Chapter 19 - Evania
When I got to Callahan’s house and found out that he had my things put into a guest room, I was oddly annoyed.
Maria stood politely at my side as one of the movers emptied the last box in the guest suite. It was a beautiful room - queen-sized bed, soft cream bedding, tall windows that would let in the sound. Anyone else would have been happy and impressed.
The more I stood there looking around, the more irritated I became. It felt intentional. Like he was building a wall before we’d even started, creating unnecessary distance. I refused to let him get away with it.
I was his wife, fake or not.
“Maria,” I said sweetly.
She turned to me immediately. “Yes, Mrs. Sterling?”
“I need the movers called back.”
Her brows lifted slightly. “Called back?”
“Yes,” I said, already pulling out my phone for her to use. “There’s been a mistake.”
Thirty minutes later, the movers were back, looking mildly confused but professional enough not to question me.
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience,” I told them, handing one of the men the master bedroom key Maria had provided. “My things were placed in the wrong room.”
He blinked. “Wrong room?”
“Yes.” I smiled pleasantly. “They should have gone into the master bedroom. I’ll compensate you for the hassle.”
A wide smile spread across his face. “That’s all I needed to hear.”
Maria tried very hard not to look amused as the men began hauling my boxes down the hallway toward Callahan’s bedroom.
The master suite was larger than my entire apartment. Dark hardwood floors, deep navy accents, and an enormous bed that I couldn’t wait to dive into. The room was unmistakably his — minimalistic, organized, masculine.
They worked quickly. Clothes were hung. Shoes arranged.
My vanity items were lined neatly along the bathroom counter.
Within an hour, the master bedroom no longer looked like a single man lived there.
When they finished, I paid them generously and thanked them again.
The sound of the front door closing behind them felt like a victory bell.
Maria lingered near the doorway.
“Will there be anything else, Mrs. Sterling?” she asked.
“No, thank you,” I said. “That will be all.”
She gave me a warm smile before leaving me alone. I stood in the middle of the room, slowly turning in a circle. This felt right. I took a quick shower, slipped on my bonnet, and dived into bed.
I imagined him coming home later, opening the door, seeing what I’d done. Maybe he’d sigh. Maybe he’d look mildly exasperated. But then he’d shrug and climb into bed beside me. We’d cuddle, maybe even share a kiss.
The thought made me smile as I drifted off to sleep.
When I woke up the next morning, the first thing I noticed was the feeling of emptiness. The sheets beside me were untouched and cold. I frowned, blinking sleep from my eyes. The other pillow was perfectly fluffed. No sign that anyone had lain there.
He hadn’t come to bed.
My plan had failed.
I was mentally berating myself when a light knock sounded at the door. I stared at it, irritation already creeping up my spine.
“Come in,” I called.
The door opened gently, and Maria stepped inside with her usual cheerful smile.
“Good morning, Mrs. Sterling.”
I glanced at the clock on the nightstand.
8:52 a.m.
It wasn’t even nine. I took a breath, forced a pleasant expression, and looked at her. "Good morning, Maria."
“I hope you slept well,” she said brightly. “Mr. Sterling is waiting for you to join him for breakfast.”
So he was home. He just didn’t sleep here. Of course. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
“That’s lovely,” I said politely. “Next time you have to wake me up before nine, could you please bring coffee with you?”
Maria laughed softly. “Of course. I can certainly do that.”
“Thank you,” I replied, meaning it.
She gave me a small nod. “I’ll let him know you’ll be down shortly.”
As soon as she left, I threw the covers back and slid out of bed. So my plan hadn’t worked. He hadn’t walked in, seen my things, and climbed in beside me. He probably saw me sleeping in his bed and chose to sleep elsewhere.
That annoyed me more than I cared to admit.
I headed straight to the bathroom, turning on the faucet and splashing cool water onto my face. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, trying to smooth away the faint crease between my brows.
Why did I care this much? I grabbed my toothbrush and brushed quickly, my mind replaying the empty space beside me. Maybe he’d stayed late at the office. Maybe he’d fallen asleep elsewhere without meaning to, or maybe he found out what I did and avoided the bedroom altogether.
The thought made my jaw tighten.
I dried my face and took off my bonnet so I could run my fingers through the loose curls of my wig. I didn’t want to look like I’d just rolled out of bed, but I also didn’t want to look like I’d tried too hard.
I was halfway down the stairs when I remembered that I was supposed to be mad at Callahan.
I stopped mid-step, fingers curling around the banister as irritation rushed back into my veins like it had been waiting patiently for me to notice it again. With a sigh, I forced myself to slow my pace.
Don’t smile at him and don’t let him charm you into being nice.
The moment I stepped into the dining room, I gasped.
The coffee table had been transformed into something out of a luxury hotel advertisement.
Platters covered every inch of space — fluffy scrambled eggs, perfectly crisp bacon, golden pancakes stacked high, waffles dusted with powdered sugar, fresh fruit arranged like edible art, croissants, toast, oatmeal, yogurt parfaits, even ackee and saltfish steaming gently in a silver dish.
