Chapter 14: MOVING INTO THE PENTHOUSE      

The moving truck idled outside Cross Tower as two movers carefully carried the first of Sophia’s things into the building’s private elevator bay. It had been one week since they’d signed the contracts—both business and marital—and Alexander had insisted she move into the Cross penthouse in Manhattan to finalize the merger details and prepare for the board vote on their joint venture.

 Sophia had returned to Seattle after signing, but the board’s vote on the acquisition was set for two weeks, and Alexander had convinced her that being in New York would strengthen their position.

“This is ridiculous,” Maya muttered, watching as a crate marked STELLA DESIGNS – CONFIDENTIAL was wheeled inside. “A ‘gilded cage’ doesn’t even begin to cover it. You’re moving into his home—his penthouse—and acting like it’s just another office space.”

“It is just another office space,” Sophia said, adjusting the baby carrier holding Luna against her chest—Stella was asleep in Alexander’s arms just inside the lobby doors. “We agreed—marriage in name only, separate lives except for business.”

But as they stepped into the penthouse for the first time together, she felt the lie catch in her throat. The space was vast—three stories of marble, gold accents, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Central Park. But it was cold. Sterile. Nothing like her warm, cluttered Seattle studio or the cozy apartment she’d shared with Maya.

“Your things will go in the east wing,” Alexander said, carefully laying Stella in a bassinet he’d had delivered that morning—one of three he’d ordered, all equipped with monitors and custom linens. “It has its own entrance, kitchen, and living area. Completely private.”

Sophia looked at the wing he’d pointed to—doors that could be locked from both sides, a separate elevator, even its own rooftop terrace. A cage within a cage.

“I appreciate the privacy,” she said, though part of her wanted to argue that she didn’t need to be sequestered like a guest. But she’d made her choice, and she’d stick to it.

Over the next few hours, her life was unpacked into the east wing—sketchbooks stacked on custom shelves, fabric bolts rolled neatly into closets, photos of her family and friends pinned to a corkboard. Maya helped her arrange the nursery space Alexander had had installed overnight: soft gray walls, a hand-carved crib, and a rocking chair that looked just like the one in her Seattle home.

“This is nice,” Maya said, running a hand over the quilt Margaret Rothwell had sent—embroidered with tiny stars, just like the ones Sophia had designed for her wedding dress. “He’s trying, isn’t he?”

“Trying to protect me,” Sophia said, settling Luna in the crib beside her sister. “Or trying to control me? I still can’t tell.”

As if on cue, Alexander knocked gently on the door. “Everything okay in here?” he asked, peering inside. When he saw the babies sleeping peacefully, a small smile touched his lips. “They look so small in all this space.”

“They’re perfect,” Sophia said, her voice soft as she watched Stella’s chest rise and fall.

“I’ve been thinking about the board vote,” he said, stepping into the room carefully. “I’ve been meeting with individual members—showing them the evidence we have, explaining how merging with Chen Couture will strengthen the company’s position against the syndicate. Most are on our side now, but there are still three holdouts.”

“Who?”

“Two are loyal to the old guard—they think merging with a ‘new’ designer will damage the brand. The third… I’m not sure where she stands. She’s been asking questions about you specifically.”

Sophia’s jaw tightened. “What kind of questions?”

“About your background, your training… whether you really created all the designs yourself.” He paused, his gaze fixed on the babies. “I told them the truth. That you’re more talented than any designer Cross Industries has ever worked with.”

She looked at him, at the sincerity in his eyes, and felt a flicker of something she’d thought long buried. But then she thought of the contract, of the fake marriage, of all the reasons she’d built walls between them—and the feeling passed.

“Thank you,” she said simply. “But we still need more leverage. The board respects results—if we can get Vogue to feature the Northern Lights collection before the vote, it’ll be harder for them to argue against us.”

“I’ll make it happen,” he said immediately. “I have connections at the magazine—they’ll jump at the chance to cover a collaboration between Cross and Chen.”

He started to leave, then turned back. “Sophia… I know this isn’t what you wanted. But I’m trying to make this feel like home. For you. For them.”

She looked around the nursery—at the quilt, at the crib, at the tiny clothes folded neatly in drawers. It was beautiful. It was safe. But it wasn’t home. Not yet.

“I know,” she said gently. “And I’m trying too.”