Chapter 5: The Boundary Meeting

Chapter 5: Boundary Meeting

His office door was closed.

That was different.

For the last two days it had stayed open, like some kind of invitation I wasn’t supposed to take.

Today it was shut.

And his assistant was nowhere around.

“Nadia,” a voice said behind me.

Not his. One of the security guys.

“He wants to see you. Now.”

Now.

After what I said to his mother last night.

I smoothed down the same cream silk dress.

It felt like armor and a target at the same time.

I knocked once.

“Come in.”

His office was cold. Bigger than my whole apartment.

Floor-to-ceiling windows. A desk the size of a car.

And him, standing by the window with his back to me.

Rule 1 said his wing was off-limits.

This was definitely his wing.

“Close the door,” he said.

I did. The click sounded way too loud.

He turned around. Black shirt, sleeves rolled up.

Same expression from dinner, but different now.

Tired. Angry. Something else underneath.

“Sit.”

I sat. The leather chair basically swallowed me.

For a minute he didn’t say anything.

Just looked at me, like he was figuring out which version of me he was dealing with.

“You spoke,” he said finally.

“Yes.”

“To my mother.”

“Yes.”

“At the table. Without being asked.”

I nodded. My mouth felt dry.

“Rule 2,” he said. “Don’t speak unless someone introduces you.

Rule 4: We present a united front.

You decided to freestyle.”

“I had to,” I said. “She was—”

“I know what she was.”

He cut me off, walked over to the desk, picked up a file, and dropped it.

“I’ve been cleaning up messes like that since I was twenty-two.”

The file was about me.

Photos. Background check. The hospital bills I thought I’d hidden.

My throat tightened.

“You think I didn’t know she’d test you?” he said.

“I set it up. To see how you’d handle it.”

Oh.

“So this was a test,” I said quietly.

“And I failed.”

“No.”

He came around the desk and stopped in front of me.

“You didn’t fail. You surprised me.”

His eyes dropped to my hands, clenched in my lap.

“Stand up.”

I did. Slowly.

“We need new boundaries,” he said.

“Because the old ones aren’t working.”

“Rule 3,” I said before I could stop myself.

“No touching.”

He stepped closer. Only about a foot between us now.

“Last night I touched you. Twice.”

“You started it.”

“And you didn’t pull away.”

I didn’t have an answer for that.

“Here’s the problem, Nadia,” he said, voice low.

“The contract says a hundred days. Fake. Separate rooms. No feelings.

But people are watching.

My board. My mother. The press.

If we look like strangers, this whole thing falls apart.”

“So what do you want?”

“I want you to stop acting like you hate me,” he said.

“And I need to stop acting like I don’t notice you.”

The air in the room felt heavier.

“New boundary,” he went on. “In public, we touch.

Hand. Arm. Back. Whatever makes it look real.

In private, we actually talk. Real talk.

No more pretending we’re not living in the same house.”

“That sounds dangerous,” I whispered.

“It is.”

He reached out and brushed his thumb under my eye.

I hadn’t even realized I was crying.

“You’re allowed to be mad at me,” he said.

“You’re allowed to be scared.

But don’t lie to me in front of my mother again.”

“I wasn’t lying,” I said. “I meant it.

I’m not going anywhere in a hundred days.”

His jaw tightened.

“Careful,” he said. “Words like that carry weight.”

“I know.”

Silence.

The city was loud outside the glass.

In here it was just the two of us breathing.

He stepped back. The space between us suddenly felt bigger.

“One more thing,” he said.

He opened a drawer and pulled out a small black box.

Not the ring.

A key.

“My wing has a door that locks from both sides,” he said.

“From now on, you have access.

Kitchen. Library. Gym.

If you need something at three in the morning, you don’t have to go hungry in your room.”

I took the key. It was warm.

“Why?”

“Because I’m tired of pretending I don’t hear you pacing at night,” he said.

“And because Rule 1 was stupid.”

Rule 1: His wing is off-limits.

He just erased it.

“Meeting adjourned,” he said.

But he didn’t move.

And neither did I.

“Oliver,” I said. First time I’d used his name out loud.

He flinched. Barely.

“What?”

“Thank you. For last night.

For defending me.”

He nodded once. Sharp.

“Don’t make me regret it.”

I turned to leave, hand on the door.

“Nadia.”

I looked back.

“Grilled cheese,” he said.

“Tomorrow. Seven a.m. My kitchen.

Not the staff’s. Mine.

I’m going to burn it.”

It was so random I actually laughed.

“Deal,” I said.

Back in my room I set the key on the nightstand.

Right next to the ring.

My phone buzzed.

New boundary: No more rules about not talking.

If you have something to say, say it.

To me first.

— O

Day 4.

96 left.

Rule 1: Gone.

Rule 2: Bent.

Rule 3: Broken.

And I’m starting to think the only rule left

is the one we never wrote down:

Don’t fall for the person you’re pretending to love