Elena's POV
You're doing it wrong.
I look up from the coffee maker, exhausted. It's 7:00 AM Saturday morning. Patricia has been living with us for exactly 24 hours, and I've already made three mistakes.
Adrian stands in the kitchen doorway, hair still damp from his shower. He crosses his arms.
Doing what wrong?
The coffee. I take two sugars, no cream. You made it black.
Sorry, I forgot
A wife wouldn't forget. His voice is cold, but his eyes flick toward the living room where Patricia sits with her ever-present notebook. We need to be more convincing.
Right. Because nothing says loving marriage like coffee criticism at dawn.
I dump the black coffee and start over. Two sugars, no cream. When I hand him the mug, our fingers brush. Adrian holds the touch a second longer than necessary.
For Patricia's benefit, I realize.
Everything is a performance now.
Thank you, darling, he says, and the endearment sounds almost natural.
Almost.
Patricia makes a note.
By noon, I want to scream.
Patricia follows us everywhere. Takes notes on everything. How we sit together. How we talk. Whether we touch. She's studying us like lab rats, looking for cracks in our story.
We need to practice, Adrian says after Patricia retreats to her room. We're not convincing enough.
Practice what exactly?
Being married. He opens his laptop on the kitchen counter. Real couples have routines. Know each other's habits. Finish each other's sentences. We look like strangers pretending to cohabitate.
That's because we are strangers pretending to cohabitate.
Then we need to stop being strangers. He pulls up financial reports on his screen. Come here.
I sit beside him. He smells like expensive cologne and coffee.
These are Blackwell Industries' quarterly reports from the past two years, Adrian explains. I need to prove Marcus sabotaged me. But I can't find the pattern.
I scan the numbers. Revenue streams, investment portfolios, acquisition timelines. My analyst brain kicks in automatically.
Here. I point at a series of transactions. These overseas investments, they're all through the same shell company. Different names, but look at the registration dates. All within a two-week period. And they all failed within six months.
Adrian leans closer, studying the screen. I missed that.
Because you were looking at the failures, not the source. I pull up another tab. If I cross-reference with market data... yes. Every investment was timed perfectly to crash. Someone knew exactly when to buy and when to tank the value.
Marcus. Adrian's voice is deadly quiet.
Probably. But you'd need proof he controlled the shell company. I'm already searching corporate registries. Give me a few hours. I can trace the paper trail.
Adrian stares at me. Really stares. You're brilliant.
The compliment catches me off guard. I'm just doing my job
You're wasted as a mid-level analyst, Elena. You should be running companies, not analyzing them.
Something warm blooms in my chest. Derek never complimented my work. Never saw my potential.
But Adrian does.
Maybe after this is over, I say quietly. After we're done being married.
The word after creates tension. When we part ways. When this ends.
Neither of us likes thinking about it.
Patricia's door opens. We jump apart like guilty teenagers.
Just reviewing finances, Adrian calls out smoothly. Elena's helping me prepare for the board hearing.
Patricia nods, making another note.
Sunday afternoon, Adrian decides we need to practice physical intimacy.
Not that kind, he clarifies when I go pale. Just... how couples touch. Casually. Naturally.
We stand in the living room. Patricia is in her room, but we both know she could emerge any second.
Put your hand on my shoulder, Adrian instructs.
I do. He's solid. Warm. Taller than Derek ever was.
Stop comparing them, I tell myself.
Now I'll put my hand on your waist. Adrian's palm settles at my hip. This is how couples stand when they're comfortable together. See? Not sexual. Just... familiar.
But it doesn't feel familiar. It feels electric.
Try moving closer, he says.
I step into his space. Our bodies are inches apart. I can feel his heartbeat—or maybe that's mine.
Better. His voice is rougher. Now look at me like you're in love.
I don't know what that looks like.
Yes, you do. Think about... He pauses. Think about someone you cared about. How you looked at them.
Derek's face flashes through my mind. Then Adrian's replaces it.
