Charade.

Lyra's POV

By the time five o'clock rolled around, I was exhausted. Not from the work which was tedious but manageable but from the constant vigilance.

The awareness that someone was actively waiting for me to fail. My shoulders ached from tension, and the fluorescent lights had given me a headache that pulsed behind my eyes.

Damien found me packing up my things, shoving papers into my bag with more force than necessary.

"Ready?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice. My throat felt tight.

We walked to the parking garage in silence, our footsteps echoing in the concrete space. The air was cooler here, smelling faintly of oil and exhaust. Not when we pulled into traffic did he begin to speak.

"She's testing you." He brought the car to a halt at the red light.

"Miranda?" I asked and he nodded.

"Yeah. She does this with everyone new. Establishes her territory, sees who cracks." He glanced at me, and in the dim light of the dashboard, his profile was sharp, unreadable.

"For what it's worth, you handled it well."

"I deliberately called her the wrong name and compared her to a territorial animal." I said with an air of pride.

"Like I said. You handled it well."

Despite everything, I laughed. The sound surprised me, bubbling up unexpectedly. "This job might actually kill me."

"Probably. But at least you'll die with benefits." He smirked.

"Silver linings." I shrugged.

We drove in comfortable silence for a while, the city lights blurring past the windows. I felt myself relaxing for the first time all day, my shoulders dropping, the headache starting to ease.

The heat from the vents warmed my cold fingers. This weird arrangement—fake marriage, real job, complicated mess—it wasn't what I expected.

But maybe it wasn't completely terrible.

"Hey, Damien?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for the job." I said genuinely. " For not making this weirder than it has to be."

He was quiet for a moment, his hands tightening slightly on the steering wheel. Then: "You're welcome."

Back at the penthouse.......

I was too exhausted to think abiut the decorations i wanted to work on or anything we were supposed to do together. The space felt different now—less like his territory, more like a shared space. Or maybe I was just too tired to care.

"I'm ordering food," Damien said, already pulling out his phone. The screen glow illuminated his face. "Thai work for you?"

"Thai is perfect." I answered. "One of my favs."

"Good, because I'm starving and I refuse to cook after today."

"You had a rough day?" I tucked my hair behind my ear.

"Three client emergencies and Marcus explaining why he needs a bigger office for twenty minutes. It was exhausting."

I kicked off my shoes—the relief was immediate, my feet aching from standing all day and collapsed onto the couch. The leather was cool, soft. "Poor baby."

"I'm delicate." He retorted. "It takes a strong man to not only be a founder but an owner of a top company."

Yeah yeah, I didn't reply to that. There was no need to rub it all in my face. I'm not jewoiys before y'all say I am..... I'm just joking.

The food arrived thirty minutes later, the delivery guy handing over bags that were warm and fragrant. The smell of basil and lemongrass filled the penthouse, making my stomach growl.

We ate on the couch like normal people who didn't just enter a fake marriage and start working together under completely bizarre circumstances. The pad thai was perfect—spicy and tangy, the noodles slippery and satisfying.

It was nice. Weird, but nice and a bit spicy but the rice wine was amazing. I'd order more often from them.

"So," I said around a mouthful of noodles. "Scale of one to ten, how much does Miranda hate me?"

"Solid eleven." He said between mouthful. "She's like that with every female in the building."

"Fantastic. Love that for me." I rolled my eyes. "Do you think she'll continue like this?"

"She'll come around or she won't. You'll be fine either way."

"You sound confident." I poured more wine for myself and Damien. "What makes you think a woman like that who is fucking desperate will back down now?"

"I am because you held your own today." He reached for another spring roll, his fingers brushing mine briefly. The contact was warm, unexpected. "Plus, calling her Mirinda was genius."

"It just slipped out." I chuckled. "But I really enjoyed the surprise and anger on her face."

"Sure it did."

I threw a napkin at him. He caught it without looking, which was just showing off.

But then his phone buzzed three times in rapid succession, the vibration loud against the coffee table.

He glanced at it, and something shifted in his expression. His jaw tightened, that professional mask sliding back into place.

"Work?" I asked.

"Something like that." He stood, grabbing his phone. "I need to make a call. It'll just be a minute."

He disappeared into his home office, the door clicking shut behind him.

I sat there, pad thai cooling in my lap, and tried not to feel like I'd just been dismissed. It was fine. He had work. Important CEO things. This wasn't personal.

Except his voice carried through the door. Not the words—those were muffled—but the tone. Low, intimate, the kind of voice you use for someone you know well.

Someone you're comfortable with.

I shouldn't eavesdrop. I definitely shouldn't care. We weren't really married. This was an arrangement, a deal, nothing more but my curiosity got the better of me.

I moved closer to the door, careful to keep my footsteps quiet on the hardwood. My heart was beating too fast, palms suddenly sweaty.

"—I know, I know. It's complicated right now." Damien's voice, muffled but clearer. "Yes, she's living here. It's not— it's a business arrangement, you know that."

My stomach dropped and I pressed my ear closer to the door.

"No, it's not real. It's never been real." Another pause, longer this time. "Of course I still— look, we'll talk about this later. I can't do this right now."

I backed away from the door, my chest tight. The pad thai sat heavy in my stomach.

It's not real. It's never been real.

I knew that. Of course I knew that but hearing him say it—say it to someone else, someone he clearly cared about enough to reassure—felt like a punch to the gut.

I was back on the couch, fork pushing noodles around mindlessly, when he emerged five minutes later.

"Sorry about that." He settled back onto the couch, reaching for his food like nothing had happened. "Where were we?"

"Talking about Miranda's irrational hatred of me." I managed to keep my voice in check, not giving away the fact that I'd eavesdropped on his conversation.

"Right." He took a bite of his spring roll. "You'll win her over eventually."

"Or die trying." I rolled my eyes. "As long as she doesn't poke her big nose in my business, I'll stay in my lane."

"There's always that option."

We ate in silence, but it felt different now. The easy comfort from before had evaporated, replaced by something awkward and uncertain.

Who was he talking to? A girlfriend? An ex? Someone he actually cared about, unlike his fake wife who was just a convenient solution to a problem?

Lyra, why do you even care? I berated myself. All this was just a charade so why was I being disturbed by the fact that he had told someone something.

I was starting to care anyway and that was a problem I hadn't anticipated.

"You okay?" Damien asked, studying my face. "You got quiet."

"Just tired." I replied. " Had a long day at the office."

"Yeah." He set down his food. "About work—if Miranda keeps giving you trouble, tell me. I'll handle it."

"I can handle Miranda myself."

"I know you can but you shouldn't have to." His voice was serious now, that authoritative tone creeping back in. "You're doing me a favor with this arrangement. The least I can do is make sure your job isn't hellish."

A favor. Right, that's what this was.

"Thanks," I managed. "I appreciate it."

But the words felt hollow, and when he smiled—that professional, distant smile I felt the space between us widen into a chasm I hadn't noticed forming.

We finished eating in near silence, the TV playing something neither of us watched. When I finally excused myself to bed, pleading exhaustion, Damien just nodded.

"Goodnight, Lyra."

"Goodnight."

I closed the door to my room which was the guest room, because that's what I was, a guest in his space and leaned against it, heart pounding.