I blinked.
“What…?” The word slipped out before I could stop it.
Maria appeared like she’d been summoned by my confusion. “Mrs. Sterling,” she said warmly. “Mr. Sterling wasn’t sure what you preferred for breakfast, so he asked me to prepare a bit of everything.”
My gaze shifted instinctively to Callahan.
He was standing near the fireplace in a fitted charcoal shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, looking annoyingly composed. His hair was still slightly damp from a shower. He didn’t smile, but there was something cautious in his expression.
“Thank you,” I muttered, my voice softer than I intended.
I almost forgot why I was annoyed. Almost.
I walked toward the table and sat down carefully, pretending to inspect the spread like I wasn’t hyper-aware of him watching me. The scent of coffee drifted toward me, energizing me with just its smell.
I reached for a plate.
“How did you sleep?”
I froze.
My hand paused mid-air. Slowly, I turned my head and shot him a look that probably could’ve cut glass. His jaw tightened immediately.
“I mean—” he began quickly, stepping closer. “Maria was supposed to put you in one of the guest rooms.”
There it was. I rolled my eyes, letting the plate rest back on the table. “Maria did her job.”
His brows furrowed. “Then why—”
“I insisted on moving into your room,” I cut in calmly. “Seeing how you’re my husband.”
Silence.
His stare made me wonder if I spoke in a different language.
I picked up my coffee, deliberately taking a slow sip while holding his gaze over the rim of the cup. The heat of it grounded me. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. I took another slow sip, staring him down over the rim as he visibly struggled for the right thing to say.
He opened his mouth, closed it. Then, finally, said, “I’m sorry.”
I stared at him for a beat longer than necessary, waiting for something else. An explanation. A correction. Anything. But when he didn’t add another word, I sighed—long and tired, like I didn’t have the energy for this game of cautious apologies and unspoken assumptions.
“Do you have any intention of making this marriage work?” I asked.
The question came out flatter than I meant it to, but it was real. It was the truth sitting heavy on my tongue. Callahan blew out a breath, his shoulders rising and falling. He looked away for a second, jaw tight, like he was battling with himself about how honest he was willing to be.
“I didn’t think you were serious,” he admitted.
My grip on the mug tightened slightly. “About what?”
“About… our marriage.” His voice was steady, but there was something defensive underneath it. “I didn’t think you cared who you married as long as he was a billionaire. That could’ve been anyone.”
For a moment, I didn’t speak.
Not because I didn’t have anything to say—but because I had too much, and I didn’t trust myself not to throw it all at him like a weapon. The quiet stretched between us.
Maria hovered for a second like she wanted to intervene, then wisely disappeared again, leaving me alone with Callahan’s words and the way they sat in my chest like a weight.
I set my mug down carefully, forcing my voice to stay calm even though my annoyance was flaring hotter.
“So that’s what you think?” I asked, staring at him. “That I just… picked you because of your bank account?”
Callahan’s eyes held mine, and he didn’t back down. “It’s what you said you wanted.”
I inhaled slowly.
I knew the moment I asked the question that I might not like the answer.
But I asked anyway.
“Do you think I’m a gold digger?”
My voice didn’t shake. I made sure of that. I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much his words had sliced into me.
Callahan didn’t respond.
He didn’t laugh it off.
He didn’t even look offended that I asked.
He just… went silent.
And that silence was louder than anything he could have said.
Something inside my chest cracked. I gave a small nod, swallowing down the hurt that threatened to rise up and choke me. “Okay.”
“Evania—”
“No.” I shook my head once. “It’s fine.”
It wasn’t fine. It was humiliating.
All through lunch with his family, I had told myself he was just trying to avoid confrontation. That he might have even felt proud that I was willing to defend him when no one else seemed willing to.
But now?
Now I couldn’t help but wonder if he had stayed silent because he agreed with them. I set my plate aside carefully, my appetite completely gone. The delicate china made a soft sound against the table as I pushed it away. I focused on that instead of the sting behind my eyes.
“I went on a date with you,” I said quietly, staring at the table instead of him. “Before you ever mentioned being a billionaire.”
He inhaled sharply like he was about to speak. I didn’t let him.
“I didn’t know about the company. I didn’t know about your net worth. I didn’t even know your name the first time I saw you, but I was smitten just the same.”
“Evania—”
“I liked you,” I cut in, finally looking up at him. “Before you confessed. When you helped me to change out of my heels, I decided at that moment to marry you.”
His jaw tightened. I could see the conflict on his face, but I didn’t care. Not right now.
“All of that clearly shows I liked you before you confessed to being rich,” I continued, my voice steady even though my chest felt tight. “Yet you still doubted me.”
“I don’t doubt—”
“Yes, you did,” I smiled slightly. “But don’t worry, now I have doubts about you too.”