Chapter Five
Claire
The frustration in Alexander’s voice struck the door with such force that I expected it to splinter at the hinges under mere sound along.
“Ridiculous.” He snapped the single word like firing a bullet from a gun, and I imagined the icy fury in his eyes, the set of his jaw.
I hadn’t meant to overhear him.
I should have slipped away, let him wrestle with whatever this was alone.
But instead, I lingered, his tension sparking a restless urge inside me.
My pulse quickened with each clipped word.
The board members were livid, and with every breath he took, I felt the distance between us shrink.
He needed a solution.
“Just speculation.” The words sounded as bitter as they tasted, I was certain.
My hand gripped the doorframe, my heart stumbling over the decision to stay.
He didn’t know I was there.
Didn’t know how close I was to stepping into his anger, risking the backlash.
It wasn’t my place to interfere.
I should walk away. I should—
“I’ll handle it,” Alexander said, the promise dark and fierce, yet I caught something else there too—a strain I’d never heard before.
The sound tugged at something buried inside me, coaxing it to the surface.
My body moved forward before I could stop it, and I was standing at the edge of his world, so close I could feel the heat of his frustration and something else beneath it.
My voice came out small, swallowed by the space between us.
“I can help.”
Alexander’s eyes snapped to mine, blue and piercing, cutting through the air like a blade.
He was silent, processing my intrusion, weighing it against his anger.
I held my breath, every second stretching longer than the last, waiting for him to send me away or ignore me entirely.
“How?” His tone was sharper than the word itself, both skeptical and demanding, but there was something else, too—a curiosity that shouldn’t have been there.
Did Alexander Reed really want my opinion?
My idea?
I swallowed, feeling the heat in my cheeks, unsure if it was embarrassment or something I wouldn’t let myself name as he studied me like I was the only other human in existence.
“If we start being seen in baby boutiques, it might help the rumors regarding our marriage.” I held his gaze, well aware of the person on the other end of the call who might be able to hear me.
“You know, since we’re trying to start our family anyway.”
The silence that followed was thick, almost suffocating.
My pulse thrummed in my ears, loud and insistent.
He didn’t move, didn’t say a word, and I braced myself for the dismissal, for the icy rebuttal I knew was coming.
But it never did.
“Hold on,” Alexander said abruptly, and I startled at the sudden shift in his focus.
He turned away, back to his call, as if I’d vanished, but the look in his eyes said otherwise.
“I’ll tell you when to send them.”
He ended the call so abruptly I jolted.
I watched him, frozen in the middle of a breath, as he stood and closed the space between us.
Each step was deliberate, controlled, and the scrutiny in his gaze made the air grow heavy.
He stopped just short of touching distance, just close enough to make my skin tingle with awareness.
“That might work,” he said slowly, as if he were speaking to himself as much as to me.
The admission was foreign on his tongue, but I could feel it sinking into the room, altering its shape.
The weight of his approval was disarming, dangerous.
I should have been relieved, should have been glad to help.
But all I felt was the wild flutter of uncertainty.
I managed a nod, finding my voice just as it threatened to slip away.
“I hope it does.” I wanted to sound confident, sure of myself.
Instead, the words wavered like a paper in the wind, nearly tearing apart in the tension that filled the space between us.
Alexander studied me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that made my stomach tighten.
He looked at me not as the complication I’d been since the beginning of this charade, but as something else entirely.
Something I hadn’t expected and wasn’t sure I wanted to be.
A faint smile flickered at the edge of his lips, a crack in the coldness that both startled and unsettled me.
“Let’s hope you’re right, Claire,” he said, and there was a note in his voice I’d never heard before—a strange mix of challenge and acknowledgment that wrapped around me like a rope, tugging me closer than I meant to be.
I should have been happy that he listened, that he saw me as someone who could contribute.
Instead, something between us hummed with a new tension, vibrating just under the surface, and a fluttering in the places I tried to ignore had me uncomfortable and jittery.
I had crossed a line into his world, and it had shifted to make room for me.
The realization made my heart race, fast and reckless, drowning out all reason.
Maybe there was a place for me here after all.
As he returned to his desk, I fought the impulse to step back, to retreat before I lost more of myself in the enormity of his presence.
But my feet refused to move.
