Move In

Chapter 3: 

Jennifer didn’t sleep.  

She stared at the envelope on the floor outside the east wing for two hours, waiting for David to come back, waiting for the footsteps that never came. At 3 AM she finally picked it up.  

No watermark. No sender. Just the words:  

_If you want to know how your parents really died, open me._  

Her fingers trembled as she tore it open. Inside was a single photo. Grainy, taken from a distance.  

Her parents’ car, mangled against a guardrail. Rain streaking the windshield. And in the background, a black SUV pulling away.  

The license plate was blurred.  

On the back, one line in the same typed font:  

_It wasn’t an accident._  

Jennifer dropped the photo like it burned her. It wasn’t an accident. She’d always known that in the pit of her stomach, but hearing it confirmed felt like someone had reached into her chest and squeezed.  

The hallway was silent again. No footsteps. No explanation.  

She slipped the photo into her bag and went back to her room.  

---

At 7 AM, Elise was at her door with a garment bag and a coffee.  

“Mr. Loriss said you’re moving in today,” Elise said, breezing past her into the room. “We need to get you packed and out of that attic before Carmilla posts another photo.”  

Jennifer blinked, still in yesterday’s clothes. “I didn’t agree to move in.”  

“You signed a contract, darling. Public Spouse clause 4: cohabitation required for authenticity.” Elise handed her the coffee. “Drink. You look like death.”  

Jennifer drank. It helped.  

“Why is he in such a rush?” she asked.  

Elise hesitated, then said, “The board meeting is in three weeks. If David isn’t married by then, his parents take control of Loriss Corp.”  

So that was it. Not love. Not even convenience. Survival.  

Two hours later, Jennifer stood in the penthouse hallway with two suitcases and a box of books. It was ridiculous. Her entire life fit in what looked like David’s walk-in closet.  

The penthouse was 4,000 square feet of glass, steel, and silence. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over London. The kitchen was stainless steel and untouched. There wasn’t a single personal item anywhere.  

“Your room is the blue one,” Elise said, pointing. “David’s is the master. East wing is off-limits. Don’t test it.”  

Jennifer nodded. She didn’t need to be told twice after last night.  

“David’s in a meeting,” Elise added. “He said to tell you—don’t go to the press. Don’t talk to Harry Argent. And don’t open anything that arrives without his security clearance.”  

Jennifer frowned. “Is he expecting something to arrive?”  

Elise’s smile was tight. “He’s expecting trouble.”  

---

David came home at 6 PM.  

Jennifer heard the door before she saw him. The penthouse didn’t creak. It didn’t have that human sound. But his footsteps were heavy, deliberate.  

He found her in the kitchen, staring into the empty fridge.  

“You don’t eat?” he asked.  

“I wasn’t sure what was mine,” she said.  

David opened the fridge. It was stocked. Milk, eggs, fruit, water. Everything expensive and organic.  

“Everything is yours,” he said. “For now.”  

“For now,” Jennifer repeated. “Right.”  

He set a folder on the counter. “Legal team updated the contract. Clause 4 addendum. You move in full-time starting tonight.”  

Jennifer opened the folder. The language was dense, but the gist was clear: if she spent more than three nights a week away from the penthouse, the contract was void.  

“Why?” she asked.  

“Because Harry’s people are watching you,” David said bluntly. “The penthouse has security. Your old place doesn’t.”  

Jennifer closed the folder. “You could’ve just told me.”  

“I did,” David said. “You weren’t listening.”  

She wanted to argue, but he was right. She’d been too busy staring at the photo of her parents to hear anything else.  

David’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it, and his jaw tightened.  

“Ravenna’s giving interviews,” he said. “Saying you blackmailed me into this engagement.”  

Jennifer felt sick. “She’s lying.”  

“I know,” David said. “But perception matters more than truth right now.”  

He walked past her, toward the east wing.  

“David,” Jennifer said before she could stop herself. “What’s in there?”  

He stopped, hand on the doorframe.  

“Nothing you need to see,” he said.  

“Then why lock it?”  

David turned, and for a second his mask slipped. He looked tired. Older than 33.  

