The next two days passed in a strange sort of limbo.
Alexander returned from Boston late Wednesday night—after Emma had already gone to bed—and left for the office before she woke up Thursday morning. She found evidence of him everywhere: a fresh cup of coffee waiting in the kitchen, still warm. A note on the counter in his sharp handwriting: Early meetings. Don't wait up tonight.
It should have felt impersonal. Instead, it felt like he was taking care of her from a distance.
Emma was beginning to understand that this was how Alexander showed affection—through actions rather than words. The coffee made exactly right. The croissants he somehow always remembered to pick up. The way he'd had her favorite books moved to the library without her asking.
Small gestures that felt enormous coming from a man who'd spent five years building walls.
But those walls were about to be tested.
Saturday morning arrived with autumn sunshine and Emma's mounting anxiety about the family dinner that evening. She still hadn't told Alexander about her lunch with Victoria yesterday.
The lunch that had been... disturbing.
Victoria Ashford in person was even more stunning than her photos suggested. Tall, willowy, with honey-blonde hair and the kind of bone structure that made strangers stop and stare. She'd been waiting at Le Bernardin in a cream Chanel suit, looking like she owned the place.
"Emma!" Victoria had stood, air-kissing both of Emma's cheeks like they were old friends. "You're even prettier than the photos. Alexander always did have exquisite taste."
They'd ordered—Victoria insisted on the tasting menu—and for the first fifteen minutes, the conversation had been painfully superficial. The weather. The restaurant. Caroline's lovely garden.
Then Victoria had leaned forward, her blue eyes sharp. "So tell me, how did you really meet Alexander?"
Emma had stuck to their story. Charity gala. Instant connection. Whirlwind romance.
Victoria had smiled like she didn't believe a word. "How fascinating. Because I would have sworn Alexander swore off whirlwind romances after... well. After me."
The way she'd said it—with false modesty and very real satisfaction—had made Emma's skin crawl.
"People change," Emma had said carefully.
"Do they?" Victoria had taken a delicate sip of wine. "I've known Alexander since we were children, darling. Our families run in the same circles. And the Alexander I knew—the one I was going to marry—he doesn't change. He adapts. Calculates. Controls."
"That was five years ago—"
"Five years is nothing. Not for someone like Alexander." Victoria had set down her glass, and her expression had turned almost pitying. "Look, I'm going to be honest with you because I actually feel a bit sorry for you. Alexander doesn't fall in love. He makes strategic decisions. Our engagement was strategic—merging two powerful families. And I'm willing to bet your marriage is strategic too. What is it? Business merger? PR move? Does his company need the optics of a stable family man?"
Emma's heart had hammered against her ribs, but she'd kept her face carefully neutral. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" Victoria had leaned back, supremely confident. "Here's what I know. Alexander is incapable of the kind of spontaneous passion that leads to three-month courtships. He plans everything. Controls everything. Which means either you're lying about your timeline, or there's something you're not telling me about why he needed a wife so quickly."
"Maybe he just fell in love."
Victoria's laugh had been crystalline and cruel. "Alexander doesn't fall in love, sweetie. He fell for me—really, truly fell—and look how that turned out. I broke him. Completely. And broken things don't heal, they just learn to protect themselves better."
Emma had wanted to throw her wine in Victoria's perfect face. Wanted to tell her she was wrong, that Alexander was healing, that the man who left her coffee every morning was capable of so much more than Victoria gave him credit for.
But she'd just smiled and said, "Then I guess I'm lucky he's willing to try again."
The lunch had ended shortly after, with Victoria promising to "see them soon" at various society functions. Emma had left feeling like she'd been in a boxing match and wasn't entirely sure who'd won.
Now, standing in her closet trying to decide what to wear to dinner with Alexander's family, Emma couldn't shake Victoria's words.
Broken things don't heal, they just learn to protect themselves better.
Was that true? Was Alexander's kindness, his careful attention, his slowly lowering walls—was all of that just another form of protection? Another way to control the narrative of their arrangement?
"Emma?" Alexander's voice came from her bedroom. "Are you almost ready?"
She grabbed a navy silk dress—elegant but not trying too hard—and stepped out of the closet. Alexander was leaning against her doorframe, and the sight of him in dark jeans and a gray sweater made her breath catch.
He looked softer like this. More approachable. Almost like the man in those old photos with Victoria, before everything went wrong.
"Almost." Emma held up the dress. "Does this work for family dinner?"
