CHAPTER 5

I woke up with my neck twisted at a weird angle and the throw blanket halfway on the floor. The couch had won another round. My back protested as I sat up, rubbing the kink out of my shoulder while the morning light sliced through the heavy curtains like it had a personal grudge.

For one groggy second, I almost smiled at the sight of my phone in my hand—until the giant rock on my finger caught the light and slapped me awake.

‘Mrs. Grey.’ The title tasted like bad coffee on an empty stomach. I swung my legs off the couch and stared at the massive bed across the room, and just as i thought Van was already gone. The man probably rose at dawn just to remind the world he was in control of everything, including time itself.

I padded into the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, and caught my reflection. Same Zara. Same tired eyes. But the silk pajamas someone had laid out for me last night felt like a prison gown.

A soft knock sounded at the bedroom door jolting me out my thoughts.

“Mrs. Grey? Breakfast is ready in the dining room and as instructed, the staff has prepared your usual preferences.”

‘My usual preferences?’ I hadn’t been here long enough to have usual anything. I pulled on the robe and cracked the door open. A young woman in a crisp uniform smiled at me like I was royalty.

“Thank you,” I said, keeping my voice even. “I’ll be down soon.”

She nodded and disappeared down the hall. I closed the door and leaned against it for a second, exhaling hard. Every single person in this mansion already treated me like I was Van Grey’s wife. As though it was normal. Like I hadn’t been dragged into this nightmare kicking and screaming.

I dressed quickly—simple black trousers and a cream blouse that fit too perfectly—and headed downstairs. The mansion was already alive.

Soft footsteps, murmured instructions, the clink of silverware being set. It ran like a system that has existed for years, making me like a glitch in the system.

Van was at the head of the long table, tablet in one hand, coffee in the other. He looked unfairly composed in a charcoal suit, hair still damp from his shower. The scent of him— that same clean, sharp cologne hit me before I even sat down bringing back bitter sweet memories.

He glanced up. “Morning.”

“Morning,” I replied, sliding into the chair across from him. A plate of avocado toast and fresh fruit appeared in front of me like magic. I stared at it. “I don’t remember telling anyone what I eat for breakfast.”

“You didn’t have to.” He took a sip of coffee, eyes back on his tablet. “They’re efficient.”

Efficient, wow such a right choice of word. I picked up my fork but didn’t eat. “The staff keeps calling me Mrs. Grey. It’s… weird.”

“That’s your name now.” His voice was calm, and professional like we were discussing quarterly reports instead of the fact that he’d hijacked my entire life.

I set the fork down harder than necessary. “For how long, exactly?

He finally looked at me fully. Those dark eyes pinned me in place. “As long as it Takes Zara. The media frenzy hasn’t died down overnight. It’s getting worse, we need to make another public appearance soon.”

I laughed, short and bitter. “You really think parading me around like a trophy is going to fix this?”

“It’s not about fixing it.” He leaned back slightly, studying me. “It’s about controlling the narrative. People saw the footage, they saw you in my building. I rewrote the story. Now we sell it.”

“Sell it!” I repeated, tasting the words.  “You mean I stand there smiling while you play the doting husband, with the same narrative you created.”

“Say Zara, I created it…but did I force you there?” He didn’t smile, but there was a glint in his eye. “So unless you have a better idea that doesn’t involve both of us going down in flames, we play the game.”

I stared at him. The man who had shattered me five years ago. The one who chose her—Monique, with her perfect everything—without blinking. Now he sat here like none of it mattered.

“You’re unbelievable,” I muttered.

“Eat, Zara.” His tone softened just a fraction. “You look like you slept in Abyss.”

“I slept fine on the couch.” I picked up the toast anyway, mostly to have something to do with my hands. The silence stretched between us, but my mind kept drifting back to that password. Zara Solis. Five years and he’d kept my name like some twisted keepsake.

Van set his tablet down. “There is an event tonight. We’ll leave at seven. Wear something appropriate—there’ll be photographers.”

“Appropriate,” I echoed. “Meaning something that screams ‘happy wife’ instead of ‘woman who broke into your building to destroy you’?”

A small smirk touched his lips. “Exactly.”

I took a bite of toast, chewing slowly to buy time. My thoughts turned to the staff, the clothes, the way people looked at me downstairs—it was all closing in. I wasn’t trapped in a house. I was trapped in an identity. Mrs. Van Grey.

“What happens if I slip up?” I asked quietly. “Like i say the wrong thing. Look at you the wrong way?”

“You won’t.” He said it with such certainty it made my skin prickle. “You’re good at surviving, Zara. Always have been.”

The compliment—if that’s what it was—landed wrong. I set the toast down. “Don’t pretend you know me anymore. Five years is a long time, Van. People change.”

His gaze lingered on me a beat too long. “Some things don’t.”

The room felt heavier suddenly. I remembered the way he’d pinned me against the wall that night in the building, hand over my mouth, body close enough that I could feel his heartbeat. The same pull was here now, under the polished table and polite conversation. I hated it. I hated how my pulse quickened just being in the same room.

I stood up abruptly, chair scraping. “I need air.”

“Zara.” His voice stopped me at the doorway. “This isn’t optional. Tonight. Seven o’clock. Play the part.”

I didn’t turn around. “I know the rules. I signed your damn contract.”

I walked out before he could say anything else, the hallway felt endless. A maid nodded at me with a bright “Good morning, Mrs. Grey” as I passed. I forced a smile that hurt my face.

Upstairs, I locked myself in the bathroom—the only place that felt private—and sat on the edge of the tub. My hands shook as I pulled out my phone and dialed the familiar number.

It rang twice.

“Mama?” Billy’s voice, sleepy and small, filled the line.

“Hey, baby,” I whispered, keeping my voice low. “Did I wake you?”

“Mm. Sort of. But it’s okay. I was just thinking about you.”

I pressed my free hand over my eyes, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Yeah? What were you thinking?”

“That you’re coming back soon. You always say soon.”

The innocence in his voice nearly broke me. Five years old and already too perceptive for his own good. He could read the tension in my tone even through a phone line. “I am, sweetheart. I promise. Things are just… complicated right now.”

“Complicated like when the pasta shapes didn’t fit together?” he asked seriously.

I laughed softly, the sound watery. “Something like that. Bigger shapes. But I’m handling it. How’s your day going to be?”

“We’re doing drawings at school. I’m gonna draw a dinosaur. The big one with the long neck.”

“The brachiosaurus?”

“Yeah! That one.” He paused. “Mama… you sound tired. Are you okay?”

God, this kid. I bit my lip hard. “I’m okay, baby. I just miss you. More than everything.”

“Miss you more,” he said automatically. “I love you.”

“I love you more than everything,” I whispered back. The line went quiet after he hung up, and I sat there listening to the dial tone for a long moment, thumb tracing the edges of the dinosaur keychain in my pocket.

When I finally stepped out of the bathroom, Van was standing in the bedroom doorway,  watching me. How long had he been there?

“Everything alright?” he asked, his eyes trained on me.

“Fine.” I slipped the phone into my pocket. “Just checking in on… things.”

He didn’t press, but the way he looked at me made my skin crawl, it was like he knew I was hiding something.

“We leave at seven,” he reminded me, heading for the door. “Try to rest. You’ll need your game face tonight.”

“And what if I decline the offer to rest? If i refuse to…..play the woman who had won Van Grey’s cold, ruthless heart tonight.”