your 'husband' like a partner, not a pawn."
Alexander didn't retreat. He stood his ground, his powerful frame radiating hostility and something else—a flicker of reluctant respect.
"You're arguing semantics when I have three billion dollars riding on market perception," Alexander growled, his voice low and dangerous.
"I'm arguing for authenticity, which, ironically, is the only thing that can sell a lie of this magnitude," Noah countered, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Stop accusing me of using this marriage, Alexander. You're the one who needs it to save your merger. I'm just giving you the best performance for your investment."
The hostility was so thick, so close, that it felt like they were arguing in the suffocating closeness of a small room, not the vastness of the penthouse. The air crackled with a silent, volatile chemistry that was dangerously close to tipping over from anger into something else—something physical.
They were two highly charged poles, repelling and attracting simultaneously.
Alexander stared at him, his pupils dilated in the dim light, his chest rising and falling heavily. For a moment, Noah thought he might grab him, shake him, or perhaps even kiss him—just to regain control, to assert the power imbalance.
But Alexander simply dropped his gaze, his control ironclad. "Fine," he bit out, snatching the contract. "Draft your own statement.
But if this backfires, you will regret defying me."
He stormed out, leaving Noah victorious, but shaky. He had won the argument, but he knew the deeper, silent war over control and distance had only just begun.
An hour later, Noah was settling down in his solitary wing, attempting to grade papers and forget the electric tension of the confrontation, when the house intercom buzzed.
"Mr. Anderson, there is a visitor for you. Ms. Frankline."
Noah's heart gave a sickening lurch. Alexander's ex-fiancée. The one who had bailed on the wedding, the reason Alexander had bought himself a replacement groom.
A few minutes later, the unmistakable sound of high heels clicked on the marble of the main living area.
Noah, unable to resist, crept silently to the edge of his wing, peering around the corner just as Alexander returned from the office, looking utterly bored.
The woman was stunning, elegant, and composed. She was everything Noah was not in this moment: polished, predictable, and fully aware of the power she held over Alexander's past.
"Alexander, darling," Claire Frankline said, her voice smooth and chillingly affectionate. "Congratulations on the quick fix. I read the papers. Very dramatic."
"What do you want, Claire?" Alexander's voice was utterly devoid of emotion.
Claire took a sip of the glass of wine the butler offered her, her eyes drifting carelessly toward the dark entrance of the eastern wing where Noah was hiding. She didn't have to see him to know he was there.
She smiled, a cold, shark-like curve of the lips that was meant for the man she knew was listening.
"Oh, nothing, Alexander. Just checking on your new purchase. After all, someone had to remind your bridegroom what he really is." She paused, raising her voice just enough to ensure the sound carried through the silent penthouse, aimed directly at Noah's hiding place.
"You're his new charity case?"