The Playboy’s Fake Bride

Chapter 3: The Morning After

I woke up at 7 AM because the sun was attacking me through floor-to-ceiling windows I didn’t pay for.

Rule 2: Separate rooms.

Rule 2 also apparently meant: separate lives.

The closet made me dizzy. Dresses with tags still on. Shoes in my size. An entire row labeled "For Galas".

There was a note on the vanity in neat, masculine handwriting.

Driver at 8:30. Don't be late. - J

J. Like we were casual.

The kitchen was bigger than my last apartment. Marble counters, espresso machine, and Jay Sterling in sweatpants.

Sweatpants. On Jay Sterling.

His hair was damp. No suit. No mask. Just... a man. Making coffee.

He didn’t look up when I walked in.

“Morning,” I said. My voice sounded too loud.

“Morning,” he said. Still not looking. “Coffee?”

“Black is fine.”

He slid a mug across the island to me. Our fingers didn’t touch. Good. Rule 2.

“Schedule,” he said, pulling out his phone. “9 AM: lawyer meeting. You come. 2 PM: photoshoot for Sterling Foundation. 7 PM: dinner with investors. You come.”

I blinked. “I have a job, you know.”

“Not anymore.” He finally looked at me. Those grey eyes. “I paid your hospital bill. And your rent for the next 6 months. Consider this your job.”

The coffee burned my tongue. “You bought me.”

“I contracted you,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”

Before I could answer, the penthouse door opened.

Victoria Vale.

In our kitchen. At 8 AM. In yoga pants and holding a green juice.

“Jay, I forgot my -” She stopped when she saw me.

Her smile dropped. “Oh. The wife.”

The air went cold.

“What are you doing here, Victoria?” Jay’s voice was ice.

“I left my necklace after the gala last month.” She walked past me like I was furniture. “Didn’t know you’d replaced the furniture so fast.”

She was looking at me. At my pajamas. At his coffee mug in my hand.

Rule 1: Smile in public. But this was private.

“Can I help you find it?” I asked. My voice didn’t shake.

Victoria laughed. “Sweetie, you won’t last 6 months. Jay gets bored.”

She turned to him. “Call me later? We need to talk about the Monaco deal.”

And then she left. Like she owned the place.

Silence.

Jay set his mug down hard. “She doesn’t live here.”

“I didn’t ask,” I said, even though my chest hurt.

“Good.” He grabbed his suit jacket. “Driver in 20. Wear something from the closet.”

He walked away. Leaving me with cold coffee and the smell of Victoria’s perfume.

Rule 3: No feelings.

That was going to be the hardest rule to keep.

Because the way Jay said “She doesn’t live here”...

For one second, I wanted to believe it meant something.