Saphira POV
The sound of my heels clicking against the marble floor echoed like a warning bell through the cavernous penthouse foyer. Every surface gleamed crystal chandeliers, glass staircases, obsidian floors. It wasn't a home; it was a display case for wealth. Cold. Immaculate. Untouchable. Much like the man standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, hands buried in the pockets of his bespoke charcoal suit, the skyline glittering behind him like a crown he owned.
Caelum Drayke didn't turn when I walked in. He didn't need to. His presence filled the entire space.
"You're late," he said smoothly, voice carrying like velvet over ice.
I dropped my purse onto the black marble console with more force than necessary. "You didn't exactly give me much time to pack."
He turned then, his gaze sweeping over me in that infuriating, calculated way. Not lustful. Not even admiring. Assessing. Like I was a chess piece he'd just maneuvered into place.
"You're moving in tonight," he said simply. "No negotiations."
A bitter laugh bubbled out of me. "You really know how to make a girl feel welcome."
"You're not here to feel welcome, Saphira. You're here because someone wants you destroyed, and you need me to make sure that doesn't happen."
His bluntness shouldn't have surprised me, but it did. I was used to men who danced around their power like it was something polite. Caelum wielded his like a weapon, cutting through pretense and politeness until all that was left was truth and danger.
I folded my arms, shifting my weight. "And you're so magnanimous, offering me protection in exchange for what, again? Oh, right. Turning my life into a PR stunt and marrying me for six months."
The corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk that made my stomach tighten. "It's hardly a stunt when both parties get exactly what they want."
"Do I look like I'm getting what I want?" I shot back, but my voice cracked on the last word, betraying more than I wanted.
His expression softened for a fraction of a second. Just a fraction. Then it was gone, replaced by that cool, unreadable mask he wore like armor.
"Come," he said, gesturing toward a hallway. "I'll show you your room."
I followed him, though my instincts screamed not to. Every step deeper into his world felt like crossing a line I could never come back from.
---
The guest room he led me to was larger than my entire apartment, a sprawling suite with a king-sized bed, a chaise lounge by the window, and a walk-in closet already filled with designer clothes in my size. I froze at the doorway, a mix of awe and indignation boiling in my chest.
"You bought me a wardrobe," I said flatly.
He didn't even glance at me as he adjusted his cufflinks. "It's called preparation. You're going to be photographed. Every detail matters."
I bristled. "So I'm your doll now? Dress me up, make me smile for the cameras, parade me around to make yourself look untouchable?"
His gaze finally cut to mine, sharp as a blade. "You agreed to this. No one forced you."
"No one forced me?" I laughed bitterly. "You think I wanted this? I'm here because Lucien is bleeding my company dry and threatening to bury me. You're the only person ruthless enough to stop him."
Caelum's eyes flickered with something anger, maybe, or recognition. "Lucien doesn't stop unless someone makes him."
"And you're volunteering to be that someone?"
"I'm volunteering to make him regret breathing your name."
His voice was so low, so dangerous, it sent a shiver skittering down my spine. I turned away from him, unable to handle the intensity in his gaze.
---
I spent the next hour unpacking, though "unpacking" was generous considering I'd brought little more than a carry-on. Most of my clothes wouldn't fit this new world anyway. I pulled a silk slip dress from the closet a deep sapphire blue that clung to my curves and slipped it on. It felt like putting on someone else's skin.
When I finally stepped into the living room, Caelum was on the phone, his voice clipped and commanding. "No, double the security detail. I want eyes on every entrance and exit."
He hung up and turned to me, expression unreadable. "You look stunning."
I blinked. It was the first genuine compliment he'd given me, and it landed like a sucker punch.
"Thanks," I murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
He stepped closer, his cologne a mix of cedarwood and something darker wrapping around me like smoke. "We have a dinner to attend tonight. It's time to debut Mrs. Drayke."
The title made me flinch. "We're not even legally married yet."
"Semantics. The world doesn't need paperwork to see what I want them to see."
"And what do you want them to see?" I challenged.
He leaned down, so close his breath brushed my lips. "That you're mine."
My heart slammed against my ribs. I hated that his words sent heat rushing through me. Hated that some part of me wanted to believe him.
---
Dinner was exactly what I'd expected: a parade of power, whispered conversations over expensive wine, and cameras flashing every time Caelum placed a hand on my lower back. I smiled until my cheeks hurt, laughed at jokes I didn't find funny, and played the role of perfect wife-to-be.
Lucien was there. Of course he was. Sitting at a corner table, watching us with a predator's smile.
"You've upgraded, Saphira," he drawled when we passed him. "I hope he's worth the price."
I stiffened, but Caelum didn't miss a beat. He rested a hand on my hip and bent down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "Don't look at him," he whispered. "Smile at me instead."
I forced a smile, and Caelum's eyes softened, his hand squeezing my waist in reassurance.
Lucien's smirk widened. "Careful, Drayke. You know what they say about playing with fire."
Caelum straightened, his gaze like steel. "You should know, Lucien. You're about to get burned."
The tension between them crackled like static electricity, but Caelum simply guided me past him, his grip firm and protective.
---
By the time we got back to the penthouse, I was exhausted, my cheeks aching from all the fake smiles. Caelum loosened his tie, looking as composed as ever, while I kicked off my heels and collapsed onto the couch.
"You were perfect tonight," he said, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.
I snorted. "Perfect? I felt like a porcelain doll."
"Exactly," he said, settling beside me. "Porcelain dolls don't crack under pressure."
His words stung more than I wanted to admit. "Is that all I am to you? A piece in your game?"
He set down his glass and leaned closer, his voice low. "You're the only piece that matters."
The sincerity in his tone caught me off guard. I opened my mouth to respond, but a sharp knock at the door interrupted us.
Caelum's entire body went rigid.
"Stay here," he ordered, striding toward the door.
I rose anyway, my curiosity piqued. A man in a dark suit stood in the doorway, his expression grim. He handed Caelum a manila envelope, whispered something I couldn't hear, and left.
Caelum tore open the envelope, scanned its contents, and his face darkened.
"What is it?" I asked, stepping closer.
He didn't answer. He just handed me the photographs.
My breath caught in my throat. They were of me taken from across the street, from outside my office, outside my apartment. Always from a distance. Always watching.
But the last photo made my blood run cold.
It was me and Caelum at the dinner tonight, smiling for the cameras. Only someone had drawn a red X across my face.
And underneath, scrawled in jagged black ink, were two chilling words:
"SHE'S NEXT."