Chapter 9

I didn't sleep.

How could I, when my entire world had just tilted on its axis? I spent the night staring at my ceiling, my phone clutched in my hand, that article pulled up on the screen like evidence of a crime I hadn't known was being committed.

Christopher Zane. Billionaire CEO. One of the most powerful men in New York.

My husband.

The man who'd told me he worked in corporate management, who'd offered me a household expense card like it was a generous gesture, who'd let me believe we were somehow equals in this arrangement.

Every interaction replayed in my mind with new context. The Rolls-Royce I'd nearly crashed into. Eleanor's ease at getting reservations at Luminère. The private driver, the penthouse in Westchester Heights, the way Christopher carried himself with absolute authority.

How had I been so blind?

The worst part wasn't even the lying. It was that I'd started to believe our connection was real, that his confession last night had meant something. But how could anything be real when our entire relationship was built on deception?

By the time dawn broke, painting my room in shades of grey and gold, I'd made a decision. I would confront him. Not now, when my emotions were too raw, but after I'd seen Emily, after I'd had time to think clearly about what this meant for our arrangement.

I got dressed mechanically, pulling on jeans and a simple sweater, barely registering my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were shadowed from lack of sleep, my face pale. I looked exactly how I felt—like someone who'd just discovered everything she thought she knew was a carefully constructed lie.

When I emerged from my bedroom, Christopher was already in the kitchen, dressed in another expensive suit that I now realized probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. He looked up as I entered, and his expression immediately shifted to concern.

"You look exhausted," he said, setting down his coffee cup. "Did you sleep at all?"

I couldn't quite meet his eyes. "Not much. I was worried about Emily."

It wasn't entirely a lie.

Christopher studied me for a moment longer, and I could feel the weight of his gaze, searching for something. "Do you want me to come with you? To see your sister?"

The offer surprised me enough that I finally looked at him directly. "Why would you do that?"

"Because you're worried, and because if Thomas is causing problems, you might need backup." His jaw tightened slightly. "I don't like the idea of you walking into a difficult situation alone."

A bitter laugh almost escaped me. Here he was, playing the protective husband, when he couldn't even be honest with me about who he actually was.

"I'll be fine," I said, my voice coming out colder than I'd intended. "I've been handling my family's problems long before you came into the picture."

Something flickered across Christopher's face—hurt, maybe, or confusion. "Anastasia, is something wrong?"

Everything, I wanted to scream. Everything is wrong.

But instead, I grabbed my purse and keys. "I need to go. Emily's expecting me."

"Wait." Christopher caught my wrist gently, his touch sending unwanted sparks up my arm. "Last night, we talked about things changing between us. If you're having second thoughts, if I said too much—"

"This isn't about last night." The words came out sharper than I'd meant them to. I pulled my wrist free, immediately missing the warmth of his hand. "I just need to see my sister. That's all."

Christopher's expression shuttered, his walls slamming back into place. "Of course. I have meetings all day anyway."

Meetings. Running his billion-dollar empire, probably. The empire he'd conveniently forgotten to mention.

"I'll see you tonight," I said, already heading toward the door.

"Anastasia." His voice stopped me at the threshold. I turned back to find him watching me with an intensity that made my chest ache. "Whatever's bothering you, we can talk about it. You know that, right?"

The irony of those words, coming from a man who'd been lying to me since the day we met, was almost too much to bear.

"Sure," I said, forcing a smile that felt like it might crack my face. "We'll talk later."

I left before he could say anything else, before the tears burning behind my eyes could actually fall.

The subway ride to Emily's apartment gave me too much time to think. I kept seeing that photo of Christopher in the article—so polished, so powerful, so completely different from the man who came home to dinner and admitted he didn't know how to talk about his feelings.

Which version was real? Or were they both just performances?

By the time I reached Emily's building, I'd worked myself into a state of controlled fury. I channeled it into worry about my sister instead, letting myself focus on something I could actually handle.

Emily opened the door before I could knock, her face blotchy from crying. My anger at Christopher immediately took a backseat to concern for my sister.

"Em, what happened?" I stepped inside, pulling her into a hug.

She clung to me for a moment before stepping back, wiping at her eyes. "I'm leaving him, Ana. I'm leaving Thomas."

The words hung in the air between us, heavy with finality.

"Tell me everything," I said, guiding her to the couch.

Emily's story came out in broken pieces. How Thomas had come home drunk last night and screamed at her for not having dinner ready, even though he'd never told her he'd be home. How he'd called her useless, a burden, told her she was lucky he let her stay in his apartment. How Caleb had woken up crying from the shouting, and Thomas had told her to make the kid shut up or he'd give him something to really cry about.

With each word, my hands clenched tighter in my lap. I'd known Thomas was controlling, resentful, but this crossed into something darker.

"I called his bluff," Emily said, her voice steadier now. "I told him that if he ever spoke to my son like that again, I'd take Caleb and leave. And he laughed, Ana. He actually laughed and told me to go ahead, that I had no money, no job, nowhere to go. He said I'd come crawling back within a week."

"You have me," I said fiercely. "You have somewhere to go."

Emily shook her head. "I can't move in with you and Christopher. You just got married. I won't burden your new relationship like that."

