Novel-novel oleh Tegger Rock

The elevator opened directly into the penthouse.Ninety-ninth floor. Floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides. The city spread out below like a map made of light."Marcus" stepped out. Stopped. Stared.His mouth fell open slightly, just for a second. Then he caught himself and closed it.But I'd seen it. That moment of pure awe.Marcus had been here before. Six months ago, for the contract signing. He'd walked through like he owned the place. Barely looked at anything. He complained that the furniture was too modern for his taste.This man looked like he'd stepped into a museum.My phone rang. I answered."Cross.""Sir, it's Wagner. Berlin factory. Fire's contained but we have three in the hospital. One critical."I turned away from "Marcus." Walked toward the windows. "How did it start?""Electrical fault. Old wiring. We'd flagged it for replacement next month.""Next month." My jaw clenched. "Get me on the next flight out. And I want the maintenance records on my desk before I land."

I was going to get caught.It was only a matter of time before someone said something I couldn't fake my way through. Before someone noticed I wasn't Marcus.The reception felt like walking through a minefield."Marcus!" A man I'd never seen before grabbed my arm. Mid-thirties, expensive suit, cologne that smelled like money. "Congratulations, man!"I forced a smile. "Thanks.""Can't believe you actually went through with it." He laughed. Loud. The kind of laugh that made people turn and look. "Remember that crazy spring break in Ibiza? You swore you'd never settle down."My stomach dropped.Ibiza. Spring break. I had no idea what he was talking about."Yeah," I said. My voice came out weird. Too tight. "That was... crazy.""Crazy?" He looked at me like I'd grown a second head. "Dude, you got arrested. We had to bribe the cops to let you out."Arrested. Marcus got arrested in Ibiza."Right. Of course." I pressed my hand to my stomach. "Sorry, I'm not feeling great. The champagne...""

Something was wrong.I watched my new husband sign the marriage certificate. His right hand moved across the paper, forming the signature I'd seen on the contracts.But at the Rothschild gala six months ago, Marcus Laurent had been left-handed. I remembered because he'd bumped into a waiter while reaching for a drink with his left hand. Made a scene about it.Now he was signing with his right.People didn't just switch dominant hands.I took a sip of champagne and kept watching."Marcus" picked up his wine glass. Both hands. Like he was afraid it might break. His fingers curved around the stem delicately. Carefully.The Marcus I'd met at the gala had grabbed glasses. Held them too tight. Gestured wildly with them until wine sloshed over the rim.This man treated the glass like it was made of spider silk."Mr. Cross." An older woman approached our table. Mrs. Ashworth. Old money. Donated millions to art museums. "Congratulations on your marriage.""Thank you, Mrs. Ashworth."She turned

I couldn't breathe. Standing at the altar, I couldn't get enough air. The suit was too tight. The cologne is too strong. The sun is too bright. And Damien Cross was right there. Two feet away. Staring at me with those eyes. Blue. Ice blue. The kind of blue that could freeze you solid. He was taller than I'd expected. At least 6'2". Broad shoulders filling out a black suit that probably cost more than our house. His jaw was sharp enough to cut glass. Dark hair perfectly styled. Every inch of him screamed power. I wanted to run. "Do you, Marcus Laurent," the officiant said, "take Damien Cross to be your lawfully wedded husband?" My throat closed up. The words were stuck somewhere between my lungs and my mouth. Say it. Just say it. But my voice wouldn't work. Damien's eyes narrowed. Just slightly. But I saw it. He knew. He had to know. I wasn't fooling anyone. "Mr. Laurent?" the officiant prompted. I forced the words out. "I... I do." My voice cracked. Broke in the middle l

I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.Black suit. White shirt. No tie yet. I looked like I was going to a funeral, not a wedding.Maybe that was fitting."You're really doing this." Alessandro leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. He'd flown in from Italy yesterday to be my best man. We'd been friends since business school. He didn't know the half of it."The contracts are signed.""Contracts." He shook his head. "You're talking about marriage like it's a merger.""It is a merger.""Damien." He walked into the bathroom, stood behind me so I could see both our faces in the mirror. "You don't love him. You don't even know him.""That's exactly why it'll work." I picked up my tie. Started looping it around my collar. "No emotions. No betrayal.""You can't live your whole life afraid of getting hurt again."My hands stopped. The tie hung loose around my neck."I'm not afraid," I said. "I'm smart."Alessandro was quiet for a moment. Then, "Derek was three years ago. You c

The hairdresser arrived at eight AM on day two.I sat in the chair my father had set up in the bathroom while a woman named Rita mixed chemicals in a bowl. The smell made my nose burn."Darker," my father said from the doorway. "His hair is too light. Marcus's is almost black."Rita nodded and added more dye.I watched in the mirror as she painted the mixture through my hair. Dark brown spreading over the honey color I'd had my whole life. The color my grandmother said reminded her of autumn leaves."Close your eyes," Rita said.I did. Felt the cold paste against my scalp. Felt myself disappearing.Forty minutes later, I looked like a stranger."Better," my father said. He handed Rita an envelope of cash. "Not a word about this to anyone."After she left, I touched my hair. It felt the same. But the face looking back at me in the mirror wasn't mine anymore.Day two was worse.My father brought in a man named Richard. Acting coach. He'd worked in theater for twenty years before retirin