CHAPTER 2: The Penthouse

SCARLET'S POV

The car ride was silent. Dead, suffocating silence that pressed against my chest like a weight. I sat as far from Julian as the backseat allowed, my wedding dress pooling around me like spilled milk. My mind raced in circles. 

How did he know? When did he figure it out? What did he want from me?

Julian stared out the window, his profile carved from stone. 

His fingers drummed against his knee, the only sign he was not completely calm. The city lights blurred past, streaks of gold and white against the darkness.

I opened my mouth to speak. To beg for answers.

"Not here." His voice cut through the silence like a blade. He did not look at me. Just kept staring out that window, jaw tight.

I closed my mouth. Pressed my hands together in my lap to stop them from shaking. 

The driver said nothing, eyes fixed on the road ahead like he could not hear or see us. 

Maybe he was trained not to notice things. Maybe people like Julian paid for that kind of discretion. The partition between the driver and us was up, but I still felt exposed. Trapped.

The silence stretched. Every second felt like an hour. I counted the passing streetlights. I tried to focus on breathing. In and out. In and out. My ribs hurt from how tightly the dress was fitted. Or maybe from the panic squeezing my lungs.

We arrived at a building that touched the clouds. All glass, steel, and money. 

The doorman opened my door with a practiced smile that did not reach his eyes. Julian was already out, walking toward the entrance without checking if I followed.

I gathered my dress and hurried after him, my heels clicking against marble. The lobby was empty, elegant, and cold. Our reflections followed us on the polished floors. I looked like a ghost bride chasing a man who did not want her.

The elevator ride to the ninety-ninth floor took forever. 

Julian stood on the opposite side, still not looking at me. Still saying nothing. The numbers climbed. My ears popped from the pressure. Forty floors. Fifty. Sixty. The silence was unbearable. I wanted to scream just to break it.

The doors opened directly into his penthouse.

I stepped out and forgot how to breathe. 

Floor-to-ceiling windows surrounded us on three sides, the city sprawling below like scattered diamonds. 

The space was enormous, with clean lines and expensive furniture. White leather, black marble, chrome accents. Everything looked like it cost more than I made in a year. 

Excuse me, more than I would make in ten years.

Julian walked to a bar cart in the corner. Crystal decanters caught the light. He poured two glasses of whiskey, the liquid amber and thick. He crossed back to me, holding one out.

I took it with trembling fingers.

"Sit." A command, not an invitation. Not a request.

I obeyed. Lowered myself gently onto the edge of a white leather sofa too scared to stain it. 

The dress fanned around me. I perched there like a bird ready to fly, holding the whiskey I did not want.

Julian drank from his glass, watching me over the rim. Then he started to circle. Slow, deliberate steps around the sofa. Around me. Like a predator assessing prey, deciding where to bite first.

My skin prickled. I tracked him with my eyes, not daring to move.

"Let's start simple." He stopped in front of me. "What is your real name?"

My throat was dry. "Scarlet. Scarlet Lawson."

"And Vivian?" He took another sip. "Your sister, I presume."

I nodded. “Stepsister.”

I forced the words past the knot in my throat.

"Why?" Single word. Loaded with danger, with the promise of consequences if I lied.

So I told him the truth. All of it. 

My stepmother cornering me in that hospital hallway two days ago. 

How my father was dying, machines breathing for him because his lungs could not. The medical bills stacking higher every day. The final notice. The ultimatum: Marry Julian Cross in Vivian's place or watch my father die.

"She said we look identical," I whispered. "That you would never know the difference. That after one month, we would switch back. The contract would pay out and my father would live."

Julian listened without expression. He sipped his whiskey like I was reporting the weather, not confessing to fraud. When I finished, silence filled the space between us.

He set his glass down on the coffee table. The sound of crystal on marble was too loud.

"Do you know why I agreed to this marriage, Scarlet?"

I shook my head.

"My father is dying. He has lung cancer, stage four. He wants to see me settled before he goes. My mother wants access to my company shares through a daughter-in-law she can control." 

His smile was bitter. "I refused every suitable candidate she presented. So they created an incentive."

He explained it all. Frozen assets. Blocked accounts. How his own mother worked with the board to threaten a hostile takeover of the company he and his father built from nothing. They backed him into a corner. Marry someone of their choice or lose everything.

"I needed a wife. They needed me to be compliant. We made a deal." He picked up his glass again, swirling the liquid. "Vivian Lawson. Society darling. Perfect pedigree. Exactly what my mother wanted."

Confusion crashed through me. "But if you were forced too, why does it matter that I am not Vivian?"

His smile was sharp, dangerous. "Because Vivian is exactly the kind of woman my mother would choose. Vapid, pliable, eager to spend my money and play the perfect accessory. You, however..."

He stepped closer. Set his glass down. Reached out and lifted my chin with one finger, forcing me to meet his eyes.

"You are terrified and desperate. That makes you useful."

I did not understand. I didn’t know what he meant. But the way he looked at me made my stomach twist.

He released my chin and stepped back. 

"Here is the arrangement. You will continue pretending to be Vivian in public. Perfect wife, perfect smile. In private, you belong to me. Your secrets, your loyalty, your complete obedience. Do this well, and I will pay your father's medical bills. Every penny."

Hope sparked in my chest, fragile and desperate. "And if I do not?"

"Then I will tell my family about the switch. Your stepmother goes to prison for fraud. Your father's hospital pulls the plug within twenty-four hours of non-payment." 

He leaned close, breath warm against my cheek. "And you will have broken a legally binding marriage contract under false pretenses. Five to ten years in prison, I would estimate."

The room spun. The city lights beyond the windows blurred together. He was correct, I was trapped. 

"So, wife." His voice was soft, deadly. "Do we have a deal?"

Before I could answer, his phone buzzed. 

He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the screen. His expression darkened, something cold and angry flashing through his eyes.

"My mother is coming for breakfast tomorrow. Seven AM sharp." 

He walked toward the master bedroom and paused at the door. Looked back at me, still sitting there in my wedding dress like a ghost. 

"You have tonight to decide if you are brave enough to play this game. Choose wisely."

The door closed behind him. The lock clicked.

I sat alone in that enormous penthouse, surrounded by windows and city lights and luxury I could never afford. I was in a gilded cage, and it was beautiful and suffocating.