Beneath the Same Roof

Chapter 4:

Eden hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the penthouse couch, but exhaustion had folded over her like a heavy blanket. Between dodging Verena’s passive-aggressive missiles, performing as the perfect fiancée, and managing not to pass out in five-inch stilettos, she was tapped out.

She woke to silence—thick, comfortable silence—and a blanket draped across her shoulders.

Cassian Wolfe was nowhere in sight.

A silver tray sat on the coffee table: water, painkillers, and a small dish of chocolate-covered almonds. Eden blinked. She hadn’t even mentioned the headache brewing behind her eyes. The man was infuriating, but he didn’t miss anything.

She padded barefoot toward the hallway, trailing her fingers against the cool marble as she made her way to the guest suite. When she pushed the door open, her suitcase sat untouched. A large sign taped to it read in Cassian’s elegant handwriting:

“You’re in the master suite now. Guest room’s under renovation. - C”

She stared at the note.

Then at the suitcase.

Then at the hallway.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The master suite was larger than her old apartment. Twice over. The bed alone looked like it could fit four people with room for a ballroom dancer to stretch out. A fireplace flickered low against the far wall. The city sparkled outside the massive windows like a distant, unreachable planet.

She stepped inside cautiously, like she might trip some silent alarm. There were no pictures, no personal touches—just polished luxury and tasteful restraint. It looked exactly like Cassian Wolfe.

She set her bag down, kicked off her shoes, and wandered toward the walk-in closet. Half of it was already filled—with men’s suits, pressed shirts, designer shoes.

And now, on the other half, hung her dresses. Her size. Her style. Her life, replicated and hung like it had always belonged here.

It unnerved her.

She didn’t hear him enter.

“I take it you found the note,” Cassian said from the doorway.

Eden turned slowly. “I thought we agreed you’d run your power plays by me first.”

He shrugged. “It’s not a power play. The guest suite really is being renovated. I ordered soundproofing.”

“Why?”

His mouth twitched. “Because we might need it.”

She flushed. “That’s not funny.”

“It wasn’t a joke.”

She lifted her chin. “Nothing’s happening between us. Real or fake.”

Cassian stepped inside, untucking his shirt as he moved. “We’re sharing a room. The staff knows. Lora knows. My father definitely knows. You wanted to make it real. This is how we do that.”

“And if I say no?”

He paused. “Then I move into the guest room.”

Eden stared at him. The most powerful man in the room—always—offering to sleep somewhere else. That, more than anything, made her throat tighten.

“You’ll stay here,” she said quietly. “But we keep our distance. Got it?”

Cassian nodded. “Got it.”

That night, the bed was far too large for two people trying to pretend they didn’t notice each other.

Cassian lay on the far side, a wall of pillows between them, reading something on his tablet.

Eden turned out the lamp on her side. “What are you reading?”

“Financial Times.”

She laughed softly. “Of course you are.”

A pause.

“What would you be reading?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Probably a graphic novel. Or something sad and poetic I can quote dramatically when I’m feeling extra.”

His lips curved faintly. “That tracks.”

Another pause. Then:

“Did you always want to be an artist?”

She turned to face the ceiling. “Yeah. Ever since I was a kid. I used to draw in the back of old pizza boxes. My mom saved them all. She said they were ‘ghetto masterpieces.’”

He chuckled. A soft sound.

“And you?” she asked. “Did you always want to be a walking spreadsheet?”

Cassian set his tablet down. “No. I wanted to be a musician. Piano. My mother taught me.”

Eden blinked in the dark. “What happened?”

“She died. I stopped playing.”

The quiet between them stretched.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Cassian didn’t reply. But he reached over and turned off his lamp.

For the first time, they fell asleep in the same bed.

And it didn’t feel like a lie.

The next morning, Eden woke up to the smell of coffee and the distinct sound of someone humming.

She sat up slowly, hair tangled and makeup smudged. Cassian stood in the kitchen, barefoot, shirtless, and focused entirely on flipping a perfect omelet.

Eden rubbed her eyes. “Who are you and what have you done with Cassian Wolfe?”

He didn’t look up. “I cook. Occasionally. Don’t spread it around.”

She slid onto one of the barstools. “What’s the occasion?”

“Damage control.”

He handed her a tablet. Eden blinked at the headline:

“Fake or Forever? Cassian Wolfe’s Surprise Engagement Sets the Internet Ablaze”

A dozen photos flooded the page. The kiss. The handholding. The look on Cassian’s face when he wasn’t pretending.

Eden sighed. “Do we have a PR team?”

“Three,” he said. “You’ll meet them this afternoon.”

She took a bite of the omelet. It was perfect. Annoyingly so.

He watched her eat, eyes thoughtful. “We have to be more convincing. Especially online. Post something. Use the ring. Let them see you’re all in.”

“You want me to… become your influencer fiancée?”

He smirked. “Only if you use that exact phrase in the caption.”

She rolled her eyes. But later, in the sun-drenched balcony, she took a photo: her hand resting lightly on the balcony railing, the skyline behind it, the ring catching the light.

The caption read:

“Never expected this… but sometimes, the unexpected becomes unforgettable. 💍 #WolfeAndMe”

Ten minutes later, she had 4,000 new followers.

An hour later, Verena posted a photo of herself in Cassian’s old penthouse.

The caption read:

“Some things can’t be replaced. But they can be upgraded.”

Cassian threw his phone across the room.

Eden picked it up. “That’s subtle.”

“She’s testing us.”

“Then let’s pass.”

He looked at her. Really looked at her. “How?”

She leaned in. “By making this the greatest performance of our lives.”

Cassian stepped forward, close enough that she could feel his breath.

“Are you ready for that?”

She swallowed. “Are you?”

His answer was a kiss—hotter, deeper, hungrier than the first. Not for the cameras. Not for the show.

For them.

But just as it started to feel like something real, he pulled back.

“We leave for the Hamptons tomorrow,” he said, voice hoarse. “We need to look like a couple in love. In private. In public. Everywhere.”

“Why the Hamptons?”

“My father’s birthday. And Verena will be there.”

Eden nodded slowly.

“I hope she chokes on her champagne.”

Cassian smiled.

And for the first time since this all began, Eden realized something dangerous:

She wasn’t just pretending anymore.