The penthouse was stunning. Of course it was.
Perched high above the heart of Velmora, it boasted glass walls, sweeping views, and designer everything. A sleek marble kitchen. A modern fireplace. Bedrooms that looked like they belonged in architectural magazines. It was the kind of place people dreamed of living in.
And it felt absolutely foreign.
Blake had told me the move would happen within the week of the wedding. I hadn't expected it to be so soon. A quiet text message that morning—"The penthouse is ready. Oliver will handle the transfer. Let me know if you want anything changed."
Let me know if you want anything changed.
As if I could undo the whole damn marriage with a line of text.
I arrived before Blake, escorted by building staff who spoke with rehearsed warmth. My things had already been unpacked. My wardrobe placed neatly in the walk-in closet. My skincare arranged in the en-suite bathroom like I'd lived there for years.
It made me feel sick.
Sarah helped me settle in, silently sensing that I wasn't in the mood for small talk. She stayed only long enough to ensure I had everything I needed.
Once she was gone, I wandered through the penthouse slowly, feeling more like a guest than a resident. I ended up on the balcony, wine glass in hand, watching the city buzz beneath me.
The door clicked open an hour later.
Blake stepped in, calm as ever. Suit jacket slung over one arm. Tie slightly loosened. He gave me a glance and a brief nod.
"You found everything okay?" he asked.
I didn't respond right away. I sipped my wine. Let the silence breathe.
"It's all very… curated," I said finally.
He looked around the penthouse, expression unreadable. "Evelyn had some input. I told her not to make it too feminine or too cold."
"Congratulations. You achieved both."
He didn't rise to the bait.
Instead, he walked to the kitchen and poured himself a drink—whiskey, neat. Then he leaned against the counter and looked at me like he was studying a sculpture he couldn't figure out.
"We don't have to pretend in here," I said.
He raised a brow. "We haven't been pretending for a while. Not with each other."
"No, just for the rest of the world."
"That's the deal, isn't it?"
I turned back to the glass wall, the city lights blurring slightly in my vision. My fingers tightened around the stem of the wineglass.
"Why does it bother you so much?" he asked suddenly.
I turned. "What?"
"This arrangement. You act like it's a betrayal. Like I planned this to ruin your life."
"You didn't plan it," I said coldly. "But you embraced it. You didn't protest. You didn't fight it. You walked into that boardroom and acted like it was just another transaction."
"It was. For our families. For the companies."
"And what about for us, Blake? We're not companies. We're people."
He took a slow sip of his drink. "I never claimed to be anything more than what was needed."
My heart clenched.
There it was—his truth. Clean. Controlled. Efficient.
I hated him for it.
And maybe, just a little, I envied him.
"We'll have to host dinners here," he said after a long silence.
"Naturally."
"There's a room upstairs that's been turned into a joint office. Your assistant has access."
"Sarah will love that."
"We'll need to schedule a joint interview soon."
"Of course."
Each word felt like a needle, threading us tighter into this stitched-up lie.
Blake set his glass down. "We can define the terms of our arrangement however you want. You can have your space. Your rules. We don't have to talk more than necessary."
"And what do you want?"
He paused. Looked at me with a flicker of hesitation I rarely saw.
"I want peace. For both of us."
I stared at him.
Not love. Not friendship. Just peace.
Maybe that was all we could hope for.
I nodded slowly. "Fine. We coexist."
He nodded back. "Coexist."
We stood there for another minute. Then he turned and headed toward the master bedroom.
A few moments later, I followed—only to veer into the second bedroom, now mine. My space. My line in the sand.
I shut the door behind me and leaned against it, exhaling shakily.
Peace.
If that was all we could have, I would hold onto it like armor.
Because it was the only thing keeping my heart from cracking open entirely.