Signed To Love You

Cold walls between us

The morning sun barely filtered through the floor-length windows when Olivia awoke in her new room. It was elegant, large enough to house a ballroom, but it felt suffocating. Marble floors, pristine curtains, and a bed too big for one person. Everything screamed money and loneliness.

Her suitcase lay untouched at the corner. A maid had probably unpacked while she was sleeping. Even her toiletries were arranged in the bathroom like she was a guest at a luxury hotel.

She stepped out into the hallway and found the house eerily quiet. No sounds of life. No humming of a staff. Just silence.

As she made her way to the kitchen, she noticed a light on in Elijah’s office. She paused. Her heart skipped. A part of her wanted to knock. Another part wanted to flee.

She didn’t do either.

Instead, she entered the kitchen to find a plate of untouched toast and a cup of black coffee waiting on the marble counter. A note lay beside it.

> "I had breakfast early. There’s a driver waiting if you wish to go anywhere. Don’t forget the charity gala tonight. Wear something appropriate." —Elijah

Her lips curled in disdain. So formal. So cold.

She ate in silence, the buttered toast tasting like cardboard. Her thoughts drifted to the gala. Their first public appearance as husband and wife.

Would he pretend to love her in front of everyone?

Would he touch her like he used to—with his hand on her lower back, his lips whispering teasing promises against her ear?

Or would he keep his distance, like this was just another contract?

Midday.

Olivia stepped outside the penthouse to find a luxury black sedan waiting with a uniformed driver.

"Where to, Mrs. Knight?"

The title still sounded foreign, surreal. "Downtown," she replied. "Fifth Avenue."

She needed space. Fresh air. Something to remind her that she still existed outside the prison of this deal. Fifth Avenue was bustling, and though she was wrapped in designer sunglasses and a neutral scarf, she still turned heads. Some recognized her. Most didn’t. But all of them saw a woman who walked with poise, like she belonged everywhere.

She wandered through stores, letting herself feel the fabrics she once couldn't afford. Salespeople offered her champagne and compliments. But none of it touched her.

Nothing felt real.

Her phone buzzed.

Elijah: Don’t be late. I’ll pick you up at 6.

She didn’t reply. Instead, she walked into a small bookstore tucked between high-rises. It smelled of paper and dust. Safe. Familiar. She bought an old poetry collection and tucked it into her purse.

A tiny rebellion.

Evening.

The gala was hosted at The Royal Orchid, a high-profile hotel known for its golden chandeliers and towering ceilings. Olivia arrived in a navy blue gown that hugged her curves and left just enough to the imagination. Her hair was swept up, her neck bare save for a single diamond pendant.

The car door opened, and Elijah extended his hand.

“You look...” he paused, his eyes lingering too long. “Expensive.”

“Good,” she replied coolly, stepping out. “You paid enough for me.”

He chuckled, but the sound lacked humor. "Play nice, Olivia. We have cameras on us."

Reporters surged as they stepped into the grand ballroom.

"Mr. Knight! Mrs. Knight! Over here!"

They posed together, her hand resting lightly on his arm. To the world, they looked like perfection—the powerful CEO and his stunning wife.

Inside, they mingled with guests. Elijah introduced her to billionaires, senators, and heiresses. Olivia smiled, laughed, and charmed them all.

But in between the toasts and the handshakes, she felt the tension humming like a live wire.

A woman with fiery red hair and a dress cut far too low approached.

"Elijah," she purred, kissing both his cheeks. "Still hiding behind your contracts?"

Olivia blinked.

Elijah's voice was steel. "Cassandra. Always a pleasure."

Cassandra turned to Olivia. "And this must be the infamous Mrs. Knight. You’re far prettier than the last one."

"There was no last one," Olivia said sweetly, locking eyes with her. "He waited for me."

Cassandra laughed. "Then I do hope you know what you’ve signed up for."

Olivia’s smile didn’t falter. But her fingers itched to throw her champagne in the woman’s face.

Elijah pulled her close once Cassandra walked away. "That was unnecessary."

"So is pretending this isn’t torture."

Later that night.

They danced.

His hand rested on her lower back. Too warm. Too familiar.

"We’re being watched," he murmured.

"And whose fault is that?"

He exhaled. "You were always so good at this. The ice queen."

"Better than being a ghost," she snapped. "You disappeared for three years."

His grip tightened slightly. "We’re not doing this here."

"Then when? In bed? Oh right—we don’t share that either."

His eyes flicked with something sharp. But he said nothing.

After the gala, they returned in silence. The elevator ride up was suffocating.

Inside the penthouse, Elijah removed his jacket and tossed it over a chair.

"You handled yourself well tonight," he said, voice low.

"Thanks. I’ve had practice hiding pain."

"You think you’re the only one who lost something?"

She turned to him, furious. "You left me! No note. No call. I thought you were dead."

He stepped closer. "I had my reasons."

"Then say them!"

His jaw clenched. "Not tonight."

She pushed past him and stormed to her room, slamming the door.

But even behind locked doors, she couldn’t shut out the truth.

She still loved the man who had broken her.

And that was the most dangerous part of this deal.

The next morning.

Elijah had left for work before she woke up.

But on the dining table sat breakfast—scrambled eggs, toast, and orange juice. Next to it, a small envelope with her name.

She opened it.

> You were brilliant last night. My board is impressed. We make a good team.

—E

She wanted to tear it up. Instead, she tucked it into her poetry book.

Because she didn’t know what scared her more:

That he was trying to win again...

Or that part of her wanted him to.