The next morning, Arielle woke up with the kind of clarity that only comes after total confusion. The kind that settles into your bones when the chaos finally quiets, when the fog lifts just enough to reveal the sharp edges of reality.
This wasn't a dream. It was her life now.
Her gaze shifted to the tray on the low glass table by the window. Breakfast had been left again just like yesterday. Like she was being watched, timed, handled.
A tall glass of green juice stared her down, still untouched. She wrinkled her nose. She wasn't touching that. Ever.
But the croissant? Buttery, golden, perfect. That was a different story. She tore off a corner and bit into it, savoring the contrast of its soft center and crisp edges. Small comforts in an unfamiliar warzone.
Then her eyes caught the note in black ink. Neat and precise as the contract of yesterday.A single line, underlined for emphasis,the message read;
"9:00 a.m. sharp. We set the rules. – L"
Her breath seized.
Rules???? He wanted rules???? Of course he did. Contracts weren't enough for men like Leon, they needed structure, dominance, control in every breath. He wouldn't leave room for interpretation.
She glanced at the digital clock on the wall...9:17 a.m.
Her stomach dropped.Fuck!.
She was already late.
And if she'd learned anything about Leon Mikhailov in the last 48 hours, it was that he didn't like being kept waiting. Everything he did was planned and timely–business,life and of course,his deals.
---
Ari had envisioned Leon's office to be a skyscraper with panoramic city view, narcissistic glass desk bathed in natural light, curated coffee tables stacked with business magazines bearing his name or initials ,and she definitely had imagined assistants scurrying around at his call in tailored black.
Leon's office was unfortunately nothing like she had expected. No gleaming skyscraper. No panoramic city view. No narcissistic glass desk bathed in natural light. There were no curated coffee tables stacked with business magazines bearing his name. No assistants scurrying around in tailored black. Instead, it was buried in the back of an unmarked stone building in Tribeca—a structure so plain it practically dared the world to overlook it. There were no logos or signs in sight. Just a steel door and a single camera that blinked once when she approached.
Outside,a huge towering man silently stood guard with arms folded like he was born that way. His sharp, metallic eyes watching and measuring. His presence didn't threaten with noise—it gave off the quiet kind of danger. The kind that made your pulse skip without a word.
The door creaked open, and Arielle stepped inside.
The contrast was immediate.
This was no ordinary office.
It was moody, calculated. Intimate in a way that made her shoulders tense. The scent of rich leather, faint smoke, and something darker, like old secrets, hung in the air. On one side of the room, there were rows of sleek, high-powered computers and monitors displaying things she couldn't even begin to interpret. Spinning maps, code streams, surveillance footage?
On the other, towering bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling, filled with hardcovers that looked older than her. All she saw was Russian titles, legal tomes, psychology, strategy and in the center of it all, anchoring the room like a throne was a fireplace with real flames, providing real warmth. Flickering shadows across the black walls like the place was alive.
Leon sat behind a desk made of wood blackened,not with paint,but burned. The kind of grain that told a story—scorched but still standing. Just like him.
His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, veins and tension visible beneath his skin. No tie. No jacket. Just the cold, composed elegance of a man who never needed embellishment to hold authority. It aroused something in her. She suddenly felt the urge to feel every bit of it... She wanted him. Still unsure of herself and remembering the contract she had signed the previous day,maintaining her cool was the only option presented before her.
He didn't look up right away.
Arielle lingered at the doorway, her pulse unsteady. Every instinct told her to be cautious.
But then he lifted his gaze. His eyes locked her in place.
"You're late."
I got lost."
"You had a driver." He said calmly
She crossed her arms. "Maybe I needed five more minutes of pretending this isn't insane."
Leon stood. "That's fair. But if you're going to wear my ring, you need to stop calling it insane."
She eyed him. "Fine. Let's call it... unconventional insanity."
His mouth twitched in half amusement, half challenge. "Come sit."
---
Arielle sat in the leather chair across from him, the space between them dense with everything unspoken.
Leon tapped the folder on his desk.
"There are ground rules and non-negotiable expectations. We need to decide now, before the media starts watching."
She nodded. "Okay."
"Rule one," he said. "We keep the story straight. You're my fiancée, you live with me now, you work with my team, we've been seeing each other quietly for four months, and I proposed two weeks ago in Santorini."
