MasukBroke and desperate, Emma Clarke agrees to a one-year contract marriage with cold billionaire Alexander Cross for two million dollars. It's purely business, until it isn't. As fake kisses become real and walls crumble, Emma falls for the wounded man behind the fortune. But when betrayals surface and enemies close in, she discovers a shocking truth that makes her question everything. Was his love ever real, or was she just another deal to close?
Lihat lebih banyakAlexander's POVI told James on Wednesday.Not about the question specifically, just that Emma had agreed to move to the Westchester house when the restoration was complete. James was in my office for a scheduled meeting about the foundation role transition and I told him at the end of it, after the professional conversation was done.He sat with it for a moment."The house," he said."Yes.""You're going to live in the house.""We're going to live in the house."James looked at his hands and then out the window and then back at me with an expression I recognized as him working through something that had more layers than the surface presented."I used to dream about that house," he said. "After they died. I'd dream we were all still in it and wake up and it would take a few seconds to remember." He paused. "I stopped dreaming about it eventually.""James.""I'm not saying it as a sad thing. I'm saying it because you taking the house back and making it alive again is something I didn't
Emma's POVThe shareholder meeting was on a Tuesday in the third week of November.I didn't attend. It wasn't my world and Alexander hadn't suggested I should be there, which I respected as the appropriate boundary between his professional domain and our shared life. He left early, precise and composed in the way he always was before something significant, and I went to my West Village office and worked through the morning on the Grace Yuen terms and two new client inquiries.Patricia texted at noon. *Meeting went well. Evelyn Marsh asked four questions nobody wanted to answer. All four were correct questions. Alexander handled them cleanly.*I smiled at my phone and sent back a thumbs up, which Patricia had recently started accepting as valid communication after initially responding to them with formal acknowledgment.Alexander called at two."It's done," he said."How was Evelyn?""Exactly as expected. The board will either come to respect her or spend the next several years uncomfo
Alexander's POVThe Westchester house work began the second week of November.I took Emma on a Saturday morning, the first weekend after the contractors moved in. We drove up together in the kind of comfortable quiet that had become the default register of our time alone, not silence from absence of things to say but silence from not needing to fill space.The house looked different with activity in it. Vans in the driveway, lights on in every room, the particular controlled disruption of a space being worked on by people who knew what they were doing. The plumbers were in the basement. The electricians had started on the upper floor. The furniture that had been covered for years was uncovered now, moved to the center of rooms to allow access to walls and floors.Emma walked through it the way she walked through event venues, observationally, taking in the space with the part of her that understood how rooms functioned and what they needed.In the kitchen she stood at the window that
Emma's POVI noticed it in the way the penthouse changed. More evenings in than out. Alexander finishing work earlier and sitting in the living room with me rather than his office. Cooking together on weekends, which had started as me cooking and him watching and had evolved into something more collaborative as he proved to have specific competencies he'd never mentioned, knife skills that suggested actual training at some point, a patience with slow processes that translated well to anything requiring time.I asked him about it on a Saturday morning when he was doing something precise and unhurried with vegetables."Maggie," he said. "She taught me the summer I was sixteen. She said a man who couldn't feed himself was a liability." He kept his eyes on what he was doing. "I used it approximately twice in the years after that.""Why?""Because cooking for one felt like underlining the one." He said it without self-pity, just factually. "It stopped feeling that way recently."I looked a


















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