Chapter 6: Moving In

"I don't require assistance unpacking." The maid hovered close to the boxes stacked just inside the penthouse door, and I could scarcely maintain a pleasant tone.

"Mrs. Scott," she replied in a submissive tone, "Mr. Scott demanded that I help—"

"I'm capable of handling it," I smirked tightly as I turned away from her and moved farther into the expansive area that seemed to be mine now.

The penthouse was incredible. A limitless city skyline, glistening in the late afternoon sun, was framed by floor-to-ceiling windows. Everything was immaculate to sterility, with smooth surfaces and modern furnishings shining. I couldn't eliminate the feeling that I was an invader, and it felt more like an exclusive hotel than a house.

I turned as a quiet cough came from behind me. Nicholas Scott stood in the doorway, his gaze impassive, his dark suit as crisp as ever. As if nothing could touch him, he studied the situation with the same air of detachment he always carried.

With a clipped voice, he inquired, "Settling in?"

I straightened and said, "I'm fine."

He looked at me, then at the boxes. "These won't unpack by themselves."

I became irritable. "I promised to take care of it."

His lips quirked in what may have been amusement as he lifted an eyebrow.

"Adjust yourself. At eight o'clock is dinnertime. Avoid being late.”

Suddenly he was gone, walking toward what I thought was his office with his great strides. My chest churned with confusion and rage as I glanced after him.

A golden cage with a man who treated me like an annoying roommate was suddenly my existence.

A few hours later, I was standing in the large kitchen, gazing at the spread of food on the marble countertop. Two waiters were waiting to serve the food that a chef had prepared. As with everything else here, it was ridiculously lavish.

As if I weren't even present, Nicholas was seated at the head of the dining table, browsing through his phone. After hesitating, I sat down across from him, our stillness as icy as the gleaming cutlery.

"Are you enjoying the view?" he asked without looking up.

I gazed out the window, where a constellation of city lights glistened. I remarked, "It's gorgeous,"

He said, "It's just a view," with a tone of disdain.

As the brief moment of connection faded, I scowled. "Why do you do that every time?"

"What do I do?" He asked.

I was surprised by how brave I was when I said, "Shut everything down before it even starts."

At last, he turned to face me, his dark eyes piercing and searching. "Cassie, this isn't a legitimate marriage. Avoid taking it for something it isn't.

I didn't want him to see how hurtful his words were. "I'm not the one who makes mistakes."

There was an unspoken tension between us, and I was relieved when the staff came back with the following course, breaking up whatever this... conversation was.

I couldn't sleep, so later that night I strolled about the penthouse. The expanse of the area just added to the eerie silence. I stopped in front of a door that was closed, my curiosity urging me ahead. Even though Nicholas had vanished into the office hours prior, there was something important about this door.

After a moment of hesitation, I pushed it open.

Smaller and less elegant than the rest of the penthouse, the room was a study. The walls were adorned with bookshelves filled with titles that appeared more personal than ornamental. A laptop and papers were strewn all over the desk in the corner.

However, the picture on the desk was what drew my eye.

I didn't recognize the woman in the candid photo, and her laughter was captured in a moment. She was stunning, with warm, gentle features that gave me a pain in my chest.

"Why have you entered this room?"

Nicholas was standing in the doorway with a mask of controlled rage on his face as I turned around.

I stumbled, "I—I was just looking."

Something flickered in his face as his eyes fell on the picture, and then he moved forward and grabbed it.

His voice was icy and decisive as he declared, "This room is off-limits."

I took a deep breath. "Who is she?"

His jaw tensed, and I briefly believed he would not respond. “No one you need to concern yourself with,” he remarked emotionlessly.

It hurt to be dismissed, but the haunting, tortured expression in his eyes really held me in place.

He turned and walked away, holding the picture firmly in his palm, before I could press him any farther.

I went back to my room and mentally reenacted the interaction, feeling uneasy. I had only touched the tip of the iceberg regarding Nicholas Scott.

One idea, though, would not go away from me while I lay there in the dark: That lady, whomever she was, meant more to him than I ever would.

I also couldn't get rid of the impression that she held the secret to knowing him and the things he was desperately trying to hide.