Chapter Four

Paige

I move into Dante De Luca’s penthouse with one suitcase and a promise I have already broken twice.

The elevator ride is silent.

The walls are mirrored, reflecting me back at myself from every angle my tired eyes, the faint swelling beneath them, the way my shoulders curl inward like I’m bracing for impact. 

Dante stands beside me, tall and immaculately composed, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone as if nothing about today is out of the ordinary.

As if he hasn’t just absorbed my life into his.

The doors open soundlessly onto the top floor.

The penthouse is vast. Cold. Beautiful in a way that feels untouchable. Floor to ceiling windows stretch across the far wall, offering a panoramic view of the city below, all glittering lights and distant movement. The furniture is minimalist sharp lines, muted colors, everything perfectly placed.

Nothing personal, nothing warm.

I step inside slowly, my suitcase rolling behind me, the sound echoing too loudly in the open space.

“This is big,” I murmur.

“It’s functional,” Dante replies, as if size and luxury are merely incidental.

He gestures vaguely. “You will find everything you need.”

I nod, unsure where to stand, where to put myself. This doesn’t feel like a home. It feels like a showroom. Like I’m trespassing somewhere I don’t belong.

Dante moves with ease, as if the space bends naturally around him. He points out rooms efficiently, the kitchen, the living area, a glass walled office.

Then he stops outside a door at the end of the corridor.

“This is the bedroom,” he says.

The bedroom, my stomach tightens as he opens the door.

The room is enormous, dominated by a king-sized bed dressed in crisp white linens. 

The windows offer another breathtaking view, but I barely notice it. My gaze locks on the bed, my chest constricting painfully.

We were going to share a bedroom, share a bed.

“This side is yours,” Dante says calmly, indicating one half of the wardrobe. “Your things have already been moved in.”

I blink. “Moved in?”

He opens the wardrobe.

Inside, neatly arranged, are clothes. My clothes.

Dresses I recognize. Shoes. Coats. Even my worn cardigan the one I sleep in when I can’t shut my brain off.

My throat tightens. “You went through my apartment.”

“I had access arranged,” he says evenly. “Efficiency.”

I don’t argue. I don’t think I can. This is the reality now, decisions made without me, my consent assumed because my signature is already dry on paper.

“There is a crib being delivered tomorrow,” he adds casually, as if discussing groceries.

My head snaps up. “A crib?”

“For appearances,” he says. “And practicality.”

My heart lurches painfully. He’s already preparing. Already building a future I don’t know how to survive.

Before I can respond, his phone buzzes.

He glances at the screen. “Child protection services will be here in an hour.”

My pulse spikes. “What?”

“They want to assess the living conditions,” he continues calmly. “And the relationship.”

The room feels like it’s tilting. “An hour? I’m not, I didn’t”

“You will manage,” he says. “We both will.”

The social worker arrives precisely on time.

Ms. Reynolds is polite, observant, with kind eyes that miss very little. She smiles warmly as she steps inside, clipboard tucked under her arm.

“This is a beautiful home,” she says.

“Thank you,” Dante replies smoothly. He places a hand at the small of my back.

The contact is unexpected.

His hand is warm. Firm. Possessive.

I stiffen instinctively, but he presses lightly, grounding me, a silent warning not to pull away. I force myself to relax.

Ms. Reynolds notices everything.

“How long have you two been together?” she asks conversationally.

“Almost two years,” Dante answers without hesitation.

I nearly choke at his answer, Two years?

I nod quickly, plastering a smile on my face. “Yes. We met through work.”

“Sometimes the best relationships start unexpectedly,” Ms. Reynolds says pleasantly.

Dante’s fingers slide down, lacing with mine.

My heart slams against my ribs. Our hands fit together too easily.

He squeezes once, subtle and deliberate, reminding me to breathe.

Ms. Reynolds walks through the penthouse methodically, asking questions, making notes. Dante answers each one calmly, confidently. He knows this game. He’s played far more dangerous ones.

When we reach the bedroom, she pauses.

“And sleeping arrangements?” she asks gently.

I feel my face heat.

Dante doesn’t miss a beat. “We share the bed.”

He glances down at me, his expression softening just enough to look convincing.

“Paige has trouble sleeping without me,” he adds.

My heart stutters.

I let out a small, nervous laugh. “He snores,” I say weakly.

Dante smiles faintly. His thumb brushes over my knuckles.

Ms. Reynolds smiles. “It’s good to see affection,” she says. “Children thrive in stable, loving environments.”

Loving, the word echoes painfully in my chest.

She finishes her assessment, clearly satisfied, and gathers her things. “I will finalize my report this evening. Everything looks excellent.”

Relief crashes over me so intensely my knees nearly give out.

At the door, she turns back. “Congratulations on your engagement.”

“Thank you,” Dante says.

His hand tightens around mine and the door closes.

The silence afterward is deafening.

I pull my hand away immediately, rubbing my palm against my thigh like I can erase the memory of his touch.

“That was unnecessary,” I snap.

“It was required,” he replies calmly.

“You didn’t have to” I gesture vaguely, my face burning. “act like that.”

He turns to face me fully. “Yes, I did.”

I swallow hard. “Did you enjoy it?”

His gaze sharpens slightly. “Enjoyment is irrelevant.”

Something about that answer unsettles me.

“I’m not an actress,” I say quietly. “I can’t just switch this on and off.”

“You will learn,” he says. “Failure isn’t an option.”

I stare at him, anger and fear tangling in my chest. “This isn’t real.”

“No,” he agrees. “But it must appear that way.”

He moves past me toward the bedroom, loosening his cufflinks. “Get settled. We have an event tomorrow night.”

My stomach drops. “Already?”

“The engagement announcement,” he says. “We will need to rehearse.”

Rehearse.

Like this is a role I can step out of when the cameras stop rolling.

I follow him into the bedroom slowly, my gaze drawn back to the bed. The sheets are immaculate. Inviting. Terrifying.

Dante stops beside it, turning to look at me.

“We will maintain boundaries,” he says. “Physical contact will only occur when necessary.”

My chest tightens.

“Understood,” I whisper.

He studies me for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

“Don’t flinch next time,” he adds quietly.

My breath catches.

“I noticed.”

He turns away, leaving me standing there, staring at the bed that marks the line between who I was and who I have just become.

Tonight, I will sleep beside a man who owns my future.

And tomorrow, the world will believe I chose him.