(Emily's POV)
The elevator dinged, and I stepped into Adrian's penthouse, my suitcase wheels squeaking against the marble floor. My heart pounded. This wasn't just a visit. I lived here now. His wife, at least on paper. The marriage certificate I'd found last night, already filed with City Hall, made that clear. One night, he'd said. Yeah, right.
Adrian was on the phone, pacing by the floor-to-ceiling windows. He didn't look at me, just waved me in. "Yes, Margaret, I know the board's upset. I'll handle it." His voice was sharp, tired.
I set my suitcase by the door and glanced around. The place screamed money, gold-framed portraits, crystal chandeliers, a grand piano nobody played. But every corner felt like Victoria. A photo of her and Adrian on a yacht sat on a side table, her smile perfect. I looked away, my chest tight.
"Emily," Adrian said, hanging up. "You settled?"
"Not yet," I said, forcing a smile. "Where should I put my stuff?"
He pointed down a hall. "Guest room's fine. Second door on the right."
Guest room. Not our room. I nodded, dragging my suitcase. "Got it."
He was already back on his phone, typing. Invisible again.
The guest room was bigger than my apartment, with a king bed and a view of Manhattan's skyline. I unpacked quickly, jeans, blouses, my old sneakers, feeling like a kid sneaking into a museum. My stuff looked cheap next to the silk curtains. I was halfway through when my phone buzzed. Sophia.
"You alive?" she asked when I answered.
"Barely," I said, sitting on the bed. "I'm in his penthouse. It's… weird."
"Weird how?" Her voice was sharp. "Em, you shouldn't be there. That marriage stunt was bad enough."
"It's temporary," I said, though the filed certificate flashed in my mind. "I'm just helping him."
"Helping him?" She snorted. "You're playing house with a guy who doesn't see you. Get out before you drown."
"I can handle it," I said, but my voice shook. "I gotta go. Talk later?"
"Fine. But call Nate. He's worried." She hung up.
I sighed, texting Nathaniel: 'I'm okay. At Adrian's. Don't freak.' He'd hate this, but I didn't have time for his lectures. I needed to keep moving.
Downstairs, Adrian was in the dining room, papers spread across a mahogany table. I hesitated, then walked in. "Need help with those?"
He didn't look up. "No. Just board reports. Boring stuff."
"Okay." I shifted, awkward. "Anything I should do? For the… narrative?"
He paused, glancing at me. "Just act normal for once Emily. We're married. People need to buy it."
"Normal," I repeated. "Right. Should I post something? Instagram, maybe?"
He nodded. "Good idea. Something simple. Dinner, maybe."
"Dinner it is." I headed to the kitchen, my stomach twisting. Act normal. Sure. Like I belonged here.
The kitchen was a chef's dream, stainless steel, marble counters, a fridge stocked with food I'd never buy. I found pasta and sauce, something easy. As it cooked, I snapped a photo of the pot, captioning it: First night as Mrs. Sinclair. Home cooking! #Newlyweds. My finger hovered over post. This was a lie. But I hit it anyway.
Adrian came in as I stirred the sauce. "Smells good," he said, surprising me.
"Thanks," I said, my cheeks warm. "Want some?"
He shook his head. "Got a call. Save me a plate?"
"Sure." I watched him walk out, my heart sinking. Just a job, Emily. Nothing more.
After dinner, alone, I wandered the penthouse, restless. Adrian was still on his call, his voice muffled behind a closed door. The living room felt like a gallery, every painting and sculpture screaming Victoria's taste. A silver frame on the mantle held another photo, her laughing, Adrian's arm around her. I turned it face-down, my hands shaking.
I needed air. I slipped into the hall, passing a door I hadn't noticed before. Adrian's study. The door was ajar, and I peeked in. Bookshelves, a desk, a leather chair. Papers were scattered, a laptop open. I shouldn't snoop, but my feet moved anyway.
I sat at the desk, glancing at the papers, contracts, emails, nothing exciting. Then I saw it: a small drawer, half-hidden under the desk. Locked. My curiosity burned. I grabbed a paperclip, bending it like Nate taught me years ago. Stupid, but I couldn't stop. The lock clicked, and the drawer slid open.
Inside were letters, tied with a ribbon. The top one was in Victoria's handwriting, addressed to Adrian. My heart raced as I skimmed it, I love you, always will, we'll conquer the world together. My throat tightened. I shouldn't be here. But another letter caught my eye, addressed to "J." Not Adrian.
I pulled it out, my fingers trembling. The envelope was worn, like it'd been opened a hundred times. I hesitated, then slid the paper free.
"Emily?" Adrian's voice came from the hall.
I shoved the letter back, slamming the drawer shut. "In here!" I called, jumping up.
He walked in, frowning. "What are you doing?"
"Just… looking for a pen," I lied, grabbing one from the desk. "For notes. PR stuff."
He studied me, his eyes narrowing. "Don't touch my things."
"Sorry," I said, my face hot. "Won't happen again."
He nodded, but his gaze lingered. "I'm heading out. Board meeting. Don't wait up."
"Okay." I forced a smile as he left, my heart pounding. That letter. Who was J?
Later, I was in the living room, scrolling through Instagram. The dinner post had hundreds of likes, comments gushing about true love. I wanted to laugh. Or cry. My phone buzzed, Daniel.
"Em, you free?" he asked when I answered.
"Sort of," I said. "What's up?"
"I'm downstairs. Need to talk. Can I come up?"
I hesitated. Adrian was gone, but still… "Sure. Five minutes."
I met him at the elevator, his smirk softer than usual. "Nice place," he said, glancing around. "Feels like a museum."
"Yeah," I said, crossing my arms. "What do you want, Daniel?"
He sighed, stepping closer. "I saw your post. Cute, but it's a lie. You're miserable."
"I'm fine," I said, looking away. "It's just temporary."
"Temporary?" He laughed, sharp. "You're living here, Em. You're in too deep."
"He needs me," I said, my voice small.
"He needs a prop," Daniel snapped. "You're not his wife. You're his assistant, playing a part. And it's killing you."
"Stop," I said, my eyes stinging. "You don't get it."
"I get it," he said, softer now. "I see you, Emily. More than he does. But he's blind, and you're breaking your own heart."
I turned away, my throat tight. "Thanks for the pep talk. I'm fine."
"Keep telling yourself that." He sighed. "Just… be careful."
He left, and I sank onto the couch, his words echoing. Breaking my heart. Maybe he was right.
I couldn't sleep. The penthouse was too quiet, too big. I wandered back to the study, the locked drawer calling me. Adrian wouldn't be back for hours. I grabbed the paperclip again, my hands steadier this time. The drawer opened, and I pulled out the letter to "J."
I unfolded it, my breath catching. Victoria's handwriting, jagged and urgent. I skimmed the lines, 'I can't keep lying, you deserve to know, I'll fight for us.' Then the last line hit me like a punch.
"My son will know his father's name…"