CHAPTER 4: MOVING DAY

The penthouse was mindblowing and beautiful.

Elara stood in the center of what Lucien had casually called the living room which was instead a large open area that was larger than her entire apartment trying to process the entirety of it all.

It has floor to ceiling windows on two sides. The furnitures in the house looked like it belonged in a museum and it was sparily decorated with art that probably cost more than her car. Everything was steel, glass and with sharp edges just like Lucien's office. It was beautiful but cold and utterly impersonal.

"Your quarters are this way."

Victoria Chen, Lucien's assistant led Elara down a hallway with her heels clicking against marble floors. She was an impressive woman who moved with the efficiency of someone who never wasted a second in her life.

"Mr. Blackwood's office is there," Victoria gestured to a closed door. "It's off-limits unless invited, his bedroom is at the east end and yours is here."

She gestured and opened a door to reveal a bedroom that was somehow both massive and surreal.

It had a king bed, ensuite bathroom and a walk-in closet. The sitting area gave a view of the city. It looked like a luxury hotel room; well coordinated but completely devoid of personality.

"Mr. Blackwood wanted to ensure you had adequate space and privacy," Victoria said. "The door locks from the inside, if you prefer."

Translation: ‘He won't bother you and you're not sharing a bed.’

Elara should felt relieved and happy about the arrangements but instead, she felt dismissed.

"Where's Lucien?" she asked.

"Mr. Blackwood is at his club. He'll return this evening for dinner." Victoria checked her tablet. "He's arranged for you both to meet at seven. It will be casual and the chef will prepare something appropriate."

"He has a chef?"

"Yes, Marcus. He comes here.three times weekly to prepare meals and stock the kitchen. You'll receive his schedule." Victoria pulled out a small folder. "In here is your building access card, garage space assignment and security codes. The building has a gym, pool and spa on the third floor which you have full access."

Everything was all so organized and transactional. It felt like checking into a hotel and definitely not like moving into your fiancé's home.

"Is there anything else you need, Ms. Quinn?"

A time machine, my dignity and an escape plan.

"No. Thank you."

Victoria left with a brisk nod.

Elara stood alone in her designated room, surrounded by the three boxes that contained her entire life. Everything else like the furniture, the dishes and the accumulated rubbish of twenty-eight years, she'd sold, donated or trashed.

She packed light because this wasn't a permanent setup but was a performance and in one year, she'd leave exactly as she had arrived except richer and probably emptier.

She unpacked calmly. First with clothes moved into the massive closet where they looked so inadequate for the space. She dropped her foiletries in the bathroom that had more counter space than her old kitchen. Books went to the shelf and photo frames on the nightstand.

One photo in particular caught her interest. It was a picture of her parents on their twentieth anniversary, her father's arm around her mother, both of them were laughing at something outside the frame. They'd been happy. Genuinely happy.

Elara touched the glass. "I'm sorry for not doing this your way, Dad."

Her phone buzzed.

LUCIEN: ‘Dinner at 7. Don't be late.’

No ‘looking forward to seeing you’ or ‘hope you're settling in nicely’. Just a command.

She typed back: ‘I live here now. I can't exactly be late.’

‘You'd be surprised.’ he responsed

Despite everything, she smiled.

At 6:55 PM, Elara emerged from her room, having changed into jeans and a simple black sweater. If he wanted casual, she'd give him casual. She wasn't dressing up for dinner in her own home.

Except it wasn't her home. Not really.

She found Lucien in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, doing something incomprehensible with vegetables. He had changed from his suit into dark jeans and a gray polo that did absolutely unfair things to his physique.

He looked human andlmost approachable.

"You cook?" she asked.

"Marcus left everything prepared. I'm just assembling." He didn't look up from the cutting board. "There's wine in the fridge. Pour yourself a glass."

"Ordering me around already?"

"Suggesting. There's a difference." He finally looked at her, gaze tracking over her appearance with detached assessment. "You're punctual. That's good."

"I'm a delight." She responded sarcastically while she opened the massive fridge that was stocked with more food than she typically bought in a month. She found an already-open bottle of white wine and poured a glass

"Do you want one?"

"I don't drink during the week."

"Of course you don't." She took a sip. It was delicious, probably expensive. Well,.everything in this place was expensive.

They moved around each other in careful orbits, Lucien plating what turned out to be an elaborate salad, Elara setting the table in the dining area because doing nothing felt worse. The silence was heavy, charged with the strangeness of forced intimacy.

"So," Elara said as they sat down. "Is this what we're doing? Awkward dinners where we pretend this isn't completely insane?"

Lucien speared a piece of grilled chicken. "Would you prefer we acknowledge it's insane every time we share a meal?"

"I'd prefer we acknowledge we're two strangers playing house." She gestured at the ridiculous apartment. "This isn't normal, Lucien."

"Nothing about this situation is normal but it can be civil." He met her eyes. "I'm not your enemy, Elara. I'm like your employer, I suppose."

"Husband," she corrected. "In three weeks, I'll be your wife."

"Contractually."

"You keep saying that like it makes it less binding."

"It makes it less complicated." He set down his fork. "Look, I know this needs adjustment but we're both adults. We can make this work if we establish boundaries and expectations."

"Fine then, let's establish them." Elara leaned back. "What are your expectations?"

