Chapter 3 Lucien's Wife

Saying goodbye to Jace was harder than I expected. He barely spoke to me all morning, just watching with sullen eyes as I packed my small suitcase.

"It's not forever," I said for the tenth time. "Just a year. And you can visit whenever you want."

Jace shrugged, leaning against the doorframe of my bedroom. "Sure. I'll just drop by the billionaire's penthouse like it's no big deal."

"Jace, please." I zipped my suitcase closed. "I need you to understand."

"I understand perfectly." His voice was cold in a way that reminded me painfully of Lucien. "You're marrying a stranger for money."

"I'm securing our future," I corrected, though his words stung because they held a grain of truth. "And finding out what happened to Dad."

That made him pause. Despite his anger, Jace was just as haunted by our father's mysterious death as I was.

"Promise you'll tell me everything you find out," he finally said.

"I promise." I reached out, relieved when he didn't pull away this time. "We're still a team, Jace. That hasn't changed."

Ms. Chen's text arrived right on time: Car waiting downstairs.

I hugged Jace tightly. "Remember, Mrs. Rodriguez next door will check on you daily. Vincent's assistant arranged for grocery deliveries. The rent is paid for the year, and your monthly allowance will be deposited directly to your account."

"I'm not a kid, Amira."

"You're fifteen," I reminded him. "Just focus on school and staying out of trouble. I'll call you every day."

His arms tightened around me briefly before he pulled away. "Just be careful. Rich people are different. They don't think like us."

I nodded, thinking of Lucien's cold eyes. "I know."

The sleek black car was waiting as promised. As we drove toward Manhattan, anxiety knotted my stomach. I was about to move in with a man who clearly despised me. A man I would marry in just two days.

The car pulled up to one of the most exclusive buildings in Manhattan, a gleaming tower of glass and steel that disappeared into the clouds. A doorman rushed to open my door, bowing slightly.

"Welcome, Miss Wynters. Mr. Devereux is expecting you."

I followed him through a marble lobby to a private elevator that required both a key card and fingerprint scan. The doors closed silently, and we shot upward at a speed that made my ears pop.

When the elevator finally stopped, the doors opened directly into a foyer that was bigger than my entire apartment. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of Central Park and the city beyond. Everything was sleek, modern, and probably cost more than I would earn in a lifetime.

"Your new home," Ms. Chen said, appearing from a hallway. "Mr. Devereux is in meetings all day, so I'll show you around."

I nodded, still trying to take it all in. The floors were polished concrete, the furniture all clean lines and neutral colors. It looked like something from an architectural magazine-beautiful, but cold. Untouched.

"The main living area," Ms. Chen said, leading me through a massive open-concept space. She pointed out the kitchen (all stainless steel and marble), the dining area (with a table that could seat twelve), and the living room (with its enormous fireplace and entertainment system).

"Does Lucien entertain often?" I asked, noticing how pristine everything looked.

Ms. Chen's lips twitched. "Mr. Devereux prefers his privacy. The staff maintains everything to his standards."

Of course he had staff. I followed her down a hallway lined with what looked like original artwork.

"Mr. Devereux's office and private rooms are through there," she said, gesturing to a closed door. "You are not to enter without his express permission."

I bristled at her tone. "Anything else I'm not allowed to do in my new home?"

Ms. Chen's expression didn't change. "Mr. Devereux values his routines and privacy. You'll find a detailed list of house rules in your suite."

My suite. Not our bedroom. I wasn't surprised, but something in me still deflated slightly.

We continued the tour-a gym, a home theater, a library filled with leather-bound books that looked untouched. Finally, we reached double doors at the end of another hallway.

"Your suite," Ms. Chen said, pushing the doors open.

I stepped inside and froze. The space was enormous-a sitting area with its own fireplace, a massive bed draped in cream-colored linens, a walk-in closet already filled with clothes, and a bathroom that was bigger than my old bedroom.

"This is... too much," I said quietly.

"Mr. Devereux insisted you have appropriate accommodations." Ms. Chen checked her tablet. "Your things will be unpacked while we're out. We have appointments for final dress fittings, hair, makeup trials, and manicure."

I turned to her, suddenly overwhelmed. "Could I have a minute? Please?"

She hesitated, then nodded. "Five minutes. I'll wait in the foyer."

When she left, I sank onto the edge of the bed, running my hand over the silky comforter. This wasn't real. None of it was real. In two days, I would marry a man who couldn't stand me, live in this beautiful prison, and pretend to be something I wasn't.

But I would have access to the Devereux family. Access to information about my father. And Jace would be safe.

I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders, and headed back to the foyer where Ms. Chen waited.

The rest of the day passed in a whirlwind of appointments. My wedding dress-a simple but elegant sheath of ivory silk-was altered to fit perfectly. My hair was styled and restyled until the stylist found a look that satisfied Ms. Chen. My nails were shaped and painted a subtle pink.

"Perfect," the makeup artist declared after the third trial look. "Classic, elegant, not too overdone."

I caught glimpses of myself in mirrors throughout the day-a stranger in expensive clothes with perfectly styled hair. By the time we returned to the penthouse, I was exhausted.