"It's perfect." His eyes lingered on her face. "Are you okay? You seem tense."
This was her chance to tell him about Victoria. To confess to the lunch, to share what his ex had said. But something stopped her—maybe the careful way he was looking at her, like she might spook if he pushed too hard. Maybe her own complicated feelings about what Victoria had revealed.
"Just nervous," Emma said instead. "Your family is a lot to handle."
"They liked you last time."
"Last time we were new and shiny. Now they've had time to think about all the ways this doesn't add up." Emma sat on the edge of her bed, and Alexander crossed the room to sit beside her. The mattress dipped under his weight.
"What doesn't add up?"
"Alexander, we got married after knowing each other for four days. Your family might be polite, but they're not stupid. Sophie's already suspicious."
"Sophie's always suspicious. It's her default setting." His hand found hers, fingers interlacing. The gesture was becoming familiar, comfortable. Dangerous. "But for what it's worth, my mother called me yesterday. Spent twenty minutes gushing about how wonderful you are and how happy she is that I finally found someone."
"She said something similar to me. About you looking at me differently than..." Emma trailed off, not wanting to say the name.
"Than Victoria." Alexander said it for her, his voice carefully neutral. "It's okay, Emma. You can say her name. She's not Voldemort."
"Might as well be, considering how everyone acts around her." Emma kept her tone light, testing. "Your mother practically hissed when she mentioned her last week."
"My mother never liked Victoria. She was just too polite to say so until after the wedding disaster." Alexander's thumb traced circles on Emma's wrist—his unconscious tell when he was thinking. "My father, on the other hand, thought Victoria was perfect. Sterling family values, old money breeding, connections in all the right places."
"And what did you think?"
The question hung between them. Alexander was quiet for so long Emma thought he might not answer.
"I thought she was everything I was supposed to want," he said finally. "Beautiful, accomplished, from the right family. We made sense on paper. Our parents approved. The business community saw it as a smart merger of dynasties."
"But did you love her?"
Alexander's hand tightened on hers. "I thought I did. But looking back, I'm not sure I knew what love was. I was twenty-nine, building my company, trying to prove myself to my father. Victoria fit into my life plan like a chess piece moving into position."
"That's the saddest thing I've ever heard."
"Is it?" He turned to look at her, gray eyes searching. "Or is it honest? How many people actually marry for love versus marrying because someone checks the right boxes?"
"I'd like to think most people feel something more than 'this person fits my life plan.'"
"Maybe. Or maybe they just tell themselves a better story." Alexander stood, releasing her hand. "We should go. Marcus is probably waiting."
Emma stood too, but didn't move toward the door. "Alexander, what happened with Victoria—at the wedding—what really happened?"
His whole body went rigid. "That's not—"
"Part of our contract, I know." Emma stepped closer, surprising herself with her boldness. "But we're supposed to be married, and I don't even know the basic facts about the relationship that apparently broke you."
"I'm not broken."
"Everyone keeps saying you are. Sophie, your mother, even—" She stopped herself just in time.
"Even who?"
Emma's heart raced. She should tell him. About the lunch, about Victoria's return, about all of it.
"Even the tabloids I accidentally read when I was Googling you," she improvised. "I'm sorry. I know you asked me not to, but I needed to know what I was walking into."
Alexander's expression shuttered completely. "Of course you did. Everyone Googles everyone now. It's fine."
"It's not fine. You're clearly upset—"
"I'm not upset, Emma. I just don't particularly enjoy reliving the worst day of my life." He moved toward the door, then stopped. "Victoria left me standing at the altar in front of three hundred people. She sent a text message two hours before the ceremony saying she'd eloped with Dominic Kane—my main business competitor at the time. It was personal and professional warfare designed for maximum humiliation."
Emma felt like she'd been punched. "Alexander—"
"The worst part wasn't even the public humiliation. It was that I'd seen the signs and ignored them. She'd been pulling away for months, making excuses, picking fights. But I was so focused on everything being perfect, on our timeline, on what everyone expected, that I didn't see what was right in front of me."
"Which was?"
"That she didn't love me. Maybe never did. I was just the better option until Kane made her a more interesting offer." Alexander's laugh was bitter. "So yes, Emma, I'm apparently broken according to my family and the tabloids. But I prefer to think of it as learned caution. I won't make the same mistake twice."
The implication was clear: their contract marriage was that learned caution in action. No emotions. No vulnerability. No risk of being destroyed again.
