Chapter 2 Strangers under one roof

The penthouse loomed like a glass-and-steel fortress atop one of Manhattan's tallest towers, its panoramic view stretching across the city's glittering skyline. A symbol of prestige. Success. Power.

And now, a prison of sorts.

Elara stood at the threshold, suitcase in hand, her other clutched around a folder containing the marriage certificate, prenuptial agreement, and a carefully typed set of "domestic boundaries." She had spent hours in the night agonizing over every word.

No crossing into each other's personal spaces.

No unnecessary communication.

No public affection unless arranged or absolutely required.

She read the words again as the elevator doors closed behind her.

The foyer was sleek-marble floors, black walls adorned with abstract art. Everything inside was minimalist, sterile, expensive. Like Asher himself.

He was already there, standing near the open-plan kitchen island, sleeves rolled up as he sipped an espresso. He looked like he belonged on the cover of Forbes, dressed casually but exuding control. And Elara hated how irritatingly handsome he was.

They both froze for a second-strangers again. Married strangers.

"You're early," he said, setting down his cup.

"You're surprised I'm punctual?"

He raised a brow. "I'm surprised you're moving in"

"I signed the contract, didn't I?" she said, walking past him into the living room. "Might as well follow through."

The penthouse was massive-two levels, four bedrooms, an office, two lounges, a private terrace, and an indoor lap pool. Plenty of room to pretend they didn't exist in the same universe.

"Your room's on the east side," Asher said, following at a distance. "Closet's empty. Bathroom's private. You won't be disturbed."

"Perfect."

He watched as she took in the surroundings with clinical detachment. "Do you want a tour?"

"No need. I won't get lost."

A long silence stretched between them. Elara sighed and pulled out the folder, handing him a copy of her own agreement.

"These are the boundaries I mentioned in the car," she said.

He flipped through the pages, expression unreadable. "You treat marriage like a boardroom negotiation."

"You'd prefer pillow talk and candles?" she countered.

Asher smirked. "You really don't like me, do you?"

"I don't know you. And from what I do remember, you were an arrogant teenage snob who thought the world revolved around him."

"And you were the overachiever who made everyone else look bad."

"Some things don't change" she said.

His mouth curved slightly. Not a real smile-but almost.

"Well," he said, tossing the folder on the counter, "if we're laying ground rules, let's be clear-I don't do drama. Or unnecessary emotional outbursts."

"I don't do men who expect applause for basic decency."

"Then we'll get along just fine."

*************************************************

That evening, the penthouse buzzed with quiet tension.

Elara stood in her new bedroom-larger than her college apartment-trying to unpack. She placed a photo of her and her late grandmother on the nightstand, a little anchor of warmth in the sterile, art gallery-like suite. Then she moved to the closet, wondering how much of her life she was really expected to fit into this place.

There was a knock at the door.

She opened it to find Asher holding a black card envelope. "Media dinner tomorrow night," he said. "Our first official appearance. 7 PM sharp."

"Great. Are we rehearsing our fake-love script tonight, or winging it?"

He blinked, then held up a phone. "We'll do some basic run-throughs tomorrow. Your favorite wine, your pet charity, a few couple anecdotes to keep it sweet. Just enough to fool the sharks."

"Do you lie this easily with everyone?" she asked.

His gaze didn't waver. "Only when it matters."

The Next Morning

Elara woke early and made her way to the kitchen in oversized sweatpants and a t-shirt, hair tied in a messy bun. She hadn't expected to run into Asher, but there he was-dressed in a sharp three-piece suit, adjusting his cufflinks.

He looked up, and for the briefest moment, something flickered across his face. Amusement? Surprise?

"Didn't peg you for a morning person," he said.

"I have meetings," she muttered, pouring herself coffee. "Unlike some people, I don't have assistants who breathe for me."

He leaned against the counter, sipping from a glass of green juice. "You know, for someone who agreed to marry me, you sure make me sound unbearable."

"I didn't marry you for fun."

"Could've fooled me with those cozy pants."

She rolled her eyes. "What, you want me in pearls before 9 AM?"

"No," he said with a slow smile. "But you're not what I expected."

She paused, curious despite herself. "What did you expect?"

He set down his drink. "Someone timid. Someone desperate to please."

"Well, sorry to disappoint."

"I'm not disappointed," he said before walking out.

That Night: The Gala

Cameras flashed as they stepped out of the town car. Elara's dress was midnight blue silk, flowing and elegant, her hair swept up in a chignon. Asher wore a charcoal suit, his hand light at the small of her back as they posed for photos.

They smiled. They laughed. They whispered close for the flashbulbs.

To the world, they looked like a fairytale.

Inside, champagne flutes clinked and high society buzzed around them like flies to honey.

Elara sipped her drink and nodded along as Asher introduced her to business partners, CEOs, and socialites.

"She graduated summa cum laude from Sorbonne," Asher said at one point, voice proud and believable. "Fluent in French and Mandarin. Smartest woman in any room."

Elara blinked. The compliment was scripted, but still... sincere?

Later, when he excused himself to speak with an investor, a red-lipped woman in a diamond-studded gown sidled up beside Elara.

"You're the new Mrs. Lemaire," she said, gaze scanning Elara from head to toe.

Elara smiled politely. "That's me."

"Fascinating. I always thought he'd marry someone... different."

"Different how?" Elara asked.

The woman tilted her head. "More polished.More... trained."

"Trained?" Elara echoed, her voice icy.

"You know. For this world."

"I see." Elara smiled sweetly. "And yet, here I am."

Asher returned just in time. "Problem?"

"None," Elara said, linking her arm with his. "Just making friends."

Back in the car, Elara leaned her head against the window.

"You handled yourself well tonight," Asher said.

"Meaning I didn't embarrass you?"

"Meaning you weren't boring. And I appreciated the arm clutch."

"Consider it a public service."

He glanced at her. "That woman-Camilla. She used to think we'd end up together."

"I gathered."

"You didn't need to play nice."

"I didn't," Elara said, smiling faintly. "I played smart."

Asher laughed. A real one. Short, surprised, unguarded.

And just like that, a crack appeared in their icy arrangement.

Midnight

Elara sat alone on the terrace, hair unpinned and shoulders bare as she stared at the skyline. The city pulsed below, a constant reminder of movement, ambition, and the cage she now lived in.

She didn't hear Asher until he sat down beside her, offering her a glass of wine.

"To surviving the wolves," he said.

She clinked her glass gently against his. "To faking it well."

They drank in silence.

Finally, he asked, "Do you regret it?"

Elara considered the question. "No. But I don't celebrate it either."

"I respect that," he said quietly.

She looked at him then, really looked. And for the first time, she saw not the ruthless CEO, but a man just as trapped as she was.

"Maybe," she said slowly, "this doesn't have to be miserable."

He turned to her. "No, it doesn't."

They didn't touch. They didn't kiss.

But for the first time, they shared something real.

A sliver of understanding.