Pretend to be mine

Chapter Three: The Signature

Elena returned to Kane Industries at ten minutes to two, the folder of preliminary papers held tightly against her chest. The same security woman from the morning issued another temporary badge without comment. The elevator ride felt shorter this time, as if the building itself had decided she now belonged inside its walls, at least for the next three months.

Marcus, the assistant from earlier, met her on the fifty-second floor. He offered a polite smile that did not reach his eyes and led her not to Alexander’s office but to a smaller conference room with a long table and three chairs. A woman in a navy suit already sat at the far end, a leather portfolio open in front of her.

“This is Ms. Harlow,” Marcus said. “She’ll witness the signing and answer any final legal questions.”

Elena nodded and took the chair opposite. A moment later the door opened again and Alexander entered. He had changed into a different jacket, darker than the one from the morning, the scar along his jaw catching the overhead light. He did not sit immediately. Instead he remained standing at the head of the table, looking down at the documents Marcus had arranged.

“Everything is as we discussed,” he said. “First payment of one hundred thousand will be transferred the moment the final page is signed. Your sister’s remaining tuition and associated fees will be paid directly to the university by close of business tomorrow. Separate bedrooms. Public appearances only as required. The nondisclosure is comprehensive. Breach it and the money comes back with interest.”

Elena pulled the contract toward her and began reading again, slower this time. The language had been tightened in places, but every condition she had named that morning was present in clear black ink. She turned each page with deliberate care, aware of the two people watching her. When she reached the signature line she paused, pen hovering.

“Once I sign this,” she said, looking up at Alexander, “there’s no quiet way out for either of us.”

“I’m aware.”

She signed her name in a steady hand. Alexander signed beneath hers without hesitation. Ms. Harlow added her own signature and the date, then closed the portfolio with a soft snap.

Marcus’s phone chimed almost immediately. He glanced at the screen and nodded once. “Transfer complete.”

Elena felt the words settle in her chest like a stone dropping into deep water. One hundred thousand dollars now sat in her account. Sofia’s future was no longer a desperate calculation.

Alexander checked his watch. “A car is waiting downstairs. Marcus will take you to the penthouse so you can settle in. I’ll be there after six. We have a board dinner on Thursday. Between now and then you’ll need appropriate clothing. A stylist will arrive tomorrow at ten.”

Elena rose. “I still have shifts at the restaurant through the weekend.”

“Cancel them. You’re done there.”

She met his gaze. “That wasn’t part of the agreement.”

A brief silence. Then he gave a small, almost reluctant nod. “Keep the weekend shifts if you insist. After that, no. The arrangement requires your availability.”

She did not argue further. The money was already hers. The rest could be negotiated one battle at a time.

The car that waited at the curb was black and silent. Marcus rode with her but said little. Twenty minutes later they stepped out in front of a limestone building on the Upper East Side. A doorman opened the door with a respectful nod that made Elena’s skin prickle. The private elevator required a key card Marcus handed her without ceremony.

The penthouse occupied the entire top floor. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the park in one direction and the city skyline in the other. The furniture was low and modern, upholstered in shades of gray and charcoal. Everything looked expensive and untouched.

Marcus showed her the guest suite—spacious bedroom, private bathroom, walk-in closet already half-filled with garment bags. “Mr. Kane’s rooms are at the opposite end of the floor. The kitchen is fully stocked. If you need anything, the house number is programmed into the phone by the bed.”

When he left, the quiet that remained was absolute.

Elena stood in the center of the living room for a long time, turning slowly, trying to memorize the shape of the place that would be hers for the next ninety days. She walked to the windows and pressed her fingertips lightly to the glass. Far below, the city moved on without her.

She unpacked the small suitcase she had brought—jeans, two sweaters, the blazer she was wearing, toiletries, and the photograph of Sofia she kept on every nightstand. She set the photograph on the dresser and sat on the edge of the large bed. The mattress was firmer than the one at home.

At six-fifteen the private elevator chimed. Elena stepped into the hallway as Alexander walked in, jacket already off, sleeves rolled once. He paused when he saw her.

“You’ve settled.”

“As much as I can.”

He nodded toward the open kitchen. “Have you eaten?”

“Not yet.”

“There’s food. Help yourself. I have calls until eight.”

He disappeared down the opposite hallway without another word. Elena remained where she was, listening to the distant sound of a door closing. The penthouse suddenly felt larger and quieter than before.

She made a simple plate of fruit and cheese from the refrigerator and ate standing at the counter, staring out at the darkening park. When she finished she washed the plate, dried it, and returned it to the exact cupboard she had taken it from. Small acts of order felt necessary.

At half past eight she heard footsteps again. Alexander emerged, the tension in his shoulders visible even from across the room. He stopped near the island, studying her for a moment.

“Tomorrow the stylist will bring options for the board dinner. Choose what you like. Charges go to the household account.”

“All right.”

He hesitated, as if there was more he intended to say, then simply nodded. “Good night, Miss Rivera.”

“Elena,” she said quietly.

He looked at her.

“If I’m going to live here and pretend to be yours in public, you can use my first name when we’re alone.”

A long pause stretched between them. Finally he inclined his head once.

“Elena.”

The way he said it made something shift low in her stomach—careful, deliberate, as if he were testing the weight of the word.

He turned and walked back toward his rooms. Elena waited until she heard the soft click of his door before she released the breath she had been holding.

She returned to the guest suite, closed her own door, and sat on the bed with her phone. The bank app confirmed the transfer. She opened a new message to Sofia and typed carefully.

*Tuition is handled. All of it. I’ll explain soon. I love you.*

She sent it, set the phone face down, and lay back against the pillows fully clothed. The ceiling above her was smooth and white and completely unfamiliar.

Somewhere on the other side of the penthouse, Alexander Kane was still awake. She could feel the knowledge of him like a second pulse in the quiet.

Three months. Separate rooms. Public smiles. A ring she had not yet been given.

Elena closed her eyes and tried to sleep, already certain that nothing about this arrangement would stay as simple as the contract claimed.