Pretend to be mine

Chapter Four: The First Morning

Elena woke to pale light filtering through unfamiliar curtains and the distant sound of a coffee machine. For a few seconds she did not remember where she was. Then the high ceiling, the soft weight of the duvet, and the complete absence of street noise brought everything back at once.

She sat up slowly. Her phone on the nightstand showed 7:12 a.m. A single new message from Sofia waited: *Call me when you can. Are you okay?*

Elena typed a short reply—*I’m fine. I’ll call tonight*—and set the phone down. She showered in the oversized bathroom, dressed in the jeans and sweater she had brought, and stepped into the main living area barefoot.

Alexander was already there, standing at the kitchen island with a black coffee mug in one hand and his phone in the other. He wore dark trousers and a white shirt open at the collar. The scar along his jaw looked sharper in the morning light. He glanced up when she appeared.

“You’re awake.”

“Hard not to be. The bed is very quiet.”

A faint crease appeared at the corner of his mouth and disappeared just as quickly. He nodded toward the counter. “Coffee. Food if you want it. The stylist will be here at ten with options for Thursday’s dinner. I’ll be in meetings until late afternoon.”

Elena poured herself a cup and leaned against the opposite side of the island. “Do I get a schedule, or am I expected to guess when you need me visible?”

He locked the phone and set it face down. “Marcus will send you a calendar each Sunday. Required events only. The rest of your time is your own, within the terms we signed.”

“And the ring?”

Alexander reached into his pocket and placed a small velvet box on the marble between them. He did not open it. “Try it on. If the size is wrong, the jeweler will adjust it today.”

Elena hesitated, then lifted the lid. The ring inside was simple—platinum band, single oval diamond that caught the light without shouting. She slipped it onto her left hand. It fit as if it had been measured for her.

“How did you know the size?”

“I didn’t. I had three brought over. That one looked right.”

She turned her hand, watching the stone flash. The weight of it felt heavier than it should have. “People will ask how we met.”

“We met at a restaurant. I asked you to dinner. Things moved quickly. Keep the details vague and consistent. Marcus will give you a short summary of my background so you don’t contradict anything public.”

Elena closed the box and left the ring on her finger. “And if your grandmother asks something more personal?”

“Then you look at me and let me answer.” His voice stayed even, but something in his posture tightened. “She doesn’t have long. I won’t have her worried in the time she has left.”

The quiet honesty of the statement landed harder than any of the contract language. Elena nodded once.

“All right.”

Alexander finished his coffee and set the mug in the sink. “I leave in ten minutes. The housekeeper comes on Tuesdays and Fridays. She already knows you’re here. If you need anything else, text Marcus.”

He started toward the hallway that led to the private elevator, then paused.

“Elena.”

She looked up.

“The ring stays on when you leave the building. Even for the restaurant this weekend. If someone recognizes you, the story holds better that way.”

“Understood.”

He held her gaze a moment longer, as if measuring whether she truly did, then turned and left. The soft chime of the elevator followed a minute later.

Elena stood alone in the vast quiet of the penthouse, the diamond cool against her skin. She walked to the windows and looked out over the park. Somewhere below, the city continued its ordinary morning. Up here everything already felt rearranged.

At ten o’clock the stylist arrived with two assistants and a rolling rack of garment bags. The woman introduced herself as Claire, efficient and pleasant without being warm. For the next two hours Elena tried on dresses, shoes, and evening jackets while Claire made notes on a tablet.

“The board dinner is formal but not black-tie,” Claire said, holding up a deep emerald sheath. “Mr. Kane prefers clean lines. This one will photograph well if there are any press outside.”

Elena turned in front of the mirror. The dress fit as if it had been made for her. She barely recognized the woman looking back.

“I’ll take it,” she said. “And the black one as backup.”

Claire nodded, already moving to the next option. By noon a small collection of clothing hung in the guest closet—enough for the next several public appearances, all of it far more expensive than anything Elena had ever owned. Claire left a pair of low heels and a small clutch on the dresser, along with a note that additional pieces would arrive as needed.

After the door closed, Elena changed back into her own clothes and stood for a long time in front of the mirror, the ring still on her finger. She practiced a neutral smile, then a warmer one. Neither felt natural yet.

Her phone buzzed. A calendar invitation from Marcus appeared: *Thursday 7:00 p.m. – Board Dinner, Kane Residence, Hamptons. Car departs 4:30 p.m. Briefing at 3:00 p.m. in the penthouse.*

Elena accepted the invitation and set the phone down.

Three days until she would stand beside Alexander Kane in front of his board and his grandmother and pretend the diamond on her hand meant something real. Three days to learn how to look at him as if she belonged at his side.

She walked back into the living room, the city glittering beyond the glass, and pressed her palm flat against the window. The ring clicked softly against the surface.

Whatever came next, she had already crossed the threshold. There was no quiet way back to the life she had left behind in Brooklyn.

Elena let her hand fall and turned away from the view. The afternoon stretched ahead of her, wide and silent and full of things she had not yet learned how to be.