He had pulled me in without even trying, and I knew that this—the way my pulse quickened when he spoke, the way I wanted to linger despite the danger—was far more threatening than any boardroom full of angry executives.
I watched him as his gaze flickered across the screen in front of him, the motion as precise and efficient as the rest of him.
“Have you considered where you’d like to go look at baby items?” he asked, his voice casual, but his eyes were anything but.
They pinned me in place, daring me to retreat, to advance, to stay in a battle I didn’t know how to fight.
“I’d have to look things up,” I heard myself say, my voice smaller than the boldness of my suggestion.
I shouldn’t let this happen, shouldn’t let him drag me into this mess.
But there was a reckless part of me, one that I barely recognized, that liked the way he listened, the way he watched.
Alexander nodded, and it was all the encouragement I needed, and far more than I should have wanted.
“Of course. It may also help our case if I reach out to my network and ask for recommendations.”
I nodded, the certainty in the gesture at odds with the turmoil inside me.
“That’s smart, more organic.”
“Good.” His approval slipped under my skin, leaving a trail of heat and confusion.
“Let me know when you’re ready to do this.”
My head spun with the newness of it all—the shift in his attention, the weight of being part of his strategy.
It thrilled and terrified me in equal measure.
But mostly, it made me wonder how long I could walk this line before losing my footing.
I turned to leave, needing space to think, to breathe.
But as I reached the door, his voice caught me again, firm and impossible to ignore.
“Claire?”
I hesitated, the sound of my name tickling up my neck like a physical touch.
“Yes?”
“Thanks.” The word was so simple, so out of place on his lips, that it made me stop.
Had he ever said thank you to me before?
Heck, had he ever thanked anyone before?
I couldn’t hold back a smile.
“You’re welcome,” I said softly, knowing it meant more than either of us was ready to admit.
And with that, I slipped out of his office, carrying the weight of new possibilities with me and the thought that the whole world was going to think we were starting a family.
Who knew this arrangement could sting so much?
The café buzzed with warm laughter, and I let myself settle into the comforting background noise.
This place was a welcome escape from the tension that seemed to echo through the rest of my life.
A barista called my name, her voice syrupy and sweet, but before I could claim the foaming comfort of my vanilla lavender latte, Jen’s voice made my spine stiffen.
My grip on the paper cup almost squeezed tight enough to pop the lid and spill boiling hot liquid all over my hand.
“Claire, there you are.” It wasn’t relief in her tone; it was demand, and it wrapped around my throat like a leash.
“Just who I wanted to see.”
She wove through the tables, every step tearing down more of my relaxation.
The dread in my stomach wound up tighter with each confident click of her heels.
I wasn’t ready for this.
For her. I’d come here for a moment of peace, but Jen’s presence tore through it like a storm.
“Is Alexander around?” she asked, eyes sweeping the café like he’d materialize at her beck and call.
“No, it’s just me,” I said, wishing the words felt more like freedom and less like a confession.
Jen’s gaze sharpened, zeroing in on me like a hawk.
“Good. We need to talk.”
The familiar weight of her demands settled over me.
More connections, more favors, more money, more, more, more.
My defenses crumbled at the edges.
But before I could fold, before the sweet cup of latte cooled against my palm, the door swung open and brought a draft of fresh air—and Alexander’s commanding presence—into the room.
I felt him before I saw him.
Felt the shift in atmosphere as heads turned and whispers flickered through the crowd.
Alexander strode toward us with a certainty that set my heart pounding.
I hadn’t expected him.
I hadn’t prepared for this.
But suddenly, he was there, casting a long shadow over Jen’s relentless need.
Jen’s confidence wavered.
I saw it in the way her lips parted, her surprise a momentary crack in her entitled brat attitude.
“I thought—” she said, then snapped her mouth shut.
“Claire.” Alexander’s voice was calm, a gentle rumble that belied the intensity of his gaze.
It warmed my name in a way I hadn’t realized I’d longed for.
He turned to Jen, the air around him cooling by several degrees.
“Is there a problem?”
Jen recovered, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a defiance that didn’t quite mask the hesitation in her eyes.
“Just a little sisterly chat. Right, Claire?”
I opened my mouth, ready to speak, to soften the edges of whatever came next, but Alexander’s words cut through the space between us.