Emma should have felt reassured. This was exactly what she'd signed up for. Safe. Defined. No one gets hurt.
So why did her chest ache like something vital was being crushed?
"We should go," she said quietly. "We're going to be late."
The drive to the Sterling estate was tense and quiet. Alexander stared out his window while Emma twisted her wedding ring around and around her finger, a nervous habit she'd developed.
When they arrived, Caroline greeted them at the door with hugs and the kind of maternal warmth that made Emma's heart hurt. Her own mother had died when Emma was twelve—a car accident that had shattered her world. She'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be fussed over like this.
"Emma, darling, you look lovely. And Alexander, you need a haircut." Caroline stood on her toes to mess with her son's hair, and he submitted with good-natured exasperation.
"Mother, I'm thirty-four years old."
"And you'll be seventy and I'll still tell you when you need a haircut." Caroline linked arms with Emma. "Come, Sophie's already here. She's been dying to talk to you."
Emma caught Alexander's eye—he looked as apprehensive as she felt.
The family gathered in a smaller, cozier dining room than the formal space from their first visit. Robert Sterling was already seated, reading something on his phone. Sophie was pouring wine, and she looked up when they entered.
"The newlyweds! How domestic." Sophie's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Emma, you look beautiful. Marriage obviously agrees with you."
"Thank you." Emma accepted the wine glass Sophie offered, grateful for something to do with her hands.
Dinner started pleasantly enough. Caroline asked about Emma's new job, genuinely interested in the affordable housing project she was working on. Robert interrogated Alexander about the merger, and for a few minutes, it felt almost normal.
Then Sophie dropped the bomb.
"So I ran into an old friend at the club yesterday," she said casually, cutting into her salmon. "Victoria Ashford. Did you know she was back in town?"
The temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees.
Alexander's fork stopped halfway to his mouth. "No."
"Really? Because she mentioned having lunch with Emma earlier this week." Sophie's eyes moved between them. "Funny that you didn't mention it, Emma."
Every eye turned to Emma. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
"I—" Emma's mouth had gone dry. "She reached out. Said she wanted to welcome me to the family. It seemed rude to refuse."
"You had lunch with my ex-fiancée and didn't tell me?" Alexander's voice was dangerously quiet.
"I was going to—"
"When? After she'd already gotten whatever information she was fishing for?" He set down his fork with careful precision, but Emma could see the tension radiating through him.
"It wasn't like that—"
"Then what was it like, Emma?" Sophie interjected. "Because Victoria doesn't do anything without an agenda. Surely you noticed that during your cozy lunch at Le Bernardin?"
Emma's face heated. "She said she wanted to get to know me."
"And you believed her?" Alexander pushed back from the table, standing abruptly. "Victoria doesn't get to know people, Emma. She collects information. Uses it. Did you tell her anything about us? About how we met? The timeline?"
"I stuck to our story—"
"Our story that she clearly didn't believe, or she wouldn't have reached out in the first place." Alexander ran his hand through his hair, and Emma saw something she'd never seen in him before—genuine anger, barely controlled. "This is exactly what she does. She finds vulnerabilities and exploits them."
"I think you're overreacting—" Emma started.
"Am I?" He turned to face her fully, and his eyes were cold. Colder than they'd been since that first day when she'd spilled coffee on him. "Did it occur to you that meeting with her behind my back, lying about it for days, might undermine the very foundation of our arrangement?"
"I didn't lie, I just—"
"Didn't tell me. Which is the same thing." Alexander's jaw was so tight Emma was surprised his teeth didn't crack. "What else haven't you told me?"
"That's not fair—"
"Fair?" His laugh was harsh. "You want to talk about fair? I specifically didn't tell you about Victoria because I knew seeing her would complicate things. And the first chance you got, you ran straight to her like she was your new best friend."
"Alexander," Caroline interjected softly. "Perhaps we should discuss this privately—"
"No, Mother. This is important." He turned back to Emma. "One of the key clauses in our contract was discretion. Complete discretion about the nature of our arrangement. And you just had lunch with the one person who has the most to gain from exposing us."
Emma felt tears burning behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "Victoria already suspects, Alexander. She figured it out on her own. She knows you don't do whirlwind romances."
"Because you confirmed it!"
