Nadia woke at six. She dressed in black slacks and a cream blouse, tied her hair into a bun, and opened her laptop at the kitchen island. Tom's penthouse was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator. She worked as if nothing in her life had changed, though her left hand now carried a thin gold band.
At seven-thirty, Tom entered, wearing jogging clothes, sweat glistening on his forehead. He grabbed a bottle of water, leaned against the counter, and studied her.
"You've already been at it for an hour?" he asked.
"Two," Nadia corrected without looking up. "Reinhardt's representatives arrive next week. We need to align our public narrative before then."
Tom grinned. "Straight to business. Romantic breakfasts clearly aren't in the contract."
Nadia met his gaze, sharp and cool. "This isn't romance, Mr. Kingsley."
"Tom," he reminded her. "We're married now. Might as well use first names."
She returned her eyes to the screen. "Names don't change the nature of the arrangement."
Tom drank his water slowly. He didn't push. Instead, he walked to his office, leaving her to work.
---
By noon they sat together in the conference room of the penthouse. The marriage contract lay between them, annotated with notes. Nadia had insisted they review the details again—clarity prevented misunderstandings.
She pointed to one clause. "Clause twelve: public appearances. We attend corporate galas, board meetings, investor dinners, and charity events together. Photographs and interviews must reflect a united front. No deviations."
Tom leaned back in his chair. "You sound like a drill sergeant."
"I sound like someone determined not to fail."
He reached over, underlined another line. "Clause sixteen: cohabitation. 'Shared residence required for credibility.' Don't worry. I won't intrude on your privacy."
"Good," Nadia said simply.
Tom studied her a moment longer. She was precise, focused, every word measured. But he caught the faint tremor in her fingers as she turned the page. She was carrying the weight of her company and pretending it didn't crush her.
---
That evening, they attended their first event as husband and wife. A charity dinner at the Royal Opera House. Cameras followed them from the car. Tom placed his hand lightly on her back, steering her forward with practiced ease.
"Smile, Nadia," he murmured.
"This isn't necessary," she muttered.
"It is," he countered. "They need to see us happy. Relaxed. Together."
She forced a small smile as flashes burst. Inside, executives and socialites greeted them with surprise. Tom introduced her warmly to each guest, speaking of Verdant Power's innovations as if they were his own pride. He complimented her intelligence, defended her against subtle jabs about startups, and kept the conversation flowing.
Nadia observed him carefully. She had expected arrogance or mockery. Instead, he played the role of supportive husband flawlessly. Too flawlessly.
---
Back in the penthouse, she removed her heels and dropped them by the door. "You didn't have to speak for me," she said.
"I wasn't speaking for you. I was speaking with you." Tom loosened his tie. "People respect confidence, but they love a story. Tonight, you and I were the story."
"I don't want to be a story," Nadia snapped.
"Too late. You are. And the sooner you accept it, the easier this gets."
She crossed her arms. "You seem very comfortable playing husband."
Tom smiled faintly. "Maybe I am."
Her eyes narrowed. "This is a contract, not a relationship."
He held her gaze. "Contracts end. Relationships change."
For the first time, Nadia faltered. She turned away quickly, gathering her files. "We have meetings tomorrow. Get some rest."
She disappeared into her room. Tom remained in the living room, watching the closed door. His strategy was simple: patience. Step by step, he would make her forget this was only business.
---
The next morning, Nadia reviewed her inbox and saw an email from Reinhardt Capital:
Our senior representative will arrive in London to conduct a full due diligence review. In addition to company materials, we will expect to meet your spouse.
Her chest tightened. She read the line again. We will expect to meet your spouse.
This was no longer theory. The Swiss would test every detail.
She closed the laptop and glanced across the hall, where Tom's door was still shut. She knocked once, then opened it.
Tom looked up from his phone, still in bed. "Morning."
"They're sending someone," she said briskly. "Next week. We'll have to convince them. No mistakes."
Tom sat up, suddenly serious. "Then we make it real enough that no one can doubt it."
Nadia frowned. "Real enough?"
"Yes." His voice was steady. "Starting now."