Chapter 7: "Sweet dreams fake Wife”

Clara's POV.

Who spends almost twenty thousand dollars on one dress?

I stared down at the price tag, convinced I had read it wrong.

I hadn’t.

I felt my face heating up. I came from money, but I had never understood spending this kind of money on clothes. To me, they were just overpriced versions of things you could buy somewhere else for a fraction of the price.

Meanwhile, Julian just sat there sipping his scotch, barking orders like none of it meant anything. “It looks good on you. We’re taking it.”

He said it so calmly, like the decision had already been made. I opened my mouth to argue, but the way he looked at me made the words die in my throat.

When we moved to lingerie, it got even worse. I stepped out of the fitting room wearing a white lace set, my arms wrapped tightly around myself. The lace hugged every curve of my body, pushing up my breasts and showing off my cleavage, while the thin fabric clung tight to my ass. I had never felt so exposed in my life.

Julian looked up from his glass of scotch. Then he just… stared for a moment. His blue eyes traveled over me so slowly it made my skin burn. I shifted awkwardly where I stood, fighting the urge to cover myself even more.

“What?” I asked, unable to take the silence anymore.

His jaw flexed. “Take it off.” His voice came out lower than before.

A small sound caught in my throat before I could stop it, and for a second, neither of us moved. His fingers tightened around the glass before he took another sip of his scotch. The muscles in his jaw were still locked tight.

“Not yet,” he muttered, almost like he was reminding himself of something more than he was talking to me.

I stood there staring at him, speechless. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

One of the saleswomen cleared her throat softly behind me, breaking whatever had just happened between us.

I turned around and walked back into the fitting room, my heart pounding far harder than it should have.

When we finished there, he directed the driver to Harry Winston. The moment we stepped inside, the space felt quieter and heavier, like even sound knew to behave.

The manager hurried forward. “Mr. Cross, everything is ready.”

Julian did not even look at the displays. “Show me your most expensive ring.”

A massive, blinding diamond was placed in front of him. It looked more like a fortress than jewelry. He studied it with bored indifference.

But my eyes drifted to another ring. Smaller. Softer. A single diamond surrounded by tiny stones. It was elegant and understated, yet beautiful enough to draw the eye. It sparkled as if it had a life of its own.

Julian noticed. For a brief second, something unreadable crossed his face.

“We will take that one,” he said, pointing to the ring I had been looking at.

I froze. That was not what he had asked for.

The manager looked confused too, but quickly obeyed.

Moments later, Julian slid the ring onto my finger himself. It fit perfectly. I couldn’t stop looking at it. Damn it. It was beautiful.

A strange feeling fluttered in my chest, and I hated it. The truth was, I had wanted this ring from the moment I saw it. Just not like this. Not from a fake marriage. And definitely not from him. A tiny smile almost broke across my face before I caught myself and stopped it cold.

I lifted my chin and forced my face into a calm mask. “It will do,” I said flatly.

A faint smirk curved Julian’s lips, like he already knew the truth I tried to hide. “Good girl,” he said with pride.

By evening, the car was packed with designer bags, jewelry, hats, and shoes.

Back at the penthouse, he cornered me in the master closet. He backed me against the center island without touching me, but his presence trapped me anyway.

“Try on the white lace set again tonight,” he murmured. His lips hovered close enough that I could feel every word against my skin. “Wear it to bed. I want to see exactly what I own… what I’m becoming obsessed with while I still have enough control not to take it.”

The near-kiss left me breathless and furious at the same time.

His eyes stayed on mine for about six seconds.

Then they dropped to my lips.

I stopped breathing. For one reckless moment, I thought he was actually going to kiss me.

Instead, he let out a slow breath and took one slow, measured step back.

“Sweet dreams, fake wife,” he murmured.

Then he turned and walked away, leaving the words hanging in the air like a threat disguised as affection.

The room felt strangely empty after he left. The thought of what he just said sat with me for a moment. My hands tightened around the edge of the closet island. I hate him. I hate what he did to my father. And I hate that he is controlling me now like I am his plaything.

I changed into the white lace set like he wanted, the thin fabric cool against my skin. Then I sighed out of frustration.

I looked over to the empty bedroom.

Again… How did my life get here?

I moved over and sank onto the bed, pulling the duvet covers over my legs.

I looked down at the ring again. It sparkled beneath the bedroom lights. Anyone looking at my hand would think I’d just gotten engaged to the love of my life. The thought made my stomach turn.

My phone suddenly vibrated on the nightstand. The hospital’s number flashed on the screen.

My hands shook as I picked up the phone and answered.

“Miss Sterling?” the doctor’s voice came through the speaker, his tone heavier than usual. “Your father’s condition has taken a sudden turn. He is stable for now, but we found irregularities in his medical records. Signs of slow poisoning over time. This stroke may not have been entirely natural. You need to come in immediately.”

The line went dead.

I stared at the phone. The room suddenly felt too quiet. My blood turned cold.

Julian had known who I was from the moment I applied at his firm under a fake name. He had let me stay anyway. He had been playing a longer game the entire time.

And now, one thought would not leave my mind.

What if he was behind the poisoning, too?