Elias Thorne's penthouse wasn't a home; it was a monument to ego. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls surrounded the room, offering a view of the city that looked like a carpet of flickering lights. Everything was gray, white, and black. Cold. Like him.
"Your things are in the back room on the right," Elias said without looking at me, as he placed the keys on a marble table that probably cost more than my college education. "My room is in the opposite wing. Don't go in there unless the house is on fire."
I shuffled over, feeling the echo of my footsteps break the deathly silence of the place. I stopped in front of him, forcing him to acknowledge my presence.
"Not even a 'welcome'?" I blurted out, sounding braver than I felt. "If we're going to pretend to love each other in front of the world, you might as well start by practicing on me. I don't bite, Elias."
He stopped. Slowly, he turned toward me, closing the distance in three long strides that forced me back until I bumped into the leather sofa. He leaned in, invading my personal space until I could smell the stale but addictive scent of his cologne and the whiskey he'd probably had at the office.
"Listen to me carefully, Zahra," he murmured, his face inches from mine. "This isn't a fairy tale. I'm not looking for a dinner companion or someone to share my dreams with. You're a financial asset. Tomorrow, when the cameras are on us, I'll kiss you, hold you, and tell the world you're the woman of my life. But in here... in here, we're nothing."
His eyes flicked down to my lips for a second, a flash of something that wasn't hatred, before hardening again. He turned away with a coldness that left me shivering.
"Dinner is served at eight. Don't be late. I detest tardiness as much as I detest weakness."
He locked himself in his office, leaving me alone in the middle of that glass palace. I went into my new room and wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn't come. I was too tired for that. I opened my suitcase and took out the only thing that reminded me of my mother: a small silver portrait. I placed it on the nightstand, a touch of color amidst so much gray monotony.
I sat on the bed, which was so big it made me feel like a lost child. Tomorrow was the Thorne Foundation charity gala. It would be my debut as the fiancée of the most feared man in the city. I had to learn how to act, and fast. Because if Elias Thorne discovered that beneath my facade of pride I was scared to death, he would devour me alive.
At eight o'clock sharp, I was in the dining room. He was already there, seated at the head of a ridiculously long table. We ate in a thick silence, broken only by the clinking of silver cutlery against fine china.
"You'll wear this tomorrow," he said suddenly, sliding a blue velvet box onto the table.
I opened it. Inside, a diamond necklace glittered with an almost blinding light.
"It's too much," I whispered.
"It's what's expected of my future wife," he replied, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a linen napkin. "Don't get used to it. The jewels belong to the company, not you."
That was the last word we exchanged that night. As I lay down, staring at the dark ceiling, I realized that the price of Elias's inheritance wasn't just money. It was total isolation. And I had just willingly entered his cell.