Christopher's POV

Christopher’s Point of View

“What a waste of time.”

I pressed my fingers to my temple, inhaling deeply as I forced my focus back on the meeting. The voices of my executives droned on, discussing profit margins, investment risks, and market projections—important matters, yet today, they felt like background noise.

Because of her. Because of the woman my grandmother had forced into my life.

Anastasia Reed.

I had spent the last thirty years of my life avoiding entanglements, focusing on my business empire, ensuring that nothing and no one could disrupt the structure I had built. And in one afternoon, with a single piece of paper, my grandmother had managed to throw a wrecking ball straight through my carefully ordered life.

I was now a married man. To a woman I barely knew.

A quiet sigh escaped me, so soft that only the man seated closest to me caught it.

“Still in shock, big brother?”

I turned my head slightly, leveling a sharp glare at Ethan Zane, my cousin and the second son of the Zane family. He leaned toward me, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Ethan had always been the mischievous one, the cousin who thrived on chaos—especially if it was mine.

I didn’t dignify him with an answer.

Ethan, however, took my silence as encouragement.

“Grandma called me earlier,” he continued in a hushed tone. “Told me you finally tied the knot. I almost choked on my coffee.” His eyes sparkled with amusement. “I thought you had more fight in you, Chris.”

“I pick my battles,” I said smoothly, shifting my gaze back to the meeting. “And this wasn’t worth one.”

Ethan chuckled. “So, you just married a stranger because Grandma said so?”

I ignored him.

Ethan, of course, took that as an invitation to continue. “I have to say, though, I feel sorry for her.”

That caught my attention. I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Because she’s your wife now.”

There was a teasing note in his voice, but there was truth in his words. I wasn’t an easy man to deal with. I had no patience for distractions, no interest in love, no desire for a wife.

Anastasia had walked into this arrangement blind.

And if she thought I was going to play the role of a devoted husband, she was in for a rude awakening.

“Continue the meeting,” I said coldly, dismissing Ethan’s amusement.

I didn’t need to waste any more thought on this.

I had a company to run.

Anastasia’s Point of View

I stood outside my new home—or rather, Christopher’s home—keys in hand, staring up at the high-rise apartment building in Westchester. It was sleek, modern, the kind of place that screamed wealth and prestige.

The kind of place that didn’t feel like it belonged to me.

I had only been married for a few hours, and yet, I was already moving into a stranger’s house. The absurdity of it all settled over me like a weight, but I pushed it aside. I had made my choice, and now, I had to live with it.

I exhaled slowly, then stepped inside.

The eighth floor, apartment 808.

When I unlocked the door and pushed it open, I found myself stepping into a vast, luxurious space.

The first thing I noticed was the sheer size of the apartment. It was easily twice the size of my sister’s place, if not more. The open-concept living area stretched before me, with high ceilings, elegant lighting fixtures, and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the city.

But despite its grandeur, it felt… empty.

There was barely any furniture.

A single black leather sofa, a glass coffee table, and a wine cabinet stood in the living room, giving the place a cold, unfinished look. The walls were bare, devoid of personal touches.

It didn’t feel like a home.

It felt like a temporary space—a place someone used only when necessary.

Christopher’s place.

I rolled my suitcase inside and explored the apartment, needing to familiarize myself with my new environment.

There were four bedrooms, though only two were furnished. The master bedroom, undoubtedly Christopher’s, was a spacious suite with an attached bathroom, a walk-in closet, and even a small private study.

I hesitated at the door, staring inside.

It was just as impersonal as the rest of the apartment. Everything was neat, organized, but there was no warmth.

I could tell, just by looking, that Christopher didn’t spend much time here.

I turned away and chose the second bedroom instead. It was smaller but still well-lit, positioned next to a balcony that overlooked the city.

“This will do.”

Dragging my suitcase inside, I unzipped it and began unpacking my few belongings.

There was something surreal about placing my clothes into a wardrobe that wasn’t mine, setting my books on a nightstand in a home I didn’t belong to. But I had to make the best of it.

For now, this was my reality.

After unpacking, I wandered into the kitchen, only to stop short in surprise.

There was nothing in it.

The counters were spotless, the cabinets empty. Not a single plate, pan, or utensil in sight. It was as if the kitchen had never been used.

I opened the refrigerator—completely bare.

Not even a bottle of water.

“Does he not eat at home?”

It was strange. A man like Christopher could obviously afford to eat out every day, but no food at all? Not even basic necessities?

I sighed.

Well, if I was going to live here, that would have to change.

I made a mental note to go grocery shopping. If I was going to have my own space here, I needed to make it livable.

Stepping onto the balcony, I let the evening air wash over me. The city stretched out below, twinkling with life. I imagined filling this space with flowers, plants, maybe a swing chair. Something to make it feel less like a cold, empty penthouse and more like a home.

Even if it was temporary.

Even if it didn’t really belong to me.

I pulled out my phone and opened WeChat.

Anastasia: I moved in. The place is nice, but there’s nothing in the kitchen. Do you not cook?

A few minutes passed before I saw the message read.

Then, his reply came.

Christopher: I don’t have time for that.

I frowned.

Anastasia: So you eat out every day?

Christopher: Or I don’t eat at all.

I blinked. Was he joking?

I typed, then deleted my message, thinking better of it.

Instead, I texted something else.

Anastasia: I’m going to stock the kitchen. Anything you don’t like?

His reply was immediate.

Christopher: I don’t care.

I rolled my eyes.

So helpful.

Christopher’s Point of View

I leaned back in my chair, staring at my phone screen.

Anastasia was… peculiar.

She didn’t bombard me with questions. Didn’t try to call me again. Instead, she seemed more concerned with the kitchen than anything else.

It was strange.

Most women in her position would either try to gain favor or demand answers.

But she?

She was trying to settle in.

I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

For now, I decided to let it be.

I had married a stranger today.

But whether she realized it or not, she had also married a man she didn’t fully understand.

And I had no intention of making things easy for her.