CHAPTER THREE

Emma's Pov

I signed the contract three hours later in a lawyer's office that David Chen insisted on providing. The ink was barely dry when Alexander's assistant Patricia transferred fifty-three thousand dollars into my account, and suddenly I could breathe again for the first time in two years.

"The wedding is in five days," Patricia informed me as we left the lawyer's office. She was a polished woman in her fifties with sharp eyes that missed nothing. "We're telling the press it's been a whirlwind romance. You'll need to move into the penthouse tomorrow so we can prepare you."

"Prepare me for what?"

"For being Mrs. Alexander Cross." She handed me a thick binder. "This covers everything, how to dress, how to speak to the media, which forks to use at formal dinners, and the names and backgrounds of everyone in Alexander's social circle. Study it tonight. Tomorrow, we start your transformation."

I clutched the binder to my chest, feeling like I'd just sold my soul. "Patricia, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Does he really not feel anything? Love, I mean. He said he hasn't felt it in seventeen years."

Patricia's expression softened slightly. "Alexander's parents died when he was fifteen. Car accident. His uncle Harold raised him after that, and Harold believes emotion is a liability in business. He trained Alexander to suppress everything: joy, sadness, love, all of it. So no, I don't think Alexander feels those things anymore. He's buried them too deep."

"That's the saddest thing I've ever heard."

"It's survival, Miss Clarke. And now it's your job to help him survive this scandal. Just remember, this is business. Don't make the mistake of thinking you can fix him."

But as I read through the binder that night, learning about Alexander's favorite foods and his daily routines and the tragedy that shaped him, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was already in too deep.

The penthouse was obscene. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park, minimalist furniture that probably cost more than my entire life, and a coldness that had nothing to do with temperature. It felt like a museum, not a home.

"Your bedroom is down the hall," Alexander said, barely glancing up from his laptop. He sat at the dining table surrounded by papers, still in his suit despite it being eight p.m. "Patricia left instructions for tomorrow. We're announcing the engagement at a press conference at noon, then having dinner with my grandmother at seven. She doesn't know this is fake, and it needs to stay that way."

"You're lying to your own grandmother?"

"Margaret is the family matriarch. If she suspects this isn't real, everyone will know. She's sharp." He finally looked at me. "Can you act like you're in love with me?"

"I'm an event planner, not an actress."

"Then learn quickly. We have five days before the wedding." He returned to his laptop, dismissing me.

I found my bedroom, a space bigger than my old apartment with an attached bathroom that had a tub I could swim in. My suitcase looked pathetic in the massive closet. I unpacked slowly, trying not to think about what I'd agreed to.

A knock on the doorframe made me turn. Alexander stood there, tie loosened, looking almost human.

"I forgot to mention, my brother James will be at dinner tomorrow. He's going to hate this."

"Why?"

"Because James believes in love and romance and all the things I don't. He'll see right through us." Alexander leaned against the doorframe. "He'll probably try to talk you out of this. Don't listen to him."

"What if he's right? What if this is a terrible idea?"

"It's too late for doubts, Miss Clarke. We signed a contract." His phone buzzed, and he glanced at it, jaw tightening. "Sterling just released a statement to the press. He's pushing the narrative hard."

"What does it say?"

Alexander handed me his phone. The headline made my stomach drop: "Billionaire Alexander Cross Under Investigation for Insider Trading—Former Partners Call Him 'Ruthless and Unethical.'"

"This is really happening," I whispered.

"Yes. Which is why tomorrow's press conference is critical. We need to control the narrative before Sterling buries me." He took his phone back. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow changes everything."

The press conference was a nightmare. Cameras flashed like strobe lights while Alexander stood beside me, his hand on my waist, feeling like a brand through my dress. Patricia had dressed me in designer clothes I'd never be able to afford on my own, a pale blue sheath dress and heels that made my feet scream.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I've asked you here today to address the recent allegations, but also to share something personal." Alexander's voice was steady, commanding. "The allegations against me are completely false, and my legal team is cooperating fully with the SEC to prove that. But I've realized something through this ordeal. I've spent so long building the company that I forgot to build a life. That changes today."

He turned to me, and for a moment, the warmth in his eyes almost looked real.

"This is Emma Clarke. Three weeks ago, she walked into my life and reminded me what matters. She saw past the CEO to the man underneath. She challenged me, argued with me, and made me laugh for the first time in years. And yesterday, I asked her to marry me."

The press erupted with questions. Alexander raised his hand for silence.

"We're getting married this weekend, a small ceremony with close friends and family. I know the timing seems convenient given the investigation, but the truth is, I've wasted too much time already. When you find the person who makes you want to be better, you don't wait."

He kissed me then, in front of fifty cameras and a hundred journalists, and I forgot it was fake. His lips were warm and firm, and his hand cupped my face like I was precious. When he pulled back, I saw something flicker in his eyes-surprise, maybe. Like he'd felt it too.

"Mr. Cross, how do you respond to Sterling's claims?" a reporter shouted.

"I respond by living my life and trusting the truth will prevail. Now, if you'll excuse us, I'd like to take my fiancée to lunch." Alexander guided me off the stage, his hand still on my waist.

In the car, he finally released me. "You did well."

"You kissed me."

"The press needed to see chemistry. Did it make you uncomfortable?"

Yes. No. Maybe. "It was fine. Just unexpected."

"It won't happen often. Only when necessary." He stared out the window, jaw tight. "Tonight's dinner with Margaret and James will be harder. They know me. They'll be looking for cracks."

"Then we'd better not show them any."

His phone rang. David's name flashed on the screen. Alexander answered, listened for thirty seconds, then went perfectly still.

"What is it?" I asked when he hung up.

"Sterling just filed a lawsuit. He's suing Cross Enterprises for one billion dollars, claiming I stole proprietary technology." Alexander's voice was ice. "He's not just trying to destroy my reputation. He's trying to destroy everything."

"Can he win?"

Alexander looked at me, and for the first time, I saw fear behind his cold demeanor.

"If he has proof of what he claims, yes. He can take everything I've built. And the wedding won't stop him.”