Chapter 4 The Penthouse Rules

The elevator to Daniel's penthouse required a fingerprint scan.

Of course it did.

Sophie stood awkwardly behind him, her overnight bag slung over her shoulder like a suitcase full of bad decisions. She still couldn't believe she'd agreed to this - living in her boss's home, fake-married, pretending everything was under control when in reality, she hadn't even figured out how to stop calling him "sir" in emails.

The elevator dinged.

When the doors opened, her jaw almost hit the floor.

The penthouse was massive.

Not massive like "rich person with a nice condo" massive. Massive like "architectural digest, impossible ceilings, and one-of-a-kind art on every wall" massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Concrete and glass. Minimalist. Cold.

Like him.

"Wow," she whispered, stepping inside. "It's like a Bond villain's lair... if the villain also liked expensive rugs."

Daniel set down his briefcase and loosened his tie. "The guest room's down the hall. You'll find everything you need."

Sophie followed him, the soles of her sneakers squeaking embarrassingly against his polished floors.

He opened a door to reveal a stunning bedroom - plush mattress, soft lighting, and a view of the skyline that looked like it belonged in a movie.

"And you sleep where?" she asked cautiously.

He nodded to a door across the living room. "There."

She glanced at it. "So... this is real then. I'm living here."

"For ninety days."

Sophie dropped her bag. "Okay. So are there house rules? Like 'no touching the thermostat' or 'don't drink the billion-dollar wine in the cellar'?"

Daniel's expression didn't change. "Just one rule."

She raised a brow. "Only one?"

He walked to the counter, opened a drawer, and held up something small and silver.

A toothbrush holder.

"I have a system," he said.

Sophie blinked. "A... what?"

"Colors by function. Yours will be white. Toothpaste goes in the middle. Cap closed. No shared brushes. No moisture left behind. Order prevents chaos."

She stared at him. "That's your rule? The toothbrush rule?"

His brow arched. "It's important."

She laughed, couldn't help it. "You might be the most emotionally constipated person I've ever met."

Daniel didn't respond. Just placed the toothbrush holder neatly on the guest bathroom counter.

An hour later, Sophie stood in the guest room, looking out at the city. She should've felt lucky. Anyone else would kill to live here, eat catered dinners, walk through marble floors barefoot.

But the air felt thick.

Fake.

Like she was playing a role in someone else's drama.

And the worst part?

She had no idea how much of it she'd written herself.