Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Clara’s POV 

Harry raised a single dark eyebrow. "Did you think newlyweds who just registered their marriage at City Hall would live in separate apartments on day one? 

“If you’ve declared our status to your family’s lawyer, we need to make it entirely believable. Tabloids have eyes everywhere, Clara."

He was right. Staying in my penthouse would only invite suspicion from my father and stepmother.

"Fine," I agreed.

I went into my bedroom to pack, only to realize with a quiet pang how little I actually owned. 

In this massive penthouse, everything that truly belonged to me, my essentials, a few documents, and personal keepsakes, could fit into a single suitcase.

When we walked down to the lobby, the atmosphere had shifted completely. 

A new face was standing at the front desk. 

Seeing us approach, the manager hurried over, bowing professionally as he handed me a massive, exquisite bouquet of white lilies.

"Mrs. Johnson, we deeply apologize for the disturbance caused by the previous head receptionist earlier today. 

“She has been permanently relieved of her duties," the manager explained carefully. "Please accept this as an apology from our management."

Carrying my suitcase, the bouquet, a vintage wooden chessboard, and a small bunny-eared plush pouch from my childhood, I followed Harry out to the black Maybach and slid into the quiet back seat.

Harry’s gaze lingered on the wooden chessboard tucked under my arm.

"It belonged to my mother," I said softly, tracing the polished wood edge. "She spent hours teaching me the game when I was little. I never really loved chess until after I lost her."

"Do you play often now?" Harry asked, his tone surprisingly gentle.

"Only when I want to win," I said, a faint spark of defiance returning to my eyes. "I haven't found a worthy opponent in years. Don't even think about challenging me, Harry. If you play chess against me, I'll strip you bare of all your assets."

Harry let out a low, arrogant scoff. "I highly doubt you have the strategic mind to take my assets."

"Excuse me?" I sat up straighter, glaring at him. "I’ve been defeating you in academics and strategy since we were seven years old! 

“What are you being so cocky about? You couldn't even count the number of times you placed second to me in high school!"

Harry looked at me deeply, a subtle, unreadable warmth in his eyes. "Oh, I can count every single time, Clara."

Before I could process his response, he glanced down at the lilies in my lap. "Are those flowers for me again?"

I pulled the bouquet back defensively. "These are not for you!"

He let out a dramatic, quiet sigh of relief. "Good. I was worried you were starting to court me."

I rolled my eyes, exasperated, but then remembered the manager's words. "Did you get that receptionist fired?"

"Yes," Harry answered plainly, without looking up from his tablet.

"Why?" I frowned. "You don't need to meddle in my building's administrative affairs."

Harry set his tablet aside and turned his head to look directly at me, his expression cool and firm. 

"You are Mrs. Johnson now. Whether we are married for six months, six years, or six lifetimes, your affairs are my affairs and mine are yours. Anyone who disrespects you in public reflects poorly on me."

Publicly, the Johnson family was a constant fixture in high-society power structures. 

Harry was legendary for being groomed by his grandfather to be an absolute perfectionist, obsessed with an unblemished reputation, flawless work ethics, and an immaculate lifestyle.

I had always written him off as an arrogant rival, but looking at him now, I realized he wasn't joking. 

He simply wouldn't tolerate a single speck of dust on his reputation and by extension, on me.

---

Twenty minutes later, the car pulled through the wrought-iron gates of Johnson Estate, an ultra-exclusive, private estate enclave. 

Money couldn't buy a home here; it required high-level political and commercial authority. 

Just last year, my ex-boyfriend Julian had tried endlessly to secure a property here and failed miserably. 

Yet Harry’s Maybach glided straight up the winding driveway to the main villa.

When the heavy grand doors opened, we were greeted by an older butler in a pristine suit and a head chef.

"Welcome home, Young Master, Young Madam," the butler said, bowing deeply.

They addressed me as "Young Madam" with absolute reverence, without Harry even having to utter a single word of instruction.

Once the staff stepped away to carry my luggage upstairs, I turned to Harry in the foyer. "You told me earlier that no woman has ever stayed at this residence."

"That is correct," Harry said, unbuttoning his suit jacket.

"What about Thea?" I asked, watching his face closely for any reaction. "Has she ever been here?"

"No," Harry replied instantly, his tone flat and even. "Thea has never crossed this threshold."

Before I could ask anything further, his phone rang, and he stepped into the study to take the call.

Thomas, the head butler, offered to show me to the main master suite upstairs. 

The room was breathtaking, at least three times the size of my penthouse living room, bathed in warm, soothing cream tones with high ceilings and soft lighting.

When I pushed open the grand glass French doors leading to the private terrace, I let out a soft gasp. 

Below me lay a sprawling, immaculate private garden filled with every rare shade of orchid imaginable.

"You brought me to a suite with a view of orchids..." I whispered, a genuine smile breaking across my face. "I love orchids."

"What a lovely coincidence, Young Madam," Thomas replied smoothly, bowing before quietly closing the door to give me privacy.

After a long, soothing shower to wash away the exhaustion of the day, I wrapped myself in a plush white bath towel. 

But as I stepped out of the bathroom, I realized I had left my luggage bag near the armchair across the room.

Before I could walk over to grab my clothes, the heavy bedroom door swung open.

Harry walked straight into the room.

My towel chose that exact moment to loosen slightly at the chest. 

Harry stopped in his tracks, his dark eyes trailing down deliberately, showing zero intention of looking away.

Swish!

Panicking, I grabbed the heavy silk duvet off the king-sized bed and wrapped myself tightly into a solid, impenetrable sushi roll.

"I almost thought you were a gentleman earlier!" I snapped, my cheeks burning like fire.

Harry raised an eyebrow, a devious smile playing at the corner of his lips as he stepped closer. 

"It's our wedding night, Clara. I assumed this was your subtle way of showing you believe in traditional marital courtesies."

"Don't you know how to knock before entering a room?!" I demanded, shuffling backward against the mattress.

"Why would I knock before entering my own bedroom?" he countered smoothly.

"What do you mean... your bedroom?" My eyes widened in horror. "Are you saying we're sharing a room?!"

Before he could answer, my phone began ringing loudly from the nightstand behind me.

Trapped inside my blanket cocoon with no way to free my hands without exposing myself, I started shimmying awkwardness, causing the towel underneath to slip completely. 

I squeezed the blanket even tighter around my shoulders, glaring daggers at him. "Aren't you going to turn around and step out?!"

"Do I have a single valid reason to step out of my own master suite?" Harry asked, leaning his shoulder against the bedpost with infuriating composure.

That sly, arrogant fox. 

He had played the calm, accommodating husband all through the registration process just to corner me here with no escape!

Grumbling under my breath, I forcefully poked one arm out of the blanket burrito, grabbed my phone, and swiped the answer. "Hello?"

"You sound awfully relaxed for someone who just ruined her family's reputation!" a chilling, furious voice boomed from the receiver.

My breath hitched. I pulled the screen back slightly to check the caller ID.

It was my father.

"Father..." I said, my voice turning instantly guarded.

"Shut your mouth," my father snapped coldly. "You have thirty minutes to get your miserable self back to the Russell estate. We are waiting."

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