“She doesn’t need this.” His tone was firm, like steel wrapped in velvet, and it sent a shiver through me that I couldn’t quite contain.
The confidence in Jen’s posture deflated, the arrogant gleam in her eyes dimming under the weight of Alexander’s insistence.
For the first time, she seemed unsure, as if the reality of his resistance was really sinking in.
“I’m sure we can figure it out, Jen,” I said, my voice quieter than the reckless beat of my heart.
“Later.”
Her gaze flickered between us, suspicion etching into her features, but Alexander’s presence left her with no ground to stand on.
She hesitated, her lips parting to speak, but something in Alexander’s unwavering stare silenced her.
I watched the tension between them stretch thin before it snapped and sent Jen back a step.
Then another. Her mouth curved into a tight smile, more a challenge than an expression of warmth.
“Later, then,” Jen said, her words sharp and pointed, aimed to sting.
“This should be interesting.”
We watched her leave, and I tried not to choke on her lingering defiance.
I didn’t know what stunned me more—that she had backed down, or that Alexander had protected me.
I turned to him, finding the words felt as tangled as my emotions.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, hating the tremble in my voice, the way it betrayed me like everything else.
He arched an eyebrow, and I saw the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Seemed like you could use the help.”
I shouldn’t let it get to me.
Shouldn’t let his protection feel like safety I’d never let myself want.
This wasn’t real. This wasn’t for me.
But as we stood there, his gaze steady and relentless, it felt like the most real thing I’d ever known.
“Thanks,” I murmured, wishing I could sound more aloof, more in control.
Instead, the word fell between us, heavy with unspoken questions.
Alexander shrugged, but there was a seriousness in his posture that made my pulse race.
“I couldn’t let her bully you,” he said, and something raw and genuine in his words made my breath catch.
His nearness was dizzying.
Unsettling. A thousand times worse than the demands Jen had thrown at me.
But this—this feeling that unfurled inside me, something dangerously close to affection—was infinitely harder to fight.
I met his eyes, my whole body buzzing with an electric crackle that both warmed me and got my blood pumping faster.
I gripped my coffee to my chest, imagining the touch of his hand at the small of my back, the warmth of his breath brushing against my ear.
I hated that I wanted it.
Hated that some desperate part of me wanted to lean into him, to see what happened if I let my defenses fall.
But I knew better. None of this was real.
And with that, reality rushed back like a cold wind.
I stepped away, wrenching myself back to reason, to the boundaries I couldn’t let blur.
“You’re good at this,” I said, in a whisper only he could hear, forcing a smile I didn’t feel, willing my heart to slow.
“Convincing everyone it’s real.” Heck, in moments like this, he even convinced me, and I signed the contract.
He looked at me, a strange mix of surprise and something darker in his eyes.
“Am I convincing you?” The question hit me hard.
The thought that he was just playing with my heart hurt, and I welcomed that feeling, if only to put a little distance between us.
I held his gaze, refusing to let it go, refusing to let him see how deeply he’d unsettled me.
“Sometimes.”
The word was a dangerous admission I probably shouldn’t have made.
I forced myself to look away, to break the way everything about him tugged me in and threatened to undo me completely.
We left the café, side by side but miles apart, the silence heavy.
I tried to remind myself of what this was.
Of what this wasn’t.
But with every step, with every quickened beat of my traitorous heart, the lines between those things blurred just a little more.
I was going to get hurt.
But it would hurt no matter what, so shouldn’t I enjoy things while I could?
A few days later, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing pop up on my phone.
The headlines screamed at me like a thing alive, hungry and vicious, clawing their way under my skin with brutal words.
Alexander and I were frauds.
I watched in stunned silence as the news seemed to cross every screen and device, a relentless storm of accusation.
Gold-digger. Liar. Each headline another sharp cut.
My chest constricted, the weight of our lie pressing hard against my lungs.
Across the room, Alexander’s fury simmered, barely leashed, his eyes dark with rage and something else.
Something dangerously like regret.
I couldn’t let myself believe it was about me.
The articles were everywhere.
The audacity of it was dizzying.
I tried to breathe through the panic that tightened around me like a vise.
Tried to tell myself it didn’t matter.
That this was what I’d signed up for.
But as each new notification flashed across the screen, I felt the fragility of our agreement tremble beneath the pressure.
