Chapter 63 – Sleeping Arrangements
The penthouse was silent in a way that felt deliberate.
Amber noticed it the moment the elevator doors slid open onto Alex's private floor. No music. No staff voices. Just space—wide, expensive, immaculately controlled space that smelled faintly of leather and clean steel.
"So," she said lightly as she stepped out, heels clicking against polished marble, "this is where the empire sleeps."
Alex loosened his tie, setting his phone on the console table. "The empire doesn't sleep."
"Of course it doesn't." She glanced around. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city like a living organism—bright, restless, watching. "And where exactly do I fit into this?"
He gestured down the corridor. "Guest room. West wing."
Amber stopped walking.
West wing.
Not bedroom. Not our room.
Good.
She turned to look at him. "Clear boundaries?"
"For now," he replied evenly.
She studied his face, searching for mockery, dominance, expectation. Found none. Just restraint.
"Good," she said. "Because this is already… a lot."
Alex nodded once. "This arrangement is for optics. We don't blur lines we can't redraw."
Something about the phrasing made her chest tighten.
They moved through the apartment in parallel silence. He showed her the essentials—kitchen, office, security panel she wasn't to touch without him. Control, always control.
The guest room was anything but modest. King-sized bed. Neutral tones. A view that mirrored the city's glow. It felt prepared. Thought out.
"You planned this," Amber said quietly.
"Yes."
"For how long?"
Alex hesitated—just a fraction. "Since the board meeting."
That was honest. More honest than she expected.
She walked to the window, resting her palm against the cool glass. "You know what people will assume."
"That we're sleeping together?"
She turned back to him. "That this is real."
His gaze held hers. "Is that a problem?"
"It is if we start believing it."
Silence stretched.
Alex broke it first. "There will be rules."
She arched a brow. "Of course there will."
"No entering each other's rooms without permission."
"Agreed."
"No physical contact behind closed doors."
"Define contact."
His jaw tightened. "You know what I mean."
She smiled faintly. "Fine."
"No emotional expectations."
That one landed harder.
Amber folded her arms. "That's not something you can regulate."
"I can try."
She shook her head. "You don't get to write clauses for feelings, Alex."
"I get to protect this arrangement."
"And yourself," she added softly.
He didn't deny it.
A moment passed where neither of them moved. The air felt heavier, charged with all the things unsaid.
"I'll unpack later," Amber said finally. "I need a shower."
"Of course."
As he turned to leave, she spoke again. "Alex."
He stopped.
"If this starts to feel… complicated," she said carefully, "we revisit the terms. Together."
He looked back at her then, something unreadable in his eyes. "Agreed."
The door closed behind him with a quiet click.
Amber leaned back against it, exhaling slowly. Her heart was racing, her thoughts louder than the city outside.
Separate rooms. Clear rules. No expectations.
It should have felt safe.
Instead, all she could think about was how close his presence felt—just down the corridor, separated by walls that suddenly seemed very thin.
Across the apartment, Alex stood in his bedroom, staring at the skyline without seeing it.
He replayed the evening in fragments: her hand in his, the way she moved against him while they danced, how easily the lie had settled between them.
This was supposed to be control.
Instead, it felt like proximity.
And proximity was dangerous.
He checked his phone. Messages from the board. Headlines still rolling in.
Wilson Heir Steps Out With Mystery Woman—Serious Relationship Confirmed.
Alex locked the screen.
Tomorrow, the world would expect consistency.
Tonight, the silence asked questions he wasn't ready to answer.