Chapter 5 Cracks In The Armor

The day after the gala, Emily couldn’t shake the suffocating weight pressing down on her. The echoes of forced smiles, fleeting glances, and the growing tension between her and Ethan still clung to her like a second skin. She had expected a quiet morning, a chance to recover from the charade. Instead, silence filled the penthouse like a looming storm. Ethan was in his office, buried in work as usual, leaving her to wander the expansive space like a ghost in a house that never felt like home. The walls were pristine, the floors spotless—everything about this place screamed perfection. But it was a perfection that felt hollow. Restless, she stepped outside. The city pulsed with life, a stark contrast to the carefully controlled world she lived in. She walked aimlessly, inhaling the scent of asphalt and coffee, letting the noise wash over her. Before she realized it, she had stopped in front of a small café a few blocks away. Something about it—cozy, familiar—drew her in. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wrapped around her like a comforting embrace. She ordered a cappuccino, savoring the rare moment of normalcy. But just as she began to relax, her phone buzzed. Ethan: We need to talk. Meet me at the penthouse in an hour. Her stomach twisted. Those words never meant anything good coming from him. With a resigned sigh, she paid for her coffee and made her way back, her fleeting escape slipping through her fingers like sand. Back at the penthouse… The moment Emily stepped inside, the tension hit her like a wall. Ethan stood by the window, his back to her, the city’s glow casting sharp angles across his figure. “You wanted to talk?” she asked, sharper than she intended. He didn’t turn right away, his posture unreadable. “I do,” he said at last. “It’s time we discuss more than just appearances.” Emily frowned. “What do you mean?” Ethan finally faced her, stepping forward with slow, deliberate movements. His dark gaze pinned her in place. “You’ve been here a week, Emily. It’s time you stop pretending this is just about protecting you. This marriage is about my reputation—my business. I can’t afford mistakes.” Her pulse quickened. “Mistakes? What does that mean?” “It means smiling at galas isn’t enough,” he said coolly. “You need to be involved. You need to understand what’s at stake.” Her fingers curled into fists. “I thought we agreed—protection in exchange for pretending to be your wife. What more do you want?” Ethan exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. “I need you to act like my wife. Not just play a role when it’s convenient.” His words sent a chill down her spine. She scoffed. “You barely look at me like a wife, Ethan. You don’t even act like you care.” Something flickered in his eyes—anger? Regret? Whatever it was, it was gone in an instant. “That’s not my job,” he said, his voice controlled. “My job is to make sure this works. Business first.” Her stomach twisted at his coldness. She had known this wasn’t a real marriage, but his words still cut deep. “If I’m so important to your plan,” she said bitterly, “why don’t you try acting like I matter?” Ethan’s jaw tensed. For a moment, he just looked at her, as if weighing her words. And then, to her surprise, his voice softened. “I didn’t plan this either, Emily. You think I wanted to marry someone like you—someone with no understanding of the world I live in?” His expression darkened, his gaze turning distant. “But we’re in this together now. And I will do whatever it takes to make sure we both come out unscathed.” She swallowed hard. For the first time, she saw something real beneath his mask—not just control, but something raw. But she couldn’t trust it. Not yet. “I’ll do what I have to do,” she said, her voice even. “But I won’t pretend to like it. And I won’t pretend to like you.” Ethan’s lips pressed into a thin line. He gave a single nod, then turned and walked toward his office without another word. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, Emily exhaled, rubbing her temples. The line between business and personal had just gotten even blurrier. Then— A sharp noise. A door slamming upstairs. Her breath caught. She turned, her heart hammering in her chest. She had been certain she was alone in the penthouse. Had she been wrong? The hair on the back of her neck stood up. Someone was in the building.