All Chapters of The Measure of a Touch:from the CEO's contractual wife : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Thomas didn't sleep.He told himself he would. Told himself he'd close the laptop in five minutes, walk upstairs, lie down like a reasonable person who had meetings tomorrow and responsibilities that required him conscious.But 12:19 became 12:47.Then 1:33.The screen glowed in the dark study, casting pale light across his face. He'd found her. Piper McDowell. Not hiding. Displayed at Aurelius Gallery like she'd always belonged there.His chest tightened every time he thought about it.She'd left his house in disgrace, accused of theft, humiliated in front of staff and his girlfriend—and she'd turned it into this.Thomas leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly beneath him. He rubbed his face with both hands, trying to scrub away the exhaustion that had settled into his bones weeks ago and refused to leave.His phone sat on the desk, dark and accusing.He stared at it.Then picked it up.The screen lit up his face. 1:47 a.m.He set it back down.Picked it up again.His t

Piper stood in the center of Aurelius Gallery's main exhibition hall, surrounded by her own work, and tried to remember how to breathe normally.Six months since she'd walked out of the Anderson mansion with nothing but a duffel bag and shame clinging to her like a second skin.Four and a half months since Aurelius had sent that email—the one she'd read three times before believing it was real.And now, Tuesday afternoon, two days before her first major exhibition opening on Thursday night."Stop fidgeting," Maribel whispered beside her, adjusting the collar of Piper's blazer. "You look like you're about to bolt.""I might," Piper admitted, hands twisting together."Don't you dare." Maribel grabbed her wrist. "You earned this. Act like it."Earned.The word sat heavy in Piper's chest.Six months ago, she'd been called a thief by a man who couldn't even look her in the eye long enough to let her defend herself.And now her paintings hung on walls people would pay thousands of dollars j

Paige spent the afternoon at her mother's house in Santa Monica. The place was fabulous and shiny, all white marble and floor-to-ceiling windows that let in too much light. Her mother had redecorated again—new furniture, new art on the walls, new everything funded by her third divorce settlement."You look thin," her mother said immediately, pulling her into a hug that lasted two seconds too long."I'm fine, Mom.""You're not fine. You never visit unless something's wrong." Her mother stepped back, eyes narrowing with the kind of surgical precision only a woman who'd survived three marriages could manage. "Is it Thomas?"Paige sank onto the pristine white couch, suddenly exhausted. "He told me to leave."Her mother's expression shifted instantly, concern melting into something sharper, more calculating. She moved to the bar cart and poured two glasses of wine without asking."Why?" she asked, handing Paige a glass."Because I'm not—" Paige stopped, took a long sip. "Because he's stil

Maribel's expression hardened. "Then you look him in the eye and remember that you're the one who survived. Not him.""He seems pretty fine to me." Piper chuckled sadly, "He's wealthy, Maribel.""Is he?" Maribel tilted her head. "Because from where I'm sitting, he's the one who threw away someone irreplaceable. And you're the one about to have the best night of your life."Piper managed a small smile. "When did you get so wise?""I've always been wise. You just don't listen." Maribel checked her watch. "Eat up. Julian's going to be here in thirty minutes, and you need actual food in your system."Julian arrived at ten sharp, recorder in hand and that same thoughtful expression he'd worn during their first interview."Piper." He shook her hand warmly. "The space looks incredible.""Marcus and his team deserve the credit.""But, the space is incredible because your work beautified it."They walked through the gallery together, stopping in front of each piece. Julian asked questions—some

Piper's heart was trying to break through her ribs.She'd seen him.Thomas.Standing in the back of her gallery, in his perfect suit, with that unreadable expression she'd spent six months trying to forget.What the hell was he doing here?"Piper?" Maribel's hand was on her arm, voice low and urgent. "Babe, you just went completely pale. What's wrong?"Piper forced herself to breathe. To smile. To remember that she was Piper McDowell, the artist everyone was here to see, not the girl who'd been thrown out of his house like trash."Nothing," she said, voice steadier than she felt. "I'm fine."Maribel followed her gaze toward the back of the room, frowning. "Who are you looking at?""No one." Piper turned away deliberately, champagne glass gripped too tight in her hand. "Just thought I saw someone."A collector approached—older woman, kind smile, asking about Endurance. Piper answered on autopilot, nodding at the right moments, explaining her process while her mind screamed.He was here