Relationship. The word felt like a joke now.

"You're not a burden, Em. You never were." I grabbed her hands, squeezing tight. "And my marriage is complicated enough that one more complication won't make a difference."

"What does that mean?"

I almost told her. Almost confessed everything—the contract, the lies, the discovery I'd made last night. But this moment wasn't about me and my problems. It was about Emily finally finding the courage to leave.

"It means we'll figure it out," I said firmly. "Do you have a plan?"

Emily nodded slowly. "I've been thinking about this for a while. I have some money saved—the three thousand a month you've been giving me. I never told Thomas about it." She paused. "I also reached out to my old boss. He said if I was ever ready to come back, there'd be a position for me. It doesn't pay as much as I used to make, but it's enough to rent a small apartment."

Pride swelled in my chest. "Em, that's amazing. When did you do all this?"

"Last month. After you moved out, I realized I'd been using you as an excuse. As long as you were here, I could tell myself I was staying for you, to keep the family together. But once you left, I had to face the truth." Her eyes filled with tears again. "I'm staying because I'm scared. Not because it's the right thing to do."

"Fear is normal," I said softly. "But you're one of the bravest people I know."

We spent the next hour making plans. Emily would wait until Thomas left for his business trip next week, then pack up her and Caleb's things. She'd give her notice to the landlord, start her new job, and move into a small two-bedroom apartment she'd already been looking at.

"What will you tell Thomas?" I asked.

"The truth. That I'm done accepting less than I deserve. That Caleb deserves better than growing up watching his father treat his mother like dirt." Emily's expression hardened with determination. "And that if he wants to fight me on custody, I have a year's worth of text messages and voicemails that prove he's never been interested in being a real father anyway."

"That's my sister," I said, pulling her into another hug.

When I finally left Emily's apartment hours later, the sun was already beginning to set. I felt emotionally wrung out but also oddly lighter. Watching Emily claim her power back, seeing her refuse to accept a relationship built on lies and control, had crystallized something in my own mind.

I deserved honesty too.

The subway ride home felt longer this time, each stop bringing me closer to a confrontation I wasn't sure I was ready for. But I'd spent too many years watching Emily stay silent, accepting less than she deserved. I wouldn't make the same mistake.

When I walked into the apartment, Christopher was already there, his suit jacket discarded, his tie loosened. He looked up from his laptop the moment I entered, relief washing over his features.

"You're back. I was starting to worry." He closed his laptop, giving me his full attention. "How's your sister?"

"She's leaving Thomas," I said, setting my purse down with deliberate calm. "She's finally done living with someone who lies to her."

Christopher's expression shifted, something wary entering his eyes. "Anastasia—"

"Tell me something," I interrupted, pulling out my phone and opening the article I'd read at least fifty times throughout the day. "Is this you?"

I held up the screen, watching his face carefully.

Christopher went very still, his eyes dropping to the photo, then back to my face. For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, quietly: "Yes."

One word. One simple admission that changed everything.

"You're a billionaire," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "A CEO. One of the most powerful men in New York."

"Yes."

"And you didn't think that was important information to share with your wife?"

Christopher stood slowly, his hands sliding into his pockets. "I was going to tell you."

"When?" The word came out harsh, sharp. "After a year? Five years? When exactly were you planning to mention that our entire relationship is built on lies?"

"Not lies," Christopher said, taking a step toward me. "Omission. There's a difference."

"Really? Because from where I'm standing, they feel exactly the same." I could feel my control starting to slip, anger and hurt mixing into something volatile. "You let me believe you were just an ordinary businessman. You watched me worry about money, watched me insist on paying for household expenses, and you said nothing."

"Because I wanted you to know me," Christopher said, his voice intense. "The real me, not the Christopher Zane who shows up in business magazines. I wanted you to make decisions based on who I am, not what I have."

"That's not your choice to make!" The words exploded out of me. "You don't get to decide what information I deserve. You don't get to manipulate me into feeling something real while hiding the truth about who you are."

Christopher's expression cracked, pain flashing across his features. "Is that what you think this is? Manipulation?"

"What else would you call it?" I demanded, my voice breaking despite my best efforts. "Last night, you told me things were changing between us. You made me believe we were building something real. But how can anything be real when I don't even know who you actually are?"

The silence that fell between us was deafening.

Finally, Christopher spoke, his voice raw. "You know exactly who I am, Anastasia. I'm the same man who comes home to you every night. The same man who admitted he doesn't know how to talk about feelings. The money doesn't change that."

"The money changes everything," I said quietly. "And the fact that you don't understand that just proves how different our worlds really are."

I walked past him toward my bedroom, exhaustion suddenly overwhelming me.

"Anastasia." His voice stopped me at my door. "What do we do now?"

I turned back to look at him one last time. He looked lost, vulnerable in a way I'd never seen before. Part of me wanted to go to him, to work through this together.

But the bigger part of me was too hurt, too betrayed to bridge that distance.

"I don't know," I admitted. "I just know I can't do this tonight."

I closed my bedroom door, sliding down against it until I was sitting on the floor, my head in my hands.

And finally, I let myself cry.