Chapter 10

I woke up on my bedroom floor, my neck stiff and my eyes swollen from crying. The morning light filtered through the curtains, harsh and unforgiving, illuminating the reality I'd tried to escape in sleep.

Christopher had lied to me. For weeks, he'd looked me in the eye and hidden the truth about who he was.

And the worst part? I'd started falling for him anyway.

My phone showed it was already eight in the morning. I'd missed my alarm, which meant I was late opening the bookstore. Dragging myself up, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror and winced. My hair was a mess, my face puffy, my eyes red-rimmed. I looked exactly like someone whose world had just imploded.

I took a long shower, letting the hot water wash away the physical evidence of my breakdown, even if it couldn't touch the emotional wreckage underneath. When I finally emerged, dressed in jeans and an oversized sweater, I steeled myself to face whatever waited outside my door.

The apartment was silent.

Christopher's bedroom door stood open, revealing a perfectly made bed that clearly hadn't been slept in. His suit jacket was gone from where it had been draped over the chair last night. No coffee cup in the sink, no signs of breakfast.

He'd left without saying goodbye.

I told myself the hollow feeling in my chest was relief, not disappointment.

A folded piece of paper sat on the kitchen counter, my name written across it in Christopher's precise handwriting. My hand trembled slightly as I picked it up.

Anastasia,

I have meetings all day, but I'll be home tonight. We need to talk, really talk, without anger clouding everything. I owe you explanations, and you deserve the complete truth.

I'm sorry. For the lying, the omission, all of it. You were right—I didn't give you the choice, and that was wrong.

Whatever you decide after we talk, I'll respect it. Even if that means ending this arrangement.

Christopher

I read the note three times, searching for hidden meanings between the lines. The formality of it stung. No terms of endearment, no promises, just acknowledgment of wrongdoing and an offer to let me walk away.

Was that what I wanted? To end this marriage before it had really begun?

I didn't know anymore.

Folding the note carefully, I tucked it into my pocket and left for the bookstore, grateful for work to distract me from the chaos in my head.

Claire took one look at me when I walked in and immediately flipped the sign to closed, despite the fact that we'd just opened.

"What happened?" she demanded, steering me toward the back office. "You look like you haven't slept in days."

"Just one night, actually." I collapsed into the chair, exhaustion suddenly overwhelming me. "But it was a really long night."

"Does this have anything to do with your mysterious husband?" Claire crossed her arms, her expression shifting from concern to something sharper. "Because I did more digging, Ana. A lot more digging."

My stomach dropped. "Claire—"

"Christopher Zane isn't just some businessman," she interrupted, pulling out her phone and scrolling through what looked like dozens of saved articles. "He's the Christopher Zane. CEO of Zane Enterprises. Forbes' youngest billionaire. The man who restructured three failing companies before he turned thirty." She looked up at me, her eyes wide. "Your husband is worth billions, Anastasia. With a B."

"I know." The words came out flat, defeated.

Claire's mouth fell open. "You know? Since when?"

"Since last night. I saw an article, confronted him, and he admitted everything." I rubbed my temples, feeling a headache building behind my eyes. "He's been lying to me since the day we met, Claire. He let me believe he was just an ordinary businessman with an apartment he could afford."

"That apartment is a penthouse worth at least fifteen million," Claire said quietly. "I looked it up. The entire building is owned by Zane Enterprises."

Fifteen million. The number was so absurd I almost laughed.

"So what are you going to do?" Claire asked, her voice gentler now.

"I don't know." I met her eyes, letting her see the confusion and hurt I'd been trying to hide. "Part of me wants to walk away, to call this whole thing off. But another part..." I trailed off, not sure how to articulate the complicated tangle of emotions.

"Another part of you has feelings for him," Claire finished softly. "Real feelings."

I nodded miserably. "How stupid am I? Falling for a man who's been lying to me this entire time?"

"You're not stupid. You're human." Claire pulled up a chair, sitting across from me. "The question isn't whether he lied. It's why he lied, and whether his reasons matter enough to forgive him."

"He said he wanted me to know the real him, not his money." I pulled out Christopher's note, handing it to Claire. "But how can I trust anything he says now?"

Claire read the note carefully before handing it back. "He's giving you an out. That says something, doesn't it? If he was just manipulating you, he'd be making promises, not offering to let you go."

"Or he's calling my bluff, assuming I won't actually leave."

"Is that what you think?"

I thought about Christopher's face last night, the raw pain in his eyes when I'd accused him of manipulation. The vulnerability in his voice when he'd admitted he was the same man who came home to me every night.

"No," I admitted quietly. "I think he's genuinely sorry. I just don't know if sorry is enough."

Claire squeezed my hand. "Then tonight, you listen to what he has to say. Really listen, without your anger getting in the way. And then you decide based on the whole truth, not just the part that hurts."

She was right. I owed us both that much.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of customers and inventory checks, my mind only half-present for any of it. Every time my phone buzzed, my heart jumped, expecting Christopher. But the messages that came through were from Emily, updating me on her plans to leave Thomas, her excitement about her new job mixing with anxiety about the unknown.

At least one of us was moving forward with clarity.

By the time I closed the bookstore and headed home, the sun was already setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. The beauty of it felt wrong somehow, too peaceful for the turmoil churning inside me.

