Three days later, Nadia returned to the penthouse after a fourteen-hour workday. She dropped her bag by the door and kicked off her heels. Tom was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, stirring something in a pan. The smell of garlic filled the air.
"You cook?" she asked flatly.
"Occasionally," Tom replied, glancing over his shoulder. "Tonight felt like one of those occasions. Reinhardt's representative asked to see us tomorrow. At home."
Nadia froze. "At home?"
"Yes. Marcus Vogel wants to 'observe our domestic life.' His words, not mine."
"That's invasive," Nadia muttered, pacing the living room. "They're testing us."
"Of course they are," Tom said easily. "And we'll pass. Sit. Eat. You'll need the energy."
She wanted to argue, but her stomach betrayed her. She sat, picked at the pasta he served, and kept running scenarios in her mind. Questions Vogel might ask. Details they hadn't aligned.
"Relax," Tom said as he poured her water. "We just have to act like a married couple."
"This isn't acting. It's strategy."
He smiled. "Then let's strategize."
---
The next evening, Vogel arrived precisely at seven. Tom greeted him warmly at the door, while Nadia forced herself into polite composure.
"Lovely place," Vogel remarked, stepping inside. His eyes swept the space, noting the framed wedding photo Tom had ordered printed overnight, the faint smell of cooked dinner, the two glasses already set at the dining table.
"Come in, Marcus," Tom said smoothly. "Nadia insisted we host you properly."
Her jaw tightened at his phrasing but she said nothing. They sat to eat. Vogel asked questions between bites.
"How did you two meet?"
"At an industry gala," Tom answered quickly. "She ignored me the entire night."
"Because you wouldn't stop talking," Nadia added before she could stop herself. Vogel chuckled.
"And what made you realize you were compatible?" Vogel pressed.
Nadia hesitated, then said, "We share ambition. Different industries, same drive. It aligns us."
Tom leaned forward. "She's also impossible to impress. I like the challenge."
Vogel's eyes sharpened. "Challenge makes for good business. But marriage requires… affection. Respect. Perhaps even love."
The word hung heavy. Nadia kept her face still. Tom, however, didn't flinch. He reached across the table, covering her hand with his.
"Respect, yes. Affection, definitely. As for love…" His eyes locked on hers. "That takes time. But we're on our way."
Her pulse jumped. Vogel nodded, apparently satisfied.
---
After dinner, Vogel excused himself. At the door, he said, "You two are convincing. If this is performance, it is very good. But I suspect it is more. Reinhardt likes couples who are stronger together than apart." He shook their hands and left.
Silence stretched in the penthouse once the door shut.
"You overstepped," Nadia said sharply, pulling her hand back.
Tom shrugged. "It worked."
"You can't—"
"Nadia," he cut in, voice firm. "They bought it. Stop fighting me. We're supposed to be partners."
She glared at him, but her chest rose too fast, her control slipping. "You don't know what partnership means to me. You don't know what I've had to give up for this company."
Tom's expression softened. "Then show me. Let me in."
For a moment, she almost did. But the walls snapped back. She turned toward her room. "Good night."
She closed the door behind her, leaning against it in the dark. Tom's words, Vogel's suspicion, her own traitorous heartbeat—they all tangled in her mind.
This marriage was supposed to be business. So why did it feel more dangerous than any deal she had ever signed?