The Billionaire’s Temporary Wife

Chapter Five: The First Night

LIANA

The penthouse was obscene.

I'd seen wealth before, in magazines and movies, but standing in Kairos Blackwood's home was like stepping into a different universe. Floor to ceiling windows wrapped around three sides, showing Manhattan glittering below like scattered diamonds. The furniture looked like art, all clean lines and expensive fabrics. Everything was white or gray or black, cold and perfect and untouched.

Nothing like the cramped apartment I'd left behind, where Ezra's fingerprints smudged the walls and his laughter filled the empty spaces.

"Your room is this way." Kairos walked ahead of me, his footsteps silent on marble floors. He hadn't smiled once since I arrived. Hadn't asked about my day or why I'd been late. Just cold politeness, like I was a business associate instead of the woman who'd be wearing his ring in eight days.

The guest room he showed me was bigger than my entire apartment. A king bed with white linens, a closet that could fit fifty people, windows overlooking Central Park. Beautiful and sterile, like a luxury hotel.

"The bathroom is through there. My room is at the other end of the penthouse." He set my suitcases down with careful precision. "We'll maintain separate spaces. For privacy."

"Of course." I tried to sound grateful instead of overwhelmed. "Thank you."

He paused at the door, turning back. In the soft evening light, I could see him clearly for the first time since that coffee shop. Sharp features, yes, but tired eyes. Lines around his mouth that spoke of stress and sleepless nights. He was handsome in a dangerous way, like a knife wrapped in expensive packaging.

"Dinner is at seven. We need to discuss tomorrow's event." His voice was all business. "The Rousseaus expect perfection. That means we need to be convincing."

"I understand."

"Do you?" He stepped closer, and I forced myself not to back away. "Because this only works if we're believable. If you can't pretend to care about me in public, this entire arrangement falls apart."

"I can pretend." The words came out stronger than I felt. "That's what you're paying me for."

Something flashed in his eyes, too quick to read. "Good. Seven o'clock. Don't be late again."

He left, closing the door behind him with a soft click that felt louder than a slam.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands shaking now that I was alone. What had I done? Agreed to live with a stranger, to lie to everyone, to pretend to love a man who looked at me like I was a problem to be solved.

My phone buzzed. Sofia, texting a photo of Ezra at her apartment, grinning with chocolate ice cream all over his face.

"He misses you already. Are you okay?"

I stared at my son's smile, at the pure joy in his expression, and felt my resolve harden. This was why. This beautiful boy who deserved everything. I could survive six months of cold penthouses and colder billionaires for him.

"I'm fine," I texted back. "Give him a kiss for me."

Then I unpacked my two suitcases into a closet designed for a hundred, hung my five dresses next to empty space, and tried not to think about how small my life looked in all this excess.

Dinner was tense.

Kairos had ordered from some restaurant I'd never heard of, the kind that didn't list prices because if you had to ask, you couldn't afford it. The food was beautiful, tiny portions on huge plates, more art than meal.

We ate at his dining table, which could seat twelve but felt empty with just two. He'd changed into casual clothes, dark jeans and a black sweater that probably cost more than my monthly rent used to. I'd kept on my travel outfit, jeans and a simple blouse, suddenly aware of how cheap my clothes looked in his world.

"The Rousseaus are flying in tomorrow afternoon." Kairos cut his food with surgical precision. "Jean-Luc Rousseau and his wife, Marie. They're old money, conservative values, very traditional. He won't sign the deal unless he believes we're genuinely married."

"What does he expect to see?" I pushed food around my plate, my appetite gone.

"Affection. Comfort with each other. The kind of ease that comes from intimacy." He looked up, his dark eyes meeting mine. "Can you do that? Touch me like you mean it?"

My cheeks burned. "I told you I can pretend."

"Then prove it." He set down his fork, leaned back in his chair. "Come here."

"What?"

"If we can't be comfortable touching each other in private, we'll never be convincing in public." His voice was challenging, almost cold. "Come here, Liana."

My heart hammered as I stood, walked around the table to where he sat. He pulled out the chair next to him, gestured for me to sit. When I did, he reached for my hand.

His touch was warm, strong fingers wrapping around mine. I'd expected coldness but his skin was heated, callused in places that surprised me. He studied our joined hands like they were a puzzle to solve.

"When we're in public, you'll need to touch me naturally. My arm, my back, my face." He guided my free hand to his shoulder, his eyes never leaving mine. "It needs to look effortless."

"Okay." The word came out breathless. This close, I could smell his cologne, something expensive and woodsy. Could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes.

"Tomorrow night, we'll need to kiss." He said it matter of factly, like discussing a business strategy. "Nothing dramatic, just enough to appear genuine."

"We don't have to practice that." I tried to pull away but he held my hand firm.

"Actually, we do." His thumb brushed across my knuckles, a gesture that felt more intimate than it should. "Because if you freeze up or look uncomfortable, they'll notice."

He was right. I hated that he was right.

"Fine." I lifted my chin, meeting his challenge. "Then kiss me."

For a moment, something flickered in his expression, surprise maybe, or respect. Then he leaned in slowly, giving me time to pull away. I didn't.

His lips touched mine softly, barely a whisper of contact. No passion, no heat, just a careful press of mouth against mouth. It lasted three seconds, maybe four, then he pulled back.

"See? Simple." His voice was steady but I noticed his hand had tightened on mine. "We can do this."

I nodded, not trusting my voice. Because that kiss, brief and clinical as it was, had sent electricity down my spine. Had made me wonder what it would feel like if he kissed me like he meant it.

Dangerous thoughts. This was a transaction. Nothing more.

"I should go to bed." I stood quickly, needing distance. "Big day tomorrow."

"Liana." He caught my wrist gently. "The privacy clause in our contract. I agreed because I respect boundaries. But if there's something I should know, something that could affect this arrangement, tell me now."

My blood went cold. Did he know about Ezra? Had he found out already?

"There's nothing." The lie came out smooth, practiced. "I just value my personal time. That's all."

He studied me for a long moment, and I forced myself to hold his gaze, to not look away like I had something to hide even though I did.

"Alright." He released my wrist. "Goodnight, Miss Hart."

"Goodnight, Mr. Blackwood."

I walked to my room on shaking legs, closed the door, and leaned against it. My lips still tingled from that brief kiss. My wrist felt warm where he'd touched it.

This was supposed to be simple. Business. But nothing about Kairos Blackwood felt simple, and I was starting to realize that six months might be the longest or shortest period of my life.

I just couldn't tell which yet.