"Dinner will be served at seven," Ms. Chen informed me. "Mr. Devereux usually dines in his office, but he requested your presence tonight."

My stomach tightened. "He did?"

"In the dining room. Seven sharp." With that, she left me at the door to my suite.

I had an hour to prepare for dinner with my future husband. I showered quickly in the enormous marble shower with its multiple jets, then stood in front of the closet, overwhelmed by choices. Finally, I selected a simple black dress that seemed appropriate for a dinner at home.

At 6:58, I made my way to the dining room, heart pounding. Lucien was already there, standing by the window with a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He'd changed from his business suit to dark pants and a charcoal sweater that made his blue eyes even more striking. He didn't smile when he saw me.

"Miss Wynters," he said coolly. "You're punctual. I appreciate that."

"Mr. Devereux," I replied, taking the seat a uniformed staff member pulled out for me.

Lucien sat at the head of the table, leaving an empty chair between us. "Wine?"

I nodded, watching as dark red liquid filled my glass. The staff moved silently around us, serving appetizers I didn't recognize.

"I understand you've settled in," Lucien said, not quite a question.

"Yes. Thank you for the... accommodations."

His eyes flicked to mine. "Did you expect less?"

"I didn't know what to expect," I admitted. "This isn't exactly a normal situation."

"No," he agreed, taking a sip of his drink. "It's not."

We ate in silence for a few minutes. The food was exquisite, but I barely tasted it.

"I've had the marriage contract revised," Lucien said abruptly. "There are additional terms I insisted upon."

My fork froze halfway to my mouth. "What terms?"

He reached into a folder beside his plate and slid a document toward me. "Read it."

I skimmed the pages quickly, anxiety building. Most of it mirrored the original contract, but there were new clauses: I would have no access to his personal financial accounts. I would maintain my own separate bank account for my allowance. I would not speak to the press without his approval. I would attend events as required, but otherwise stay out of his business affairs.

And then, the clause that made my cheeks burn: We would maintain separate bedrooms. There would be no physical relationship of any kind.

I looked up to find him watching me, his expression unreadable. "Did you think I would expect those... services?" he asked, his voice dangerously soft.

"I didn't know," I answered honestly. "Your grandfather wasn't exactly clear on the details."

"My grandfather rarely is." Lucien's jaw tightened. "Let me be perfectly clear, Miss Wynters. I have no interest in a wife-fake or otherwise. This arrangement is purely to satisfy the terms of the trust. Once the year is over, we'll go our separate ways."

"That was always my understanding," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady.

"Good." He nodded toward the contract. "Sign it."

I hesitated. "I'd like to read it more carefully first."

Something like surprise flickered in his eyes. "By all means." He checked his watch. "You have until tomorrow. My lawyer will collect it in the morning."

We finished dinner in strained silence. I tried to think of something-anything-to say, but every topic seemed fraught with potential landmines.

Finally, Lucien set down his napkin and stood. "I have work to do. Breakfast is at 7 AM, but don't feel obligated to join me. In fact, it's probably better if you don't." He paused. "The wedding is at 2 PM Saturday. Ms. Chen will handle the details. I trust you'll be ready."

"I will," I said quietly.

He nodded once, then left without another word.

I remained at the table, alone in the massive dining room, surrounded by luxury that felt more like a cage than a home. The contract lay beside me, a reminder of the strange bargain I'd made.

Eventually, I took it and returned to my suite. I read every line carefully, looking for traps or loopholes, but it seemed straightforward. Cold and businesslike, just like Lucien himself.

I signed it, then placed it on the desk for Ms. Chen to collect in the morning. As I got ready for bed, I realized this would be my life now-beautiful surroundings, exquisite meals, and complete isolation. Lucien clearly intended to keep me at arm's length for the entire year.

That should have been a relief. The last thing I wanted was a real relationship with a cold, arrogant billionaire who thought of me as a gold-digger. But as I lay in the enormous bed, staring at the ceiling, a sense of loneliness washed over me.

I thought of Jace, probably playing video games in our tiny apartment. I reached for my phone to call him, then hesitated. What would I say? That my future husband couldn't stand the sight of me? That I was living in a palace that felt like a prison?

Instead, I sent a simple text: Settled in. Miss you. Talk tomorrow.

His reply came almost instantly: Be careful.

I lay back, wondering if I'd made a terrible mistake. But then I thought of the loan sharks, of Jace's safety, of the financial security this marriage would provide. And deeper than that, the mystery of my father's connection to the Devereux family-a mystery I now had a chance to solve.

One year. I could survive one year of living with a man who wanted nothing to do with me.

I turned out the light, but sleep was a long time coming. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Lucien's cold blue gaze, felt the weight of his disdain. In two days, I would become Mrs. Devereux in name only-a stranger in my husband's home, playing a role for which I was completely unprepared.

And somewhere in this penthouse were secrets about my father. Secrets worth uncovering, no matter how difficult this year might be.

As I finally drifted toward sleep, a new resolve formed in my heart. I would keep my end of the bargain. I would be the perfect wife in public. But privately, I would find answers. About my father. About Vincent Devereux's interest in me. About the accident that had turned Lucien into the cold man he was today.

The contract might define our marriage, but it couldn't stop me from discovering the truth.