Christopher's POV

Since Christopher clearly didn’t cook, I had placed a large order online for kitchenware. Pots, pans, utensils—everything I needed to make the space functional. I would stock the fridge tomorrow.

As for the balcony, I wanted to add a few plants and flowers, maybe even a small garden. It would bring life to this place.

But for that, I needed to ask Christopher first.

After all, this was his house.

Shaking off the thought, I stood up and grabbed my keys and phone. I needed to head back to the bookstore before the after-school rush.

By the time I arrived at my store, it was right before dismissal, the time when students poured out of their classrooms and flooded the streets.

As soon as I stepped inside, Claire Sullivan, my best friend and business partner, looked up from behind the counter. Her eyes widened in curiosity.

“Where did you disappear to this morning?” she asked, tilting her head.

I hesitated. “I moved.”

She blinked. “Moved? Why? You were fine at Emily’s place.”

I glanced outside, watching as the first few students started trickling out of the school gates. We had a few minutes before the real rush began.

“My brother-in-law wasn’t happy about me staying there,” I admitted.

Claire frowned. “But you weren’t freeloading. You paid for your food and rent, didn’t you?”

I hesitated again before nodding. “I gave my sister $2,000 a month, but I actually gave her $5,000—I told her to save $3,000 without letting Thomas know.”

Claire let out a sharp breath, shaking her head.

“Of course,” she muttered. “Men love to say ‘I’ll take care of you,’ but the moment they actually have to do it, they start complaining. They want a wife to raise their kids, cook their meals, clean their houses—but God forbid she spends money!”

I smiled, appreciating her outrage on my behalf. “That’s why I left. I don’t want Emily to be stuck in the middle.”

She sighed. “You’re too nice, Anastasia. If Thomas is making her life miserable, she should find a job. Financial independence is everything. If we have money, we have power.”

I nodded in agreement. “She wants to work, but taking care of a toddler isn’t easy. And Thomas’ parents won’t help unless it benefits them.”

Claire muttered something under her breath, shaking her head.

Then, she narrowed her eyes at me. “So… where did you move?”

I hesitated, debating whether to tell her the truth. But before I could decide, she gave me a suspicious look.

“Wait a second. Emily would never let you leave unless…”

Her eyes widened.

“You got married, didn’t you?”

I swallowed. “…Yes.”

There was a long beat of silence. Then…

“WHAT?!”

Her shout nearly knocked me off my feet.

“Anastasia, you don’t even have a boyfriend!”

I winced. “I do now?”

Claire gaped at me. “Who? When? How? Why?!”

I told her about Eleanor Zane, about how I had saved her, and how she had insisted that I marry her grandson. I told her how I had barely known Christopher, how we had met for the first time today and gotten married immediately.

When I finished, Claire just stared at me.

Then, she reached over and flicked my forehead.

“OW!”

“You’re insane!” she exclaimed. “You MARRIED A STRANGER!”

I rubbed my forehead. “It’s just… a practical arrangement. I needed to move out, and Christopher needed a wife. It’s not like I expect a real marriage.”

Claire groaned. “You could’ve married my cousin! At least he’s nice!”

I laughed. “Your cousin already has a girlfriend.”

“That’s a minor detail!”

I shook my head, amused.

Claire suddenly squinted at me. “Wait. What if that old lady set you up? What if she pretended to collapse just so you’d save her and she could force you into marrying her grandson?”

I burst out laughing. “Claire, this isn’t a drama!”

She grumbled, crossing her arms. “Well, you did just get married at first sight. That only happens in novels.”

I shrugged. “It happens in real life, too.”

Claire let out a long sigh, then leaned forward, her eyes suddenly mischievous.

“Okay. Serious question.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What?”

She smirked.

“Is he rich?”

I snorted. “You and your obsession with billionaires!”

She grinned. “Well? Is he?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know much about him, but I doubt it. He owns his apartment outright, so he’s well-off, but a billionaire? No way.”

Claire hummed, clearly unconvinced.

“Guess we’ll find out.”

By the time I arrived back at Westchester Heights, the exclusive high-rise where Christopher’s apartment was located, it was well past midnight.

The streets were eerily quiet, with only the occasional passing car breaking the stillness of the night. I parked my electric scooter, stretching my arms as I took in the view of the dimly lit entrance.

I stepped inside the elevator, tapping my fingers against my side as I watched the floor numbers light up. I was exhausted, but there was a strange sense of relief that settled over me.

I pushed open the door to the apartment, stepping inside and flicking on the lights. I set my keys down on the entryway table, glancing around. 

Christopher wasn’t home.

I figured as much. He had been clear earlier—he was a busy man, and this apartment seemed more like an afterthought than a place he truly lived in.

Still, I checked.

A quick scan of the living room, kitchen, and bedrooms confirmed it. No sign of him.

Letting out a small sigh, I made sure to lock the door, then kicked off my shoes. As an extra precaution, I placed a pair of his slippers near the entrance. It was something I had read about before—having visible signs of a man living in the home could be a small deterrent against potential intruders.

