Chapter 6 Past lives

The door clicked softly behind Maddox as he stepped into the penthouse, his polished shoes clicking lightly against the marble floor.

Elara stood still for a moment, unsure whether to be polite, cautious, or flat-out cold. Maddox had the kind of charisma that wrapped around you like silk and slowly tightened.

"Asher isn't home," she said simply, gesturing to the minimalist couch in the open-concept living room.

"I know," Maddox replied with a grin, setting the lilies on the nearby console. "This visit was just for you."

"For me?" she raised a brow. "I didn't realize I was on your social calendar."

"You weren't. Until this fake marriage turned into the city's hottest headline. I just had to meet the mystery wife who managed to put a ring on the most emotionally unavailable man in New York."

She folded her arms. "So you don't think it's real."

"I don't think Asher does anything without calculating the value first."

"And I suppose you were the moral compass before he lost his way?" she asked dryly.

That made Maddox chuckle. "Touché. You're sharp. But Asher used to have lines he wouldn't cross."

He stepped closer, suddenly more serious. "You don't seem like someone who needs saving. But if you're stuck in something dangerous, I'm just saying-I still care what happens to him. Even if he's forgotten that........"

Elara didn't flinch. "We're not in danger. And I don't need you-or anyone-to protect me from my own decisions."

Maddox studied her with an unreadable expression before pulling a card from his coat pocket. "In case you change your mind."

Then he was gone, leaving a faint trail of expensive cologne and heavier questions.

Asher returned around midnight, still dressed in his signature charcoal-gray suit, shirt unbuttoned at the collar.

"Nice night?" Elara asked without looking up from her laptop.

He paused, loosening his tie. "I saw Maddox's car downstairs."

She finally glanced up. "He dropped by. Said he was checking on you."

His eyes narrowed. "What did he say?"

"That depends. Are you asking as a husband, a CEO, or a man with unresolved history?"

His jaw flexed. "He shouldn't have come here."

"He said you used to be friends. Good ones, at that."

"We were." A pause. "Until I built something bigger than friendship could survive."

Elara closed her laptop. "He seems to think this marriage is a performance."

Asher met her gaze. "Isn't it?"

The words hit harder than expected.

"Is that all it is to you?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he turned away, walked to the bar, and poured himself a glass of something amber and expensive.

"Don't take it personally," he said quietly. "Feelings don't come easy to people who spend their lives controlling outcomes."

She watched him for a long time. "Maybe that's your problem. Not everything that is worth having can be controlled."

The next morning, Elara met with her mentor and part-time therapist, Joan, at a quiet downtown café.

"You look tired," Joan noted.

"I feel like a chess piece."

Joan sipped her coffee. "You're married to a corporate monarch. It comes with the territory."

"It's not real, Joan. It's a contract. And now people are watching-an ex-best friend, board members, press vultures."

Joan gave her a knowing look. "And which of those are bothering you the most?"

Elara hesitated. "None of them. Him."

"Because you're starting to care?"

"I don't even know him. Not really. But there are moments... when the arrogance drops, and I see someone else. Someone lonely."

"Let me ask you something." Joan leaned in. "Are you afraid you'll fall in love with the real him-or that he'll never show it to you?"

Elara didn't have an answer.

That evening, while Elara reviewed a proposal for her consulting client, she heard hushed voices down the hallway.

Peeking around the corner, she froze.

Asher was talking to a woman-tall, elegant, stunning in a sleeveless emerald dress. Her fingers brushed his arm as she whispered something in his ear.

Elara couldn't hear, but the laughter that followed was like a needle sliding under her skin.

She stepped back before they saw her.

Later, she casually asked, "Friend of yours?"

Asher didn't look up from his tablet. "Luciana. From the trade consortium. She's... persistent."

Elara folded her arms. "I noticed. She touched your arm like she owned it."

"Would it matter if she did?"

Elara blinked. "Are you trying to provoke me?"

"Are you trying to be jealous?" he countered.

They stared at each other for a long moment.

Then she turned and walked away.

The following weekend, they attended a gala together-an event Asher couldn't skip, and Elara was forced to endure.

Elara wore a crimson satin gown that fit like a second skin. Asher's eyes lingered longer than necessary when he saw her.

"You look..." He stopped short, tone unreadable.

"Like I'm playing the role?"

He offered his arm. "Like you're rewriting it."

They entered the ballroom to flashes of cameras and murmurs. Elara smiled politely, walked gracefully, and said just enough to charm-but not reveal.

Midway through the night, Asher leaned toward her during a dance.

"You're good at this."

"At what?"

"Being the woman they all envy."

She met his gaze, voice low. "And you like being envied?"

"No," he said after a moment. "But I like the illusion of control."

Elara tilted her head. "Maybe someday you'll learn the real thing is better."

They returned home late, the buzz of music and murmurs still echoing in their ears.

She unpinned her hair slowly, the silence between them filled with things unsaid.

"Asher?" she asked, turning toward him.

He was already looking at her.

"Why did you agree to this marriage? The real reason."

He hesitated. "Because it protected the company."

"But you could've picked anyone else."

"I didn't want just anyone."

Silence.......

"You wanted someone who wouldn't ask questions," she guessed. "Someone who could blend in."

He stepped closer. "I wanted someone strong enough to match me-without ever needing to chase me."

"And now?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "But I haven't stopped thinking about you since you said I can't control everything."

Her breath caught.

Neither moved.

It wasn't love yet. It wasn't even tenderness. But it was something-a flicker, a shift in the cold walls between them.

A start.