The apartment was dark when I walked in, no signs that Christopher had come home yet. I flipped on the lights, the silence pressing in from all sides. Our home, which had started to feel warm and lived-in over the past few weeks, suddenly felt cold again. Empty.

I changed into comfortable clothes, then wandered to the kitchen, staring at the refrigerator without really seeing it. Should I cook dinner like I normally did? Or would that send the wrong message, make it seem like everything was fine when it clearly wasn't?

My phone buzzed with a message.

Christopher: Running late. There's something I need to take care of before I come home. I should be there by eight.

I glanced at the clock. Seven fifteen. Forty-five minutes to prepare myself for a conversation that might end my marriage before it had really begun.

Anastasia: Okay. I'll be here.

I made tea, needing something to do with my hands. The kitchen counter where Christopher had stood last night, where he'd admitted his feelings were changing, seemed to mock me with its ordinariness. How many other moments had been real? How many had been carefully constructed performances?

At exactly eight o'clock, I heard his key in the lock.

My heart slammed against my ribs as the door opened and Christopher stepped inside. He looked exhausted, his tie gone, the top buttons of his shirt undone, his hair slightly disheveled like he'd been running his hands through it. His eyes found mine immediately, searching my face like he was trying to gauge where we stood.

"You're here," he said quietly, as if he'd been expecting to find the apartment empty.

"You asked me to hear you out," I replied, keeping my voice steady. "So I'm here. But Christopher, I need complete honesty. No more omissions, no more half-truths. Everything."

He nodded, setting his briefcase down by the door with deliberate care. "Everything," he agreed. "Can we sit?"

We moved to the living room, sitting on opposite ends of the couch like strangers. The distance between us felt like miles.

Christopher took a deep breath, his hands clasped between his knees. When he finally looked at me, the raw vulnerability in his expression made my chest ache.

"My mother died when I was thirteen," he began, his voice low. "She married my father for love, and it destroyed her. He was cold, distant, more interested in his business empire than his family. She spent years trying to win his affection, making herself smaller, sacrificing everything, and he barely noticed when she got sick."

I stayed silent, sensing he needed to tell this story without interruption.

"I was there when she died," Christopher continued, his jaw tight. "My grandmother told me that day that love was a weakness. That my mother's mistake was believing love could sustain a marriage. And I promised myself I would never be that weak, never let emotions cloud my judgment."

"So you built walls," I said softly.

"Walls, yes. And I spent the next twenty years proving I didn't need anyone." He looked at me then, and the pain in his eyes was almost unbearable. "Until my grandmother forced me into meeting you."

"And you thought what? That you could marry me without me finding out who you really were?"

"No." Christopher shook his head. "I knew eventually you'd find out. I just wanted time first. Time for you to know me without the money complicating everything. Time for you to see that I was more than a bank account and a business empire."

"That wasn't your choice to make," I said, but my voice was gentler than before.

"I know. And I'm sorry." He leaned forward, his eyes locked on mine. "But Anastasia, you have to understand. My entire life, people have wanted something from me. A business deal, a social connection, access to my money. No one has ever just wanted me."

"And you thought I would be the same," I said, understanding dawning.

"At first, yes. I thought you'd accepted my grandmother's proposal because you wanted the wealth and status." A bitter smile crossed his face. "But then you refused my money. You insisted on paying your own way. You locked me out of my own apartment and barely apologized. You made this place feel like home without asking for anything in return."

He shifted closer, closing some of the distance between us.

"And somewhere between you cooking me dinner and filling the balcony with plants and telling me off for being presumptuous, I started falling for you," Christopher said, his voice rough with emotion. "The real you, not some idealized version. And I wanted you to fall for the real me too."

My throat felt tight. "So you lied."

"So I omitted," he corrected gently. "And I was wrong. I should have trusted you with the truth. I should have given you the choice."

The silence stretched between us, heavy with everything spoken and unspoken.

"What happens now?" I finally asked, echoing his question from last night.

Christopher's expression turned resigned. "That depends on you. If you want to end this arrangement, I'll make it easy. You'll get a settlement, enough that you never have to worry about money again. I'll make sure your sister and nephew are taken care of. You can walk away free and clear."

"And if I don't want to walk away?"

Something flickered in his eyes. Hope, maybe, mixed with fear.

"Then we start over," Christopher said quietly. "Complete honesty from here on out. No more secrets, no more walls. I'll tell you everything you want to know about my business, my family, my life. And we figure out together whether this marriage can become something real."

I studied his face, searching for any sign of manipulation or calculation. But all I saw was raw, painful honesty. A man who'd spent his entire life hiding behind walls, now standing completely exposed.

"I need time," I said finally. "Time to process all of this. Time to figure out if I can trust you again."

Christopher nodded, accepting my decision even though I could see it cost him. "I can give you time. As much as you need."

"But no more lies," I added firmly. "Ever. About anything."

"No more lies," he agreed. "I promise."

I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to believe him so badly it hurt.

But trust, once broken, wasn't easily repaired.

And as I looked at Christopher sitting there with his heart in his eyes, I realized that figuring out whether we had a future together was going to be the hardest thing I'd ever done.

Because walking away from a stranger would have been easy.

But walking away from the man I was already falling in love with?

That might just break me.