“Ridiculous.” Alexander’s voice cut through the chaos, wrapped in unyielding iron.
His anger radiated across the space between us, but I felt the protection in it.
I felt his need to protect me, but knew there was nothing he could do.
Worse, I wanted to believe it.
Wanted to think that his fury was for me, that he cared about the way this tangled lie wound its way around my heart like barbed wire.
But I couldn’t. I couldn’t let myself go there.
“They’ll regret this.” He said it with such dark certainty that it made my pulse skip.
I could see the muscle in his jaw tighten, the rage turning to resolve, but it didn’t hide the shadows that crossed his eyes.
I hoped I’d never be the target of his wrath, I’m not sure I could survive it.
I watched Alexander, felt the force of his determination, but under it all, there was something raw and human that took my breath away.
“Let’s go,” he said, voice firm, but the set of his shoulders was strained, the mask slipping.
“We have a plan, it’s time.”
I knew exactly what he was talking about, and I steeled myself to prepare for the whispers, the accusations, the new headlines that would follow.
Plus, I had to prepare to pretend to be a carefree couple in love.
I followed him out, the words of the article following us like ghosts, refusing to stop haunting us.
The city air was thick with anticipation, every passing stranger a potential observer, a potential judge.
Alexander walked with measured precision, his fingers flexing at his sides as if resisting the urge to clench into fists.
I stayed close but not too close—just enough to look the part.
The boutique was tucked between high-end designer stores, its window display showcasing pastel-colored onesies and intricately woven bassinets.
The moment we stepped inside, the air shifted.
Soft music hummed from hidden speakers, and the scent of lavender and clean cotton filled the space, a stark contrast to the storm brewing between us.
I ran my fingers over a knitted baby blanket, the tiny stitches delicate and perfect, much like the world we were trying to craft out of chaos.
“This one’s nice,” I murmured, mostly to myself.
Alexander glanced over, his expression unreadable, then reached for a pair of impossibly tiny shoes—a soft cream leather, so fragile, so innocent compared to the weight pressing down on us.
His thumb brushed over them, and for the first time since we left the apartment, something flickered in his gaze that wasn’t fury.
The boutique was a sanctuary of softness—pastel hues, tiny garments folded with care, the scent of fresh cotton weaving through the space.
It was a world built for beginnings, for tenderness, for the kind of innocence untouched by the chaos waiting outside.
I wandered past rows of impossibly small onesies, my fingers brushing over a tiny embroidered bear on the chest of one.
The fabric was delicate, the kind of thing meant for a life so new, so fragile.
A strange warmth bloomed in my chest—something dangerously close to longing.
Alexander was quiet beside me, studying the shelves with an intensity that didn’t quite match the setting.
Then, he picked up a pair of ivory baby shoes, turning them over in his hands like they were something foreign.
“I can’t believe how small they are,” he said, almost to himself.
I swallowed hard, nodding.
“Like they’re barely real.”
But they were real.
Every tiny sock, every plush rabbit with oversized ears, every little bonnet meant to shield against the gentlest winds or sunshine.
Real—and meant for a life I had never imagined for myself.
I moved toward a bassinet, its wicker frame sturdy yet elegant, draped with a gauzy canopy that made it look like something out of a dream.
I could picture it in a quiet bedroom, bathed in soft morning light, filled not with tension, but peace.
Love. Something steady, something warm.
For a fleeting moment, I wondered—if this were real, if the whispers and accusations weren’t part of the equation, if this wasn’t just a front—maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
Maybe holding a tiny hand in mine, watching a newborn stretch and yawn in sleep, feeling the weight of something so precious against my chest…
maybe it would be beautiful.
It was a dangerous thought.
Alexander glanced at me, eyes searching, almost hesitant.
“Do you see anything you want?”
Want.
The word sat heavy in my throat.
Want wasn’t supposed to be part of this arrangement.
And yet, standing here, surrounded by proof of what marriage was supposed to be – and what mine wasn’t - I realized I wanted more than I should.
I forced a smile, tearing myself away from the bassinet.
“Let’s just pick something that looks convincing.”
Because pretending was safer.
And wanting—truly wanting—was far too terrifying.
When we reached the quiet sanctuary of his penthouse, I expected to feel relief.
Instead, the silence was oppressive.