I look up at Adrian. Really look at him. Past the cold exterior. Past the walls. I see the man who screams in nightmares. Who's fighting to reclaim his father's legacy. Who complimented my intelligence like it mattered.
Something shifts in Adrian's expression. His hand tightens on my waist.
Like that, he whispers. Exactly like that.
We stand frozen. Too close. Too real.
Patricia's door opens.
We spring apart.
Just practicing our photo poses, I say too quickly. For the board hearing.
Patricia's lips curve. Of course.
But her eyes say she saw something real.
Sunday evening, we create inside jokes.
Couples have shared language, Adrian explains. Things only they understand.
We're sitting on the couch. Patricia is in the kitchen making tea.
Like what? I ask.
References. Memories. We need to invent them. He thinks. Okay. Let's say on our first date, you spilled wine on my shirt.
Why would I spill wine?
Because I said something arrogant and you threw it at me.
Despite everything, I smile. That actually sounds believable.
Exactly. So now whenever I'm arrogant, you can reference 'the wine incident' and I'll know to back off.
What if I say 'two sugars'? I suggest. That can mean you're being cold and need to warm up.
Adrian's eyes gleam. And if I say 'black coffee,' it means you're overthinking.
We spend an hour building our false history. By the end, we have a dozen private jokes that feel almost real.
I catch myself actually laughing at Adrian's dry humor. He watches me with something like fondness.
You have a nice laugh, he says. Then catches himself. I mean—for the act. It's convincing.
Right. The act.
But it doesn't feel like acting anymore.
Monday morning, I trip on the stairs.
I'm carrying laundry to the bedroom when my foot catches. The basket goes flying. I'm falling—
Strong hands catch my waist.
Adrian lifts me effortlessly, steadying me against his chest. His face is inches from mine. We're pressed together, his hands firm on my sides.
Careful, he murmurs.
Sorry, I
But I forget what I was going to say. Because Adrian isn't letting go. His hands linger on my waist. His eyes search mine with intensity that has nothing to do with pretending.
We're getting good at this, I whisper.
His jaw tightens. Something dark flashes in his expression, fear? Want? I can't tell.
Too good, he says roughly.
Then he releases me like I burned him. Steps back. The cold mask slams down over his face.
Be more careful, he says flatly. We can't have you injured.
He walks away, leaving me standing on the stairs. Confused. Hurt. And completely aware that something just shifted between us.
Something dangerous.
That night, I lie in Adrian's bed while he works at his desk. This has become our routine—he stays up late avoiding sleep. Avoiding nightmares.
I pretend to read, but I'm watching him. The tense line of his shoulders. How he runs his hand through his hair when he's frustrated.
When did I start memorizing his habits?
My phone buzzes. I check it discreetly.
Unknown number: You're falling for him. He's falling for you. That's exactly what Marcus wants. Feelings make you vulnerable. Vulnerable makes you weak. And weakness gets you killed.
My blood goes cold.
Another message: Tomorrow night, 8 PM, black car will wait outside your building. Come alone or don't come at all. I'll tell you how to survive this. But you can't tell Adrian. He's being watched more closely than you know.
I stare at the message. My heart hammers.
Someone is offering to help me. But only if I betray Adrian's trust by meeting them in secret.
Do I go? Do I tell Adrian?
The message deletes itself.
I look across the room at Adrian, still working. Still fighting. Still keeping me at arm's length even though I can feel the walls crumbling between us.
He'd never forgive me for going behind his back.
But if it saves both our lives... do I have a choice?
Elena? Adrian's voice cuts through my thoughts. You okay?
Fine, I lie. Just tired.
Get some sleep. He doesn't look at me. Tomorrow's going to be difficult.
He has no idea how difficult.
I turn off the light. Lie in the darkness.
Tomorrow night at 8 PM, I have to decide: trust Adrian completely, or trust the mysterious stranger offering salvation.
Either choice could destroy us.
But only one might keep us alive.