CONTRACT MARRIAGE

CHAPTER FOUR — THE UNINVITED GUEST

The elevator ride up to the penthouse was suffocating. The silent tension between us was thick enough to choke on. Julian stared at the flashing floor numbers, his jaw working in overtime, while I tried to ignore the way my heart was still hammering against my ribs from Genevieve’s predatory gaze.

"We need to be more careful," Julian muttered as the doors slid open. "Genevieve smells blood in the water. She’s been trying to get her hands on Blackwood International for years, and a scandal like a fake marriage is exactly the leverage she needs."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have invited your grandfather’s rival's daughter to your anniversary dinner," I snapped, stepping out into the foyer and immediately kicking off the agonizing silk heels.

"I didn't invite her, Elena. She doesn't need invitations. She owns the penthouse three floors below this one."

I froze, one shoe in my hand. "She lives in this building?"

"She kept it after the... fallout," Julian said, his voice dropping into a dark, hollow place. He didn't elaborate, and I didn't ask. The look on his face told me everything I needed to know about their history. It wasn't just business. It was a wreck.

I turned toward the kitchen, desperate for a glass of water that didn't taste like expensive champagne and lies. But as I reached the marble island, the heavy front door chimes echoed through the apartment.

Julian and I swapped a look of pure dread.

"Don't," I whispered.

He ignored me, strode to the door, and pulled it open.

Genevieve stood there, a bottle of vintage crystal in one hand and a smirk that promised trouble in the other. She had changed out of her gown into a silk slip dress that left very little to the imagination.

"The party was getting dreadfully dull," she said, gliding past Julian before he could block her. She scanned the penthouse with the air of someone who used to own the place. "And I realized I never got to properly toast the happy couple in private."

"It’s late, Genevieve," Julian said, his voice a low warning.

"Oh, don't be such a bore, Jules. I just wanted to see the love nest." She turned to me, her eyes tracking the fact that I was barefoot and disheveled. "My, Elena. You look... exhausted. Marriage is a lot of work, isn't it? Especially when you have to keep up appearances 24/7."

She walked toward the master bedroom wing, her heels clicking like a countdown on the hardwood.

"Wait—" I started, but it was too late.

She pushed open the double doors to the master suite. My heart stopped. Inside, the bed was perfectly made—and perfectly empty. There wasn't a single trace of my belongings. My suitcases were still tucked away in the guest wing, and the vanity was bare of any feminine products.

Genevieve leaned against the doorframe, her eyes sparkling with malice.

"How strange," she mused, swirling the champagne bottle. "A newly engaged couple, yet this room looks like a hotel suite for a bachelor. Where are your things, Elena? No silk robes? No perfume? No... shared memories?"

She turned back to us, her smile widening. "It’s almost as if you don't actually sleep in here at all."

Julian moved faster than I could blink. He crossed the room, his hand landing firmly on my waist as he pulled me into his side.

"We’re renovating the suite, Genevieve," he lied smoothly, though I could feel the tension vibrating through his palm. "Elena’s things are being moved in tomorrow after the custom walk-in is finished. Not that our sleeping arrangements are any of your business."

"Isn't it?" Genevieve stepped closer, her scent—something sharp and floral—filling the space. "Because if Arthur finds out his heir is running a staged production just to get a promotion, he won't just disinherit you, Julian. He’ll destroy you. And your little 'fiancée' will be lucky if she ends up back in whatever gutter you found her in."

She looked at me, her eyes cold as stones. "I know a contract when I see one, darling. I’ve signed enough of them."

She set the bottle of champagne down on the entry table with a sharp clack.

"I’ll be watching. Sleep well... if you can."

With a final, triumphant look, she swept out of the penthouse. The silence she left behind was deafening.

Julian didn't let go of my waist. In fact, his grip tightened.

"She knows," I whispered, looking up at him. "Julian, she’s going to tell your grandfather."

"She can’t tell him what she can't prove," Julian said, his eyes fixed on the closed door. He finally looked down at me, and for the first time, the icy professional mask was gone. There was a raw, frantic energy in his gaze.

"Go get your bags," he commanded.

"What?"

"You heard me. Move your things into this room. Right now. From this second on, we are not just 'engaged' for the cameras. If Genevieve is watching, we have to live the lie. Every minute. Every night."

He looked at the massive, king-sized bed, then back at me.

"You’re moving into my bed, Elena. It’s the only way we survive the year."