There was a part of me that wanted to curl up on the couch and hide under a blanket forever, or get lost in a book to escape what our lives were morphing into.
I saw the exhaustion catch up with him, saw the flicker of vulnerability that made my own defenses crumble.
He turned to me. “I shouldn’t have put you in this position,” he said, and there was a roughness in his voice that touched some delicate part of me.
At the same time, his admission shocked me.
It sank into my skin, tangled with emotions I couldn’t control.
I wanted to brush it off, to tell him I didn’t care, that I could handle it.
But the truth was, it shook me.
The truth was, I didn’t know how much longer I could stand under the weight of his life, what it meant to be by his side, his world, all while pretending.
If this were real, I’d have that comfort, at least. But it’s not.
And in a year, who knows if the world will feel they’d been proved right?
What if these rumors, whispers, and accusations followed me for the rest of my life?
I watched him, unsure what to do or say, how to make things right.
His eyes were dark and tired, stripped of their usual sharpness, and that did something to me I wasn’t ready for.
It made me want. Made me feel.
Made me consider stepping closer to him and pulling him into a hug for comfort, to help him feel less alone.
“Claire,” he said, and the sound of my name on his lips sounded raw, intimate.
It left my heart pounding and my body coming to life in a way I tried to fight.
I stepped closer, the motion having an effect on him too.
His jaw flexed, his gaze followed me, his eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch.
I shouldn’t let this happen.
But I was helpless against it, against the deep need to comfort him that wormed through me.
I would have done the same for anyone, I told myself.
I reached for him before I could second-guess myself, pressing my hands to the back of his powerful arms and pulling him closer.
He didn’t resist. He didn’t hesitate.
The moment his body met mine, something shifted.
The tension he carried, the weight of whatever storm churned inside him, eased just a little bit.
His muscles, always wound tight, relaxed slightly against me, like he was giving in to something he couldn’t fight anymore.
I pressed my cheek against his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath, the way his heartbeat thumped against my face.
He smelled like warmth and steadiness—like something familiar, something safe.
Home.
The thought startled me, but not enough to pull away.
Not enough to let go.
His hands lifted, and I sensed they were hovering at my back like he wasn’t sure if he should hold me—but then, slowly, carefully, his arms wrapped around me, pulling me in.
It wasn’t possession or desperation.
It was something quieter.
Something softer.
I felt him relax—truly relax—in a way I’d never seen before.
No tension in his shoulders, no battle-ready stiffness.
Just warmth, steady and real.
He exhaled, the sound slow and deliberate, and then…
I felt him move.
His chin dipped, his breath tickling against my hair, my temple, my cheek.
My pulse surged as his fingers curled, digging gently into my waist, his head tilting.
Unsure, I lifted my head, just barely, just enough that my lips hovered near his jaw.
Close. Too close.
For a single breath, neither of us moved.
Was he… was he going to kiss me?
Worse, did I want him to?
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.
Couldn’t do anything but freeze in place, my heart stumbling and my body trembling.
He hadn’t kissed me since our wedding day.
And then—
He pulled away.
Not sharply, not like he wanted to escape, but like he couldn’t allow this to happen.
Like it was something he wanted, something we both wanted, but he was choosing restraint.
His eyes locked on mine, heat simmering beneath his quiet control, and I knew—I knew—that whatever had just happened, whatever almost just happened, it wasn’t over.
Not really.
For a moment, I let myself imagine that this was real, that we were more than just a promise on paper.
But I knew better. This could only lead to more heartbreak, more pain.
I needed to remember that I was nothing more than a pawn to him in whatever game he was playing.
I still didn’t know the reason he had married me, but whatever it was, it wasn’t so I’d fall in love with him and we could live happily ever after.
This wasn’t what I wanted it to be.
The cold grip of reality squeezed the breath from my lungs, and I stepped back, tearing myself away from the reckless want that threatened to consume me.
“I’m sorry,” I said, the words too small to carry the weight of my retreat.
I saw the flicker of something in his eyes, a brief spark that was gone before I could name it.
“I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t.”
Despite his words, I turned away, forcing myself to remember the truth, to remember that his actions were nothing more than a businessman’s miscalculation.
To remember that what I wanted didn’t matter.
The distance between us, physically, was small, but mentally…
we might as well be galaxies apart.
As we should be. As we’d agreed.