Chapter 4

The long, chaotic day was finally over. The last of the guests had departed, leaving behind a lingering scent of champagne and perfume. I loosened my tie, feeling the exhaustion settle deep into my bones. All I wanted was to fall into bed and sleep for a week.

I walked into the bridal suite-our suite-and saw Chloe standing by the window, looking out at the city lights. She had changed out of the white pantsuit and was now wearing a simple silk robe.

I cleared my throat. "The rings," I said, my voice sounding rough. "How did you manage that?"

She turned, a small smile playing on her lips. "I told you. I have a very good assistant. And an excellent jeweler on call. Some perks of the trade."

"And the room? The roses?"

"Details, Miller. A successful business is built on an obsession with details." She walked towards me, her movements fluid and graceful. "Now, about the terms of our arrangement."

I felt a surge of irritation. "Can't this wait until tomorrow? I'm exhausted."

"Business never waits," she said, stopping just a few feet from me. The scent of sandalwood and bergamot from the room seemed to cling to her. "We need to set the ground rules."

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Fine. What rules?"

"First, public appearances. We will attend all necessary family and corporate functions together. We will act like a devoted couple."

"Agreed."

"Second," she continued, her eyes sharp, "no infidelity. This is a business arrangement, but my reputation is attached to it. I will not be made a fool of."

"That's ironic, considering the circumstances," I muttered.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Is that going to be a problem for you, Ethan? Are you planning on crawling back to Olivia?"

"No," I said, more forcefully than I intended. "That's over. Agreed. No infidelity."

"Good. Third, the duration. I propose a one-year contract. After one year, we can announce an amicable separation. A clean break. It gives enough time for the scandal to die down completely."

"One year?" I balked. "I was thinking more like six months."

She raised an eyebrow. "Six months is not long enough to be convincing. It will look like what it is: a farce. One year is the minimum. Non-negotiable."

Her tone was absolute. The same tone she used in boardrooms when she was about to crush a competitor.

"Fine," I conceded. "One year."

"Excellent. Now for the living arrangements."

My heart hammered against my ribs. "Right. About that. I'll take the sofa."

Chloe let out a soft laugh. "Don't be ridiculous, Ethan. You're six-foot-two. You won't fit on that sofa."

"Then you take the bed. I need some space."

Her smile faded. "You need space?" she repeated, her voice suddenly cool. "Are you saying you can't bear to be in the same bed as me? Am I that repulsive to you?"

"No, that's not what I meant," I said quickly, feeling my face heat up. "It's just... this is all a bit much. It's a fake marriage, Chloe. We don't have to actually..."

"Actually what?" she pressed. "Sleep in the same bed? We are supposedly a married couple, Ethan. My new in-laws are going to be calling tomorrow morning. What do you think they'll assume if I answer the phone from the living room?"

She had a point. She always had a point.

"I just need some time to process everything," I admitted, my voice dropping.

She studied my face for a moment, her expression unreadable. "Fine," she said, surprising me. "You can have your space. You can have the bed."

I felt a rush of relief. "Thank you."

"But," she added, holding up a finger, "you get one month. One month to 'process.' After that, our arrangement includes sharing a bed. It's part of the performance. We have to be convincing."

"One month?" I tried to bargain. "Can we make it two?"

She shook her head. "One month. That's my final offer. And if you try to put a pillow wall between us, I will consider it a breach of contract."

She turned and walked away before I could argue further. I watched her, a strange mix of frustration and grudging admiration bubbling inside me. She was infuriating. And brilliant.

She didn't get into the bed. Instead, she grabbed a pillow and a blanket and curled up on the ridiculously expensive, designer chaise lounge by the window.

"What are you doing?" I asked, confused.

"You said you needed space. I'm giving you space," she said without opening her eyes. "The bed is all yours."

"But I told you to take the bed. That lounge is too small for you too."

"I'll manage," she said. "I wouldn't want to make my new husband uncomfortable on our wedding night." Her voice was laced with sarcasm.

"Chloe, this is stupid. Just take the bed."

She finally opened her eyes and pinned me with a look. "You, Ethan Miller, are a gentleman. A gentleman would never let his wife sleep on a couch, even a fake wife on a fake wedding night. It would go against your precious code of honor. So if I take the bed, you'll insist on taking the couch, and we've already established you won't fit. This is the only logical solution that allows you to maintain your chivalry while also getting the space you demand. Am I wrong?"

I opened my mouth to argue, but no words came out. She was right.

"Besides," she added, closing her eyes again, "my mother might call. I should probably be within arm's reach of a phone."

I sighed in defeat. "Fine."

I started to get ready for bed, my mind a whirl. I tried to negotiate again, a last-ditch effort. "About that one-month deadline..."

Suddenly, my phone, the new one, started buzzing on the nightstand. I picked it up.

The screen displayed a number I had blocked, but she was using a new one.

Olivia.