The Kensington "Small Flat

The address on the little paper Ethan Blackwood gave her didn't make sense.

The Kensington Palace Gardens, London W8.

Elise stood in the pouring rain, holding her marriage certificate over her head to keep it from getting wet. She had typed the address into G****e Maps. The result made her laugh nervously.

The Kensington Palace Gardens was known as Billionaires' Row. It was a private, gated road where ambassadors and billionaires lived. A single house there cost more than her entire life's earnings.

"He must have meant a street near it," she muttered to herself.

She took the bus — she kept the £100 he gave her neatly folded in her pocket, she didn't want to use his money on day one — and dragged her one small suitcase. Everything she owned fit in that suitcase.

When she reached the giant, black iron gates, two security guards in black uniforms stepped forward.

"Miss, this is a private road. No entry without invitation."

Elise felt her face burn. Of course. "Um, sorry, I'm... my husband said I live at Apartment 12B? The Kensington Palace Gardens?"

The guards looked at each other, then at her wet dress and her old suitcase.

"Name?" one asked, trying to be polite.

"Elise Carter. I mean, Elise Blackwood. As of today."

The moment she said Blackwood, both guards froze. Their eyes widened.

One of them quickly spoke into his radio. "Mr. Blackwood's wife is at Gate 1. Yes. Yes, Mrs. Blackwood."

Mrs. Blackwood. The word sounded so strange.

Within thirty seconds, the giant gates opened silently. A buggy came to pick her up.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Blackwood," the driver said.

Elise's heart was pounding so loud she could hear it.

The buggy drove past mansions that looked like palaces, with fountains and Rolls Royces parked outside. It stopped in front of the most modern, beautiful glass and steel building she had ever seen.

The driver led her to a private lift. "Penthouse floor, Mrs. Blackwood. Code 8808. Chairman said to tell you the fridge is stocked."

Penthouse?

The lift opened directly into an apartment.

No. Not an apartment. A palace.

Elise's suitcase dropped from her hand.

The flat was... endless. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking all of London. Hyde Park looked like a small garden from here. The living room was bigger than her entire sister's flat, decorated in minimalist grey and white, with art that looked like it belonged in a museum. There was a grand piano she knew cost more than £100,000.

"This... this can't be his small flat," she whispered.

She walked around in a daze. Three bedrooms, each with its own bathroom. A kitchen with appliances she didn't even know how to use. A walk-in closet already half-filled with women's clothes — all in her size, with tags still on.

Her phone rang. Unknown number.

"Have you arrived?" It was Ethan. His voice was cold, business-like. Background noise of a meeting.

"Mr. Blackwood... Mr. Blackwood this flat... this is not a small flat! This is... this is a mansion in the sky! Is this really yours? I think there's a mistake!"

There was a pause on the other side. "It's noisy. Is something wrong with the flat?"

"No! It's too... it's too much! This must cost millions! Are you sure you own it? Did Grandma Rose make a mistake?"

Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose in his boardroom. Twenty directors were staring at him. His assistant was holding a Dubai contract worth £2 billion.

"Elise, it's just a company apartment. My company gives it to managers. It's not expensive. Stay there. Don't overthink it."

"A company apartment in Billionaires' Row?" Elise asked, confused.

"It was cheap when the company bought it ten years ago. Look, I have to go. The housekeeper Mrs. Hudson will come at 6 p.m. If you need anything, text me. Don't call unless it's an emergency."

He hung up.

Elise stared at the phone. Just a company apartment? Maybe property was cheaper back then?

She spent the whole afternoon exploring, too scared to sit on the £20,000 sofa. She finally sat on the floor in the living room, eating instant noodles she had brought from her sister's house, looking at the London skyline.

At 10:30 p.m., the private lift dinged.

Elise jumped up, spilling noodles.

Ethan Blackwood walked in. He had changed from his morning clothes into a perfectly tailored dark navy suit. He looked exhausted, his tie loosened, his hair slightly messy. He looked even more handsome like this.

He stopped when he saw her on the floor with noodles.

"What are you doing on the floor?"

Elise scrambled up, embarrassed. "I... the sofa looked too expensive to sit on. And I was hungry."

Ethan frowned. He walked to the kitchen, opened the giant double fridge that Elise hadn't dared to open. It was full. Steaks, lobsters, fruits, cakes from Harrods.

"You have a full fridge and you're eating instant noodles on the floor?"

"I didn't know I could eat them! You said household expenses..."

Ethan let out a long sigh. This woman... was she really 26? She acted like a scared kitten.

He took off his suit jacket, threw it on the sofa — the same sofa she was scared to touch — and rolled up his sleeves, revealing strong, veiny forearms.

"Sit," he ordered.

He took out two steaks and started cooking. In less than ten minutes, the apartment smelled amazing.

Elise watched, shocked. The cold, billionaire CEO was cooking for her?

He placed a plate in front of her. Perfect medium-rare steak, asparagus, mashed potatoes.

"Eat. And from tomorrow, sit on the sofa. That's what it's for. And eat what's in the fridge. That's what it's for. I don't want Grandma to visit and think I'm starving my wife."

My wife. Again.

Elise's cheeks went red. "Thank you."

They ate in silence. It was awkward, but not terrible.

"Mr. Blackwood, about the sleeping arrangement..."

"There are three bedrooms. You take the master. I take the smallest one near the study. I work late. Don't wait for me. And Elise..."

He looked at her, his grey eyes dark under the kitchen lights.

"Thank you for marrying me today. I know it was sudden. I will make sure you don't regret it."

It was the first warm thing he had said to her all day.

Elise felt her heart do a strange little flip.

"No... thank you. You saved me."

Ethan looked at her for a second too long, then stood up, took his plate, and washed it himself.

"Goodnight, Mrs. Blackwood."

"Goodnight, Mr. Blackwood."

He disappeared into his study, and the light stayed on until 2 a.m.

Elise lay in the giant, soft master bed that smelled like fresh linen and a faint, masculine cologne. It was the most comfortable bed of her life. Through the gap of the study door, she could see his tall silhouette working.

For the first time in eight months, she didn't feel like a burden.

She didn't know that in the study, Ethan Blackwood was on a call.

"Chairman, Mrs. Blackwood's brother-in-law, Mark Fowler, works at our subsidiary, Blackwood Properties? Should I..."

"Fire him? No," Ethan said coldly, looking at the photo of Elise his investigator just sent — her smiling in her tiny flower shop. "Promote his boss. Give his boss a raise. Make sure Mark knows his promotion depends on his wife's family being happy. And find out who supplies flowers to her shop. Buy the supplier."

"Yes, Chairman."

Ethan hung up and looked towards the master bedroom.

This marriage of convenience might not be so inconvenient after all.