“Because if you see what’s in there, you won’t sign the divorce papers in two years,” he said quietly.  

Then he closed the door.  

---

Dinner was awkward.  

Elise had sent over a chef who made something with salmon and truffle oil. Jennifer ate it mechanically, watching David across the table. He ate like he was running through a checklist. Chew. Swallow. Next bite.  

“You don’t have to do this,” she said suddenly.  

“Do what?”  

“Pretend to care,” she said. “I know this is business. You don’t have to pretend.”  

David set his fork down. “I’m not pretending.”  

Jennifer laughed, a short, bitter sound. “Right. Because CEOs care about their fake brides.”  

David leaned forward. “I care about keeping you alive, Jennifer. Is that enough for you?”  

The use of her first name caught her off guard. He hadn’t used it before.  

Before she could answer, her phone buzzed.  

It was a text from an unknown number.  

_You don’t belong here. Leave before you get hurt.  

— H_  

Harry.  

Jennifer showed it to David.  

He read it, then typed something back.  

“What did you say?” she asked.  

“Stay away from her,” David said.  

Jennifer stared at him. “You’re going to start a war with Harry Argent over me?”  

“I’m going to finish the war your parents started,” David said.  

Jennifer froze. “What does that mean?”  

David’s expression closed off again. “Nothing. Go to bed, Jennifer. You have a charity gala tomorrow.”  

He stood and left the table, leaving her with half-eaten salmon and a hundred new questions.  

---

At 11 PM, Jennifer couldn’t sleep.  

The penthouse was too quiet. Too big. She found herself walking toward the east wing again.  

The door was still locked.  

But this time, there was a light underneath it.  

Jennifer pressed her ear to the door.  

Voices. Low. Angry.  

David’s voice. And another one. Male. Older.  

“—you promised me two years, David,” the voice said. “Not forever.”  

“I didn’t promise you anything,” David replied, voice cold. “She’s under my protection now.”  

“She’s a Benz,” the man said. “She’s a liability.”  

Jennifer’s breath caught. A Benz.  

The man continued, “If Harry finds out what’s in that safe—”  

“He won’t,” David said sharply. “Because you’re not telling him. And neither am I.”  

There was a pause. Then footsteps, moving toward the door.  

Jennifer jumped back and ducked into the shadows just as the door opened.  

A man stepped out. Early 60s, gray hair, sharp suit. She didn’t recognize him.  

He didn’t see her. He walked past, heading for the elevator.  

David stepped out after him, closing the door quietly.  

He saw her then.  

“Jennifer,” he said. Not angry. Resigned.  

“What’s in there?” she asked.  

David ran a hand through his hair. “Things I don’t want you involved in.”  

“Too late,” she said. “I’m already involved. My parents are dead, David. And that photo says it wasn’t an accident.”  

David’s face went blank.  

“How did you—”  

“Someone slipped it under the door,” Jennifer said. “With a note.”  

David swore under his breath.  

“Who was that man?” Jennifer asked.  

“My father’s old lawyer,” David said. “He’s been trying to get me to hand over the safe for years.”  

“And what’s in the safe?”  

David looked at her for a long time.  

“Proof,” he said finally. “Proof that your parents didn’t sell out. Proof that someone set them up.”  

Jennifer’s heart stopped.  

“Then why won’t you show me?” she asked.  

“Because if you see it, you’ll go after them,” David said. “And they’ll kill you.”  

He stepped closer, lowering his voice.  

“I didn’t hire you to die, Jennifer,” he said. “I hired you to live.”  

Before she could respond, his phone buzzed again.  

He glanced at it, and his face hardened.  

“Harry’s at the building,” he said. “Security says he’s demanding to see you.”  

Jennifer’s stomach dropped.  

David grabbed her arm. “Go to your room. Lock the door. Don’t open it.”  

“And you?” she asked.  

“I’m going to tell him to leave,” David said. “Or I’m going to make him leave.”  

He let go and walked toward the elevator, leaving Jennifer standing in the hallway with her heart pounding.  

She didn’t go to her room.  

She went to the east wing door.  

The light was still on.  

Jennifer reached for the handle.  

It was unlocked.