"How romantic," she muttered.
He ignored that. "Rule two. We establish touch boundaries. Public affection is expected but private is your call. No blurred lines and no accidents."
She raised an eyebrow. "You really think I'd fall in love with you, is that it?"
"I think people confuse gratitude for love," he said flatly. "It's dangerous."
The words stung more than they should have.
She looked away. "Fine. The boundaries are clear."
"Rule three," he continued. "No secrets. If something comes up that could risk media exposure, personal history or emotional triggers,make sure you tell me.....immediately."
Arielle hesitated. "I have a rule, too."
He nodded. "Go on."
She leaned forward, voice low. "I get to leave at any point i decide to. No threats or games. If it gets too much and overwhelming, I'm out."
Leon didn't flinch. "Deal," he said nonchalantly
"Just like that?" She was surprised he agreed without argument or fight.
"You're not my prisoner, Arielle." He said looking her dead in the eye.
She stared at him. "That's not how this feels."
"Then we're doing it wrong."
---
The silence that followed thereafter was heavy and thick with things neither of them knew how to name yet.
Finally, he slid a smaller folder across the desk.
"What's this?" Ari asked
"Your new life. All you'll be needing is in here
–passwords access, a calendar, your press bio and a list of events you'll attend with me this quarter."
She opened the folder. Her name was at the top, followed by a headline:
ARIELLE VAUGHN – SOCIAL IMPACT STRATEGIST & HEIRESS TO MIKHAILOV LEGACY
Her heart skipped. "Heir—what?"
"Public spin," he said calmly. "You're a rising powerhouse. Not just my fiancée, but a partner. We sell the illusion of power, not pity."
She looked at him. "Why do I feel like this has nothing to do with love?"
"Because it doesn't." He added sharply
"But it looks like it."
Leon paused. For the first time, she saw something shift in his face. Not softness but... conflict.
"I don't do love, Ari" he said finally. "But I do loyalty and i protect what's mine."
"And I'm yours for three months?"
He didn't answer. There was no need to
---
Later that day, they were scheduled for their first public appearance: a private lunch at a Midtown club that required not only reservation but reputation.
Arielle wore a white dress that hugged her softly, diamonds at her ears, a purse she didn't choose. She gave off an aura of luxury and power that befitted the title of Leon Mikhailov's partner. She was absolutely stunning.
Leon met her at the car.
"You look the part," he said with a smirk
"Do I play it well?" She asked,not necessarily expecting an answer.
He held out his hand instead. She hesitated before placing hers in his.
"You're already convincing," he said quietly.
"Why does that sound like a warning?"
"Because it is."
---
The lunch went smoothly, infact, too smoothly. They smiled, touched,laughed once on cue. They made it look so real, too real.
Cameras clicked outside the entrance. Paparazzi got their shots. Definitely they were prepared for the headlines.
Leon whispered soft nothings that sounded like strategy and Ari whispered back with comments about fabric and lighting. No one suspected a thing.
The event soon came to an end and soon they were back at the car. On the ride back, as the car pulled into the underground entrance of the penthouse, something shifted.
She dropped the act.
"So what do people think happened between us? How did I 'win' you over?"
Leon glanced at her. "You didn't win me."
That should've hurt but it didn't ,rather ,it intrigued her
She pushed. "Then why me? Why not hire an actress?"
He looked at her too long.
Then, quietly: "Because actresses pretend. You were already surviving."
---
They stepped out of the car, the silence was thick once more.
In the elevator, she turned to him, heart hammering for no reason she understood.
"What if this gets confusing?" she asked.
"It won't."
"What if I get confusing ?"
He looked at her and took a step forward. As he moved closer her back hit the elevator wall. Slowly his hand hovered by her waist—not touching just close.
The lights above them glowed golden, warm. He closed the gap between them close enough to whisper....
"Don't confuse kindness for connection and don't confuse control for emotion."
Ari could feel her heartbeat seize.
And then, just as the elevator dinged,he did something that broke one of his own rules. He slowly brushed a strand of her hair from her cheek, of course, without purpose nor reason. Just... a soft touch. With Ari's heart beating fast,her eyes met his. She slowly and cautiously turned to face him, their lips almost brushing, she stared at the man in front of her. She didn't understand how she suddenly felt.
And for a second, the pretending stopped.