"I didn't confirm anything!" Emma stood too, her own temper finally flaring. "I told her our story, and she didn't believe it because apparently everyone in your world knows you're too broken to fall in love. Those were her exact words, by the way. That you're broken and incapable of real emotion."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Alexander's face had gone completely blank, but Emma saw the flash of pain in his eyes before he locked it away.
"Well," he said quietly, "I'm glad you two had such an enlightening conversation about my emotional shortcomings."
"That's not—I didn't mean—" Emma's voice broke. "Alexander, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."
"But you did." He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. "Excuse me. I need some air."
He was gone before Emma could stop him, the front door closing with careful, controlled finality.
Emma stood frozen, aware of three pairs of eyes watching her.
"Well," Sophie said into the silence. "That went well."
"Sophie, enough." Caroline's voice was sharp. Then, more gently to Emma: "He'll cool down, dear. He just needs time."
But Emma couldn't shake the look on his face. The moment she'd thrown Victoria's words at him like weapons.
Broken and incapable of real emotion.
She'd confirmed every fear he'd ever had about himself. Had proven that she saw him the same way Victoria did—as something damaged beyond repair.
"I need to—" Emma grabbed her purse. "I'm sorry. I need to go find him."
She found him exactly where she'd hoped—standing at the edge of the property, looking out over the manicured gardens toward the hedge maze beyond. His hands were shoved in his pockets, shoulders rigid with tension.
Emma approached slowly, like he was a wounded animal that might bolt.
"Alexander—"
"Go back inside, Emma."
"Not until you let me apologize properly." She stopped a few feet away, giving him space. "I shouldn't have said that. About you being broken. I don't believe that."
"Don't you?" He didn't turn around. "Because it sounded pretty convincing in there."
"I was angry and defensive and I lashed out. But those weren't my words, Alexander. Those were Victoria's. And she's wrong."
"Is she?" He finally turned, and the vulnerability in his eyes nearly broke her. "Because from where I'm standing, she's absolutely right. I can't do this—whatever normal people do when they fall in love. I can't be spontaneous or passionate or blindly trusting. I need contracts and clauses and defined terms because that's the only way I know how to protect myself."
Emma stepped closer. "There's nothing wrong with that."
"There's everything wrong with that!" His voice cracked. "You want to know why I was so angry about the Victoria lunch? It's not because you met with her. It's because you did exactly what I've been too afraid to do—you took a risk without a safety net. You made a decision based on instinct instead of calculation. And it terrified me because that's what normal people do, Emma. People who aren't broken take risks."
"You took a risk on me," Emma said softly. "On this marriage."
"No, I didn't. I wrote a contract that protected every possible angle. That's not risk, that's just another form of control." He laughed bitterly. "Victoria was right about one thing—I haven't changed. I've just gotten better at hiding it."
Emma closed the distance between them, grabbed his hand before he could pull away. "Listen to me. You are not broken. You're careful. There's a difference."
"Emma—"
"No, let me finish." She squeezed his hand, willing him to believe her. "Victoria hurt you. Betrayed you in the worst possible way. And yes, it changed you. But being cautious isn't the same as being broken. Protecting yourself isn't a character flaw."
"Then why does it feel like one?"
The raw honesty in that question made Emma's throat tight. "Because you're comparing yourself to some imaginary standard of what you think you should be. But Alexander, the man who makes me coffee every morning? Who remembers what croissants I like? Who bought me a wedding ring engraved with my own words? That's not a broken man. That's someone who knows how to care, even if you're afraid to call it that."
He stared at her for a long moment, his gray eyes searching her face. "I'm sorry. For yelling at you in there. For losing control."
"I'm sorry for going to lunch with Victoria without telling you. You're right—I should have said something."
"Why didn't you?"
Emma hesitated, then decided honesty was the only option. "Because I wanted to understand. Wanted to see the woman who'd hurt you so badly that you needed to construct an entire marriage around avoiding feeling anything."
"And what did you learn?"
"That she's cruel. Manipulative. And completely wrong about you." Emma's hand tightened on his. "She thinks you're incapable of love. But I've seen you with your mother, with your family. I've felt how you care even when you're trying not to. You're not incapable, Alexander. You're just careful about who you trust."
"I trusted her. Look how that turned out."
"She doesn't get to define you forever." Emma stepped closer, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him. "You get to decide who you are now. And maybe—maybe you're someone who can trust again. Slowly. Carefully. On your own terms."
His free hand came up to cup her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone. "When did you get so wise?"
