Chapter 8

The dinner I'd prepared sat growing cold on the table while Christopher remained locked in his study, his voice a muffled murmur through the heavy wooden door. I'd heard him say "restructure the merger" and "shareholders meeting" before I'd stopped trying to listen, feeling like an intruder in my own home.

Our own home, I corrected myself, though the words still felt strange.

I covered the plates with aluminum foil and put them in the refrigerator, trying to ignore the disappointment settling heavy in my chest. Whatever Christopher had been about to say before that phone call, whatever moment we'd been building toward, it was gone now, locked away behind his professional facade.

I should have been relieved. This was exactly what we'd agreed to—separate lives, no expectations, no complications. But instead, I felt hollow, like something had been offered and then snatched away before I could even name what it was.

My phone buzzed, and I grabbed it, grateful for the distraction.

Emily: Can you come by tomorrow? I need to talk to you about something.

My stomach tightened at the serious tone of her text. Emily rarely asked me to visit during the day—she knew how busy the bookstore kept me.

Anastasia: Is everything okay? Is Caleb alright?

Emily: Caleb's fine. It's about Thomas. Please, Ana. I really need my sister right now.

I stared at the message, my mind already racing through worst-case scenarios. Thomas had been getting more controlling, more resentful. What had he done now?

Anastasia: I'll be there first thing in the morning. Do you need me to bring anything?

Emily: Just yourself. Thank you.

I set my phone down, my appetite completely gone. The study door remained closed, Christopher's voice still droning on about profit margins and quarterly reports. I glanced at the clock. Eight thirty. How long did business calls usually last?

Instead of waiting, I grabbed my laptop and settled onto the couch, pulling up the bookstore's inventory system. If Christopher was going to work, so would I. At least spreadsheets and order forms were predictable, uncomplicated. They didn't make my heart race or my thoughts tangle into knots.

I was deep into reconciling supplier invoices when the study door finally opened. Christopher emerged looking tired, the lines around his eyes more pronounced than usual. His gaze found me on the couch, and something flickered across his face.

"You didn't eat," he said, not quite a question.

"I wasn't hungry." I closed my laptop, tucking it beside me. "There's food in the fridge if you want to heat it up."

He moved toward the kitchen, then stopped, turning back to face me. "I'm sorry. That call took longer than expected."

"You don't need to apologize for working." I kept my voice neutral, professional, matching the distance he'd reestablished between us. "This is what we agreed to, remember? Separate lives."

Christopher's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Right. Separate lives."

The silence that fell between us felt different from our usual comfortable quiet. This was charged, heavy with unspoken words and interrupted moments.

"I need to visit my sister tomorrow morning," I said, needing to fill the silence with something concrete. "She sounded upset. I'll probably be gone most of the day."

Something shifted in Christopher's expression. "Is everything alright?"

"I don't know yet." I stood, gathering my laptop. "But knowing Thomas, probably not."

"Thomas." Christopher said the name like he was memorizing it, filing it away. "Your brother-in-law."

"The one who thinks I'm a freeloader, yes." I couldn't keep the bitterness from my voice. "The reason we're in this arrangement to begin with."

Christopher took a step closer, his hands sliding into his pockets. "If your sister needs help, financial or otherwise, you can tell me."

I looked up at him, surprised. "Why would you offer that?"

"Because you care about her. And because no one should have to live with someone who makes them feel worthless." His voice was quiet but intense. "I may not know much about family, Anastasia, but I know that much."

The vulnerability in his words caught me off guard. This was the Christopher from earlier, the one who'd stood close in the kitchen and told me I made him want to come home. Not the cold businessman who'd disappeared behind his study door.

"Thank you," I said softly. "But Emily has to make her own choices. I can't fix her marriage for her."

"No, but you can make sure she knows she has options." Christopher's gaze held mine. "That she's not trapped."

I wondered if he was still talking about Emily, or if somehow this conversation had become about something else entirely.

"I should get some rest," I said, breaking eye contact before I could read too much into his words. "It's been a long day."

"Anastasia." My name stopped me halfway to my bedroom. I turned back to find Christopher watching me with an expression I couldn't decipher. "Earlier, before the phone rang, I was trying to say something."

My heart picked up speed. "I remember."

"I don't do this well," he admitted, running a hand through his hair in a rare gesture of frustration. "Talking about what I'm feeling. I spent most of my life being told feelings were weaknesses, things to be controlled or eliminated. It's hard to unlearn that."

I took a tentative step back toward him. "What were you trying to say?"

Christopher was quiet for a long moment, his blue eyes searching my face like he was trying to memorize every detail. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

"That I like coming home to you. That this apartment hasn't felt like just a place to sleep anymore. That somewhere between you locking me out and cooking me dinner and filling the balcony with plants, this started feeling like something real."

The air between us felt electric, charged with possibility.

"Christopher," I breathed, not trusting myself to say more.

"I'm not asking you to feel the same way," he continued, each word seeming to cost him something. "I know what we agreed to. I just thought you should know that things have changed for me. You've changed things for me."

My throat felt tight. "Things have changed for me too."

Something blazed in his eyes, fierce and hungry, and for a moment I thought he might close the distance between us. My breath caught in anticipation.

But instead, Christopher took a deliberate step backward, his professional mask sliding back into place like armor.

"Get some rest," he said, his voice once again controlled. "You have an early morning tomorrow."

I wanted to protest, to demand he stop retreating every time we got close to something real. But the careful blankness in his expression told me he'd already gone somewhere I couldn't follow.

"Goodnight, Christopher," I said, hating how small my voice sounded.

"Goodnight, Anastasia."

I walked to my bedroom on unsteady legs, closing the door behind me and leaning against it. My heart was racing, my thoughts a chaotic mess of confusion and something that felt dangerously close to hope.

Christopher Zane had just admitted that our fake marriage was starting to feel real.

And the terrifying part was, I'd admitted it too.

I crawled into bed, but sleep felt impossible. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Christopher's face in that moment of vulnerability, heard his voice saying I'd changed things for him.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, and I grabbed it, hoping irrationally that it might be Christopher, that he might have found the courage to finish what we'd started.

Instead, it was a notification from a news app I'd installed months ago and barely used.

"Zane Enterprises CEO Christopher Zane announces major merger with tech giant, promising to reshape the industry landscape."

I stared at the notification, my blood running cold.

It had to be a coincidence. Christopher was a common name, and Zane wasn't exactly rare either. It couldn't be the same person.

But my hands were shaking as I opened the article.

And there, staring back at me from my phone screen, was a photo of my husband in an impeccably tailored suit, standing in what looked like a boardroom, every inch the powerful CEO.

Christopher Zane, the article read, youngest billionaire CEO in New York, known for his ruthless business tactics and record-breaking deals.

The phone slipped from my numb fingers onto the bed.

My husband wasn't just hiding his wealth.

He was one of the richest men in the entire city.