Chapter 7: Cracks in the contract

I suddenly heard the car door slam behind me. 

I sank into the leather seat, the city lights bleeding past the tinted windows. Alexander slid in beside me, silent. The driver pulled off without a word.

I kept my arms wrapped around myself, still shaken. My ex was alive. Free. Watching me. And Alexander had seen the panic written boldly all over my face.

Now he sat there like a stone. Cold. Sharp. Distant.

Back to normal.

“Eleanor,” he said without looking at me, “next time, don’t freeze like that in public. You made us look unstable.”

My head jerked toward him. “Are you serious?”

“You saw someone who triggered you. Fine. But you need to remember your role. I pay you to act like my wife, not fall apart in public.”

My mouth went dry. Any softness he showed on the balcony was gone now, replaced with the man I knew behind closed doors—calculated, controlled, and ruthless.

“You pretended to care in there,” I said quietly. “Held me. Protected me.”

“It was necessary,” he replied coolly. “Optics matter.”

I stared at him. “So that was all fake?”

He finally met my gaze. “We both know what this is.”

My stomach twisted. “You’re just so unbelievable.”

“No, Eleanor. I’m realistic. You signed a contract for a specific amount of money. I protect my image. You clean up your financial mess. Don’t start expecting something more because I wiped your tears and touched your back for ten seconds.”

My nails dug into my palms. “I saw the man who almost killed me tonight.”

“And I dealt with it. My team is tracking him as we speak. I don’t need your gratitude—I need your composure.”

The car pulled into his private garage. I climbed out, head held high even though my heart felt like glass shattering inside my chest.

He led me into the penthouse without another word.

I paused at the base of the stairs. When I noticed we were heading to his room “I’m not sleeping in your bed.”

“You never do,” he said with a shrug. “Unless we have guests over. Don’t worry, tonight we’re blessedly alone.”

Something in me broke. “Why are you like this?”

He turned back to me. “Because pretending to care is expensive. And I’ve already paid enough.”

I wanted to scream. Cry. Throw something.

But instead, I nodded. I think I felt the fact that he cared. Well, I might be wrong, or if at all he did care maybe a little. 

“Goodnight, Alexander,” I said as I walked up the stairs, both my legs trembling.

I shut the guest room door as fast as possible and slid to the floor.

My breathing was shaky. My chest was tight. My whole body felt like it was still trapped in that ballroom, Brenton's eyes boring into me, Alexander's fake concern melting into cold calculation.

Why did it hurt more than it should?

I knew what I signed up for. The marriage was a business deal. There were terms. Boundaries. Expectations.

But when Alexander had pulled me outside and asked me what was wrong, something in his voice had almost—almost—sounded real.

I buried my face in my knees.

I couldn’t afford to fall apart. Not here. Not in his world.

Downstairs, Alexander poured himself a drink. His phone buzzed.

Security Team: Brenton exited the building ten minutes after you left. No signs of aggression. We have two men tailing him. Do you want us to engage?

He stared at the message, swirling the whiskey in his glass.

No. Just watch him for now.

He didn’t know why he hadn’t ordered them to take Brenton out of the picture immediately. He had the means. The contacts. He could make men disappear with one phone call.

But something about my face when I saw Brenton —there was a pain there he didn’t understand. Didn’t want to understand.

He told himself this wasn’t his problem.

He was only responsible for the image. For the illusion of marriage. Not my trauma. Not my feelings.

He took a long sip of the drink, the burn matching the twist in his chest.

Hours passed.

I still couldn’t get myself to sleep.

I paced the guest room like a caged animal, anxiety swirling like acid in my gut. Finally, I stepped onto the balcony, hoping the night air would clear my head.

Below, the city was alive. Cars zipped through streets like blood in veins. But up here, everything was silent.

I gripped the railing.

I had spent years rebuilding my life after Brenton. 

One job after another. 

Hustling. 

Scraping by. 

Swallowing fear like medicine.

Now I was in a penthouse, married to a man who didn’t care if I lived or died, and my past had just walked through the front door of my present.

I didn’t know how long I stood there before the door behind me slid open.

I didn’t need to look to know it was Alexander.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his tone unreadable.

I said nothing.

He stepped beside me. Not close enough to touch. Just close enough to dominate the space.

“I got confirmation. Your ex is being followed. If he makes one wrong move, he’ll disappear.”

“You think that makes me feel better?” I asked bitterly.

“I think it should.”

I turned to him, my eyes sharp. “Why do you pretend to be human around people but act like a machine with me?”

His jaw twitched. “Because people are watching when we’re in public. No one is watching us now.”

“And you think that makes this better?”

“No. But it makes it honest.”

I stared at him. “You don’t get to talk about honesty when this whole thing is a lie.”

He didn’t flinch. “Then why are you mad?”

That hit me like a slap. I opened my mouth and closed it again. The truth was ugly. It was pathetic.

I was mad because a part of me had hoped. Hoped he’d care. I hoped it meant something when he held me and wiped tears off my cheek.

I hated myself for it.

“Because I thought for a moment,” I  whispered, “that I mattered.”

He inhaled slowly, the only crack in his perfect armor.

“You do,” he said finally. “To the deal. That’s why I’m protecting you.”

Cold. 

Calculated.

I nodded slowly, backing away from the balcony.

“I hope that deal keeps you warm at night.”

And with that, I walked inside and shut the door behind me.