"Probably around the same time I decided to marry a stranger for money." The joke fell flat, and Emma immediately regretted it. "Sorry. Bad timing."
But Alexander's mouth quirked in that almost-smile she'd come to treasure. "No, you're right. We're both making questionable life choices here."
They stood there in the fading light, close enough to kiss, while the weight of everything unsaid hung between them.
Emma should step back. Should remember this was an arrangement with an expiration date. Should protect her rapidly deteriorating emotional boundaries.
Instead, she heard herself say, "Victoria told me you're incapable of spontaneous passion. Want to prove her wrong?"
The challenge hung in the air. Alexander's eyes darkened, his thumb still tracing her cheekbone with devastating tenderness.
"Emma," he said, his voice rough. "If I kiss you right now, it won't be to prove anything to Victoria."
"Then why?"
"Because I've been thinking about it for days. Because you're standing here defending me when I don't deserve it. Because every rule I've set up to protect myself is crumbling and I can't seem to care."
Emma's heart hammered against her ribs. "That sounds like spontaneous passion to me."
"Shut up," he murmured, and kissed her.
This wasn't like their wedding kiss—brief, appropriate, for show. This was real. Desperate. His hand tangled in her hair while his other arm pulled her flush against him, and Emma gasped at the feeling of his solid warmth, the barely controlled intensity she could feel thrumming through him.
She kissed him back like she'd been wanting to for weeks, her hands fisting in his sweater, and somewhere in the back of her mind a voice was screaming that this was a terrible idea, that she was going to get hurt, that this wasn't part of the contract.
But louder than that voice was the feeling of Alexander Sterling—controlled, careful Alexander—losing his grip on that control because of her.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Alexander rested his forehead against hers.
"That was a mistake," he whispered.
Emma's heart sank. "Oh."
"Not because I didn't want to." His arms tightened around her. "Because now that I know what it's like to kiss you, I'm going to want to do it again. And that wasn't part of our arrangement."
"Arrangements can be modified," Emma heard herself say.
"Can they?" He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. "Or are we just making this more complicated than it needs to be?"
"Maybe complicated is better than simple," Emma suggested. "Maybe—"
Her phone buzzed in her purse. Then again. And again.
With a frustrated sigh, Emma pulled it out.
Seven missed calls from Maya. Three texts.
EMMA CALL ME NOW
THIS IS URGENT
VICTORIA ASHFORD JUST POSTED ABOUT YOU ON INSTAGRAM
Emma's blood ran cold. She opened Instagram with shaking hands, and there it was—a photo Victoria must have had someone take at their lunch. Emma mid-laugh at something Victoria had said, both of them looking like the best of friends.
The caption made Emma's stomach drop:
So lovely having lunch with the new Mrs. Sterling! @EmmaLaurent and I had the most fascinating conversation about whirlwind romances and the mysterious ways love works. Some people marry for passion, others for more... practical reasons. Either way, welcome to the family, darling! I'm sure we'll be seeing lots more of each other. 💕 #SterlingFamily #NewFriends #InterestingTimes
"Oh God." Emma showed Alexander the phone. "She's implying—"
"That our marriage is fake. Yes." Alexander's face had gone completely blank again, all the vulnerability from moments ago locked away. "She's not subtle."
"Alexander, I'm so sorry—"
His phone started ringing. Then Emma's. Then Alexander's again.
The evening air was suddenly full of notification sounds, like their phones were screaming warnings they should have heeded hours ago.
Alexander answered his. "Mother, I know. Yes, I saw it. No, Emma didn't—" He listened for a moment, his expression darkening. "Tell Father I'll handle it."
He hung up and looked at Emma, and in his eyes she saw something that terrified her—resignation.
"We need to go back to the city. Tonight. Victoria just fired the first shot, and we need to do damage control before this spirals."
"What kind of damage control?"
Alexander's jaw tightened. "The kind where we prove to everyone that our marriage is real. Which means, Emma, our quiet, private arrangement just became very, very public."
He started walking back toward the house, already pulling up contacts on his phone.
Emma followed, her mind reeling. In the span of an hour, they'd gone from fighting to kissing to having their entire arrangement potentially exposed.
And somewhere in Manhattan, Victoria Ashford was probably laughing.
Because this—all of this chaos—was exactly what she'd wanted.
Emma looked at Alexander's rigid shoulders, his controlled fury, and realized with sinking clarity:
The walls she'd thought were coming down? They'd just shot back up higher than ever.
And she only had herself to blame.