I didn’t feel particularly unsafe, but it didn’t hurt to be careful.

Feeling the weight of the day settle on my shoulders, I grabbed my pajamas from my half-unpacked suitcase and headed for the bathroom.

The hot shower did wonders for my muscles, washing away the exhaustion and tension that had built up. When I finally slipped into bed, the soft mattress felt heavenly, but the unfamiliarity of the space kept me from fully relaxing.

Still, exhaustion won over uncertainty, and within minutes, I drifted off into a deep sleep.

Christopher’s Point of View

Across the city, at one of the most prestigious hotels, I stepped out of a high-profile business dinner, my security team forming a protective circle around me.

The deal had been successful, the negotiations concluding in my favor. My associates stayed behind, indulging in expensive whiskey and celebratory cigars, but I had no interest in lingering.

Tonight had been exhausting, and I wanted to go home.

“You’re leaving already, sir?” my driver asked as he opened the door to the Rolls-Royce.

I nodded. “Take me to Westchester Heights.”

The driver hesitated for a split second before recovering. “Understood, sir.”

I knew what he was thinking.

Normally, after a long night, I either returned to my private estate or the Zane family mansion. But tonight, I was choosing to go to the apartment—the place where my new wife now lived.

Not because I particularly wanted to see her.

But because something about the situation unsettled me.

I had married a woman I barely knew, allowed her to move into my space, and yet, I didn’t even remember her name until earlier today.

It was a strange feeling, knowing that someone else now shared my home.

It wasn’t long before we pulled up to Westchester Heights.

“Switch the car,” I instructed as I stepped out. “Use the sedan for now.”

I didn’t want my usual Rolls-Royce parked outside the building—it would be too easy for Anastasia to figure out who I really was.

For now, I wanted to keep my identity low-profile.

I climbed into a black sedan, driving the rest of the way into the private parking garage. From there, I took the elevator up to my floor, my hands tucked into my pockets.

When I reached my door, my gaze landed on a pair of slippers sitting neatly outside.

My slippers.

What the hell?

A flicker of annoyance passed through me. Had she thrown them out?

I pulled out my key and attempted to unlock the door.

It didn’t budge.

She had locked it from the inside.

Unbelievable.

My own home, and I was being locked out of it.

I clenched my jaw and knocked loudly.

No response.

I knocked again, harder this time.

Still, silence.

Annoyance turned into frustration. Without thinking, I kicked the door, the sharp sound echoing down the hallway.

A moment later, I pulled out my phone and dialed her number.

She didn’t answer.

I called again.

Still nothing.

Was she seriously ignoring me?

Just as I was about to knock again, the door suddenly swung open, revealing a very sleepy, very irritated Anastasia standing in her pajamas.

She blinked at me in confusion, her hair slightly messy from sleep.

“Who the hell is—” She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes going wide when she realized it was me.

A long pause.

Then, she gave me a sheepish smile.

“Oh. Christopher. It’s you.”

I stepped past her, brushing by her as I walked inside.

She shut the door behind me, rubbing her eyes. “Sorry. I thought you weren’t coming home tonight.”

I ignored her.

“Why were my slippers outside?”

She yawned, stretching her arms. “I put them there to make it look like a man was home. It’s just a safety precaution.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “You locked me out of my own house.”

She winced. “To be fair… I didn’t know you’d be back?”

I exhaled slowly, rubbing my temples. This woman was something else.

After a moment, she picked up the slippers, placing them neatly by the door again.

“Next time, just text me if you’re coming home,” she said lightly. “I won’t lock you out again.”

I didn’t bother responding.

She hesitated. “You must be tired. Do you want something to eat?”

I shook my head. “I don’t eat this late. It messes with my schedule.”

She gave me a once-over, then shrugged. “Suit yourself. Goodnight, Christopher.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned and disappeared into her bedroom, leaving me standing there in the dark.

For a moment, I just stared at the closed door.

This woman…

Shaking my head, I walked toward my own bedroom.

At least she had enough sense to sleep in a separate room.

I woke up to the faint clinking of dishes.

For a second, I was confused. My apartment was always silent in the mornings—I never cooked.

Then, I remembered.

Anastasia.

I ran a hand through my hair and stepped out of my room.

The sight that greeted me was… unexpected.

Anastasia stood by the dining table, unpacking a variety of takeout breakfast containers. Plates of steamed dumplings, rice rolls, soy milk, and porridge were neatly arranged.

She looked up and grinned.

“Good morning!”

I eyed the food. “You bought all this?”

She nodded. “The kitchen is still empty, so I figured this would do for now.”

I hesitated, then took a seat.

She pushed a plate toward me. “Try it. It’s good.”

I studied her for a moment, then sighed, picking up a pair of chopsticks.

As I took my first bite, I realized something strange.

For the first time in a long time…

Breakfast at home didn’t feel so bad.