"Professionalism, discretion and availability for required appearances. Least I forget, believable affection in public." He ticked them off like a checklist. "In private, we can maintain whatever distance is comfortable."

"Comfortable," Elara repeated. "You want me to live here, eat meals with you, maintain whatever this is, but stay comfortable?"

"Don't you?"

She thought about it. "I don't know what I want. This morning I woke up in my apartment, broke and desperate. Tonight I'm sitting in a penthouse that costs more than I'll make in ten lifetimes, married but not married to a man I've spoken to exactly three times. Comfortable isn't on the table for me."

Lucien was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was softer. "What would make this easier?"

The question surprised her. "I don't know. Maybe honesty?"

"About?"

"Why you're really doing this." Elara leaned forward. "And don't give me the inheritance line. I believe that's part of it, but there's something else. Something about your ex, or your grandfather or whatever made you so convinced you need to keep everyone at arm's length."

His jaw tightened. "That's not part of our agreement."

"Maybe it should be. We're going to be living together for a year, Lucien. We can either be strangers who happen to share an address, or we can be something slightly less lonely."

"I'm not looking for a friend."

"I noticed but you might end up with one anyway." She raised her glass, with her brows cocked "To uncomfortable honesty?"

He studied her for a long moment with something unreadable in those steel gray eyes.

Then he picked up his glass of water and touched it to hers.

"To survival," he said instead.

They ate in silence after that, but it was a different kind of silence. It was less hostile and more resigned.

After dinner, Lucien disappeared into his office, "work emergency," he'd said, though she suspected it was just an excuse to escape. Elara wandered around in the penthouse, feeling more like a intruder and fraud in someone else's life.

She found herself in front of the windows, looking out at the city lights. Somewhere down there was her old apartment, her old life, the version of herself who would have been horrified by all of this.

But that version of herself hadn't watched her mother choose between medication and rent. Hadn't held a dying company together through sheer denial. Hadn't learned that sometimes survival meant compromise, even when it felt like surrender.

Her phone buzzed.

MOM: ‘Sweetheart, the hospital just called. They said my bills are paid? All of them? What did you do?’

Elara's chest tightened. She'd known this call was coming, but she still wasn't prepared.

She called back. Her mother answered on the first ring.

"Elara Marie Quinn, you tell me right now…”

"I got an investor," Elara interrupted. "For the company. A really significant investor and part of the deal included covering your medical expenses."

"What kind of investor—"

"The kind who believes in Dad's legacy." It wasn't technically a lie. "Mom, you can focus on getting better now. No more worrying about bills. No more choosing between treatment and everything else. Just focus on healing."

Her mother was crying. "Baby, this is too much.."

"It's not enough." Elara's voice cracked. "You've sacrificed everything for me. Let me do this for you please."

"I'm so proud of you," Margaret whispered. "Your father would be too."

The words landed like thorns.

After they hung up, Elara stood at the window and let herself cry, quietly and privately, where Lucien wouldn't see.

She was saving her mother. She was saving the company. She was surviving. She tried convincing herself and the fact that it felt like drowning anyway was something she'd learn to live with.

Behind her, the door opened. She wiped her eyes quickly.

Lucien stood in the hallway, looking exhausted.

"You're crying," he observed.

"I'm not."

"Elara.."

"I just spoke with my mom. She asked about her bills being paid and I told her I got a good investor. She's happy. I'm happy and everything is perfect." She turned away. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

She started toward her room.

"This won't work if you lie to me," Lucien said quietly.

She stopped. "Excuse me?"

"You're allowed to be upset and to be overwhelmed. This situation is insane, I mean, you said so yourself." He moved closer. "But don't lie to me about it. I need to know when you're struggling."

"Why? So you can manage it? Add it to your list of problems to solve?"

"So I can adjust." He was close now, close enough that she could see the exhaustion in his face and the shadows under his eyes. "I'm not your enemy, Elara. I know I'm not your choice either, but I'm what you've got. And contrary to popular belief, I don't actually enjoy making people miserable."

"Could have fooled me."

The corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile. "Fair."

They stood there in the dim hallway, the enormous apartment suddenly feeling much smaller.

"I'm scared," Elara admitted. "That's the truth. I'm scared I made the wrong choice. That I'm going to fail at this. That a year is going to feel like forever or pass too fast or both. I'm scared that my mom is going to see through this lie and be disappointed in me. And I'm scared that you're going to regret choosing me."

Lucien listened without interrupting. When she finished, he nodded slowly.

"I'm scared too," he said.

"Of what? You're not capable of fear."

"I'm scared you'll break the contract. That you'll develop feelings and I'll lose everything." He met her eyes. "Or worse, that I'll develop feelings and destroy this myself."

The confession hung in the air between them.

"We're both terrified, then," Elara said finally.

"Apparently."

"Great foundation for a marriage."

"Better than false expectations."

She laughed despite herself, it was a short, sharp sound. "You're kind of terrible at pep talks."

"I'm aware." He hesitated, then: "But I meant what I said before. This will work. We're both too stubborn to let it fail."

"Is that your version of reassurance?"

"It's the best I've got."

Elara shook her head, but she was almost smiling. "Goodnight, Lucien."

"Goodnight, Elara."

She went to her room, closed the door, and lay on the unfamiliar bed in the unfamiliar apartment, listening to the city hum floors below.

In three weeks, she'd marry this stranger and somehow, she had to make it convincing.