Alexander's penthouse was less of a home and more of a kingdom.
When the elevator opened directly into the living space, Elena's first thought was that she had stepped into a magazine spread. Floor-to-ceiling glass revealed the glittering Manhattan skyline, the Hudson River a silver ribbon in the distance. The furniture was sleek, minimalist, all sharp angles and muted tones. Not a pillow out of place, not a speck of dust.
It was cold.
So perfectly curated it might as well have been a museum.
"This is it?" she asked, stepping inside with her small suitcase trailing behind her.
Alexander followed, one hand in his pocket, his suit jacket crisp as though it had been tailored that very morning. "What were you expecting? A white picket fence?"
"I was expecting a home," she shot back, dropping her bag with a thud against the polished hardwood. "This looks like an ice palace designed to intimidate people."
His lips twitched. "Then it's serving its purpose."
She rolled her eyes and wandered deeper inside, her fingers brushing the back of the leather sofa, the gleaming marble countertop in the kitchen, the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf filled not with novels but with rows of business journals and law volumes.
Everything screamed Alexander Knight: controlled, expensive, untouchable.
And now it was hers too.
The thought made her stomach knot.
"You'll stay in the guest suite," Alexander said, his tone brisk, as if dictating terms at a board meeting. "It has its own bathroom and closet space. I'll have the staff bring up anything you need."
She turned to face him, her chin tilting. "Generous of you. But don't worry—I won't be raiding your precious closet space."
His gray eyes narrowed faintly. "You enjoy needling me, don't you?"
"It's the only entertainment I'm going to get around here."
A flicker of amusement crossed his face, so quick she almost missed it. But then it was gone, replaced by his usual armor.
"This arrangement is for appearances only," he said firmly. "In public, we play the part of a happily married couple. Behind closed doors, we stay out of each other's way. Understood?"
Elena crossed her arms. "Crystal clear."
Good. Simple. Civilized. That was how it should have been.
But nothing about living with Alexander Knight was simple.
That first night, Elena padded barefoot into the kitchen, unable to sleep. The city lights shimmered against the glass walls, and the silence pressed heavy around her. She opened the fridge, hunting for something comforting—milk, maybe, or ice cream.
Instead, she found shelves stocked with bottled water, champagne, and protein shakes. Not a single real meal in sight.
Of course. Alexander Knight didn't eat. He probably absorbed nutrients from sheer arrogance.
"You're awake," a deep voice said behind her.
She jumped, spinning around. Alexander stood in the doorway, shirtless, sweatpants slung low on his hips. His chest was broad, every muscle defined like a sculpture come to life.
Elena's breath caught before she could stop it.
He arched one perfect brow. "Staring already, wife?"
She slammed the fridge shut. "Please. You're not that impressive."
He chuckled—a low, dangerous sound that rippled through her. "Liar."
Her cheeks burned, and she brushed past him, determined not to let him see the effect he had on her.
But as she stormed back toward her room, she could still feel his gaze following her.
And worse—she wasn't sure she hated it.