THE CEO’S 6-MONTH WIFE

CHAPTER 5: THE LOCKED DOOR

Victoria Hale’s smile was a blade.

Elana felt it in her spine as the car door slammed.

Adrian Cross didn’t speak. He yanked off his bowtie, poured whiskey, drank it like it could burn the memory out. Poured another.

Rain hit the tinted windows of the Cross Tower car. The city blurred into neon.

"The details aren't in the contract," Elana said. Her voice sounded small in the backseat. The $12,000 red dress felt like armor that didn’t fit.

Adrian’s jaw worked. "Don’t."

"Did she find something in Lily’s car? Is that why you married me? Because I"

"Elana." The word was a warning. Low. "Clause one."

No feelings. This is business only.

She shut her mouth. The sapphire on her left hand caught the streetlight and threw blue shards across her lap. Mrs. Cross.

The name felt borrowed.

The elevator to the 42nd floor was silent except for the hum. Adrian stared at the numbers like they’d betrayed him. 40. 41. 42.

The doors opened to cold.

The penthouse was all glass and marble. The entire city below, wet and glittering and indifferent. White furniture. No photos. No warmth.

"This is your wing," Adrian said. His voice was flat. Done. "Guest bedroom. Walk-in closet. Kitchen is down that hall."

He gestured once. Then he kept walking.

To the very end of the hall.

A black door. No handle on this side. Just a black keypad.

"This," he said, pausing with his back to her. "Is off limits."

Elana frowned. "Why?"

"Because I said so."

Green light. Click.

He disappeared inside and shut the door.

Red light.

Locked.

Elana stood there in heels she couldn’t feel. The house was too big. The silence was too loud.

At 12:14 AM she gave up on sleep.

The guest bed was bigger than her old apartment. The sheets were cold. Her mother’s hospital machines were still ringing in her ears.

Elana got up. Bare feet on marble.

Just water. That’s what she told herself.

But her feet took her down the hall. Past her room.

To the end.

The black door.

Up close she could see faint scratches around the keypad. Like fingernails. Like desperation.

Don’t go into the east wing.

Elana pressed her ear to the wood. Nothing.

She tried the keypad. 0000. Red.

1234. Red.

Her birthday. 0612. Red.

L-I-L-Y. Red.

She stepped back. Stupid.

Footsteps.

Adrian Cross stood at the other end of the hall.

Black shirt. Black pants. Bare feet. Hair a mess like he’d been pulling at it for hours. Eyes bloodshot. Whiskey on his breath from 20 feet away.

His gaze moved: Her. The door. Her hand still hovering by the keypad.

And for one second, his mask cracked.

Not anger.

Grief.

Five years of it. Carved into him. Raw and bleeding and too old to be new.

Elana’s throat closed. "I wasn’t going in. I just couldn’t sleep and"

"Stay out," Adrian said. Quiet. Final.

He walked past her. The smell of rain and whiskey and something broken.

He typed. Green light. Click.

The door opened.

Elana saw it before he stepped in and blocked her with his body.

Darkness.

The smell of lilies. Dried and dead.

Every wall covered in photos. A blonde girl laughing on a beach. Graduation. In this penthouse, younger, alive.

A glass case in the center. Sapphire earrings. A hospital bracelet.

A white wedding dress on a mannequin.

Lily Cross.

Then Adrian stepped inside and closed the door.

Click.

Red light.

Locked.

Elana stood in the hall, shaking. Her chest felt hollowed out.

That wasn’t a storage room.

That was a tomb.

She went back to the guest room and stared at the ceiling until the sky turned gray.

At 7 AM, Adrian was in the kitchen. Coffee. Black.

He looked worse than last night. Dark circles. Same black shirt.

He didn’t mention 12:14 AM. Didn’t mention the door.

He slid a paper across the island.

AMENDED CLAUSE 4: Employee, Elana Voss, will not enter the east wing under any circumstances. Violation results in immediate termination of contract.

"Sign," he said.

Elana stared at it. Then at him.

"Was that Lily’s room?"

Adrian’s cup stopped halfway to his mouth. "Sign."

Her hand shook. *Elana Cross.*

The name looked wrong on paper.

Adrian took it. "We have the press debut tonight. 6 PM. Cross Gala. Be ready."

He left the kitchen.

Elana stayed. Looking at the black door at the end of the hall.

A husband. A contract. 2 million dollars.

And a locked room that made Adrian Cross look like he was drowning.

The sapphire felt heavier.

Perfect fit.

Like it had been waiting years.

For someone else.

At 5:58 PM, Elana stood in front of the mirror.

The dress was red. Again. Slit to the thigh. Backless. Silk that felt like water and sin.

She looked like a stranger. Red lips. Hair in waves. Heels that made her 5’9.

She looked like the kind of woman Adrian Cross would be seen with.

She looked like she was pretending.

The car was waiting. Adrian was already inside.

Tuxedo. Bowtie loose. Whiskey in his hand at 6 PM.

He looked up when she got in. His eyes dragged over her. The dress. The bare back. The red mouth.

For half a second his mask slipped. Something hot. Something furious. Something that looked a lot like want.

Then it was gone.

"Clause one," he said, turning to the window.

"No feelings," Elana finished. "Got it."

The Cross Charity Gala was on the 50th floor.

Crystal chandeliers. String quartet. Champagne towers. Women in diamonds and men in watches that cost more than cars.

The moment the car stopped, cameras exploded.

"Mr. Cross! Who is she?"

"Is this about the Japanese merger?"

"Smile for us, Mr. Cross!"

Adrian got out first. Then he turned and offered Elana his hand.

She took it. His palm was warm. Possessive.

"My wife," Adrian said to the crowd. His voice cut through the noise. "Elana Cross."

Mrs. Cross.

Cameras ate it alive.

Inside was worse. The air was thick with perfume and money and gossip.

"That’s not Lily," a woman whispered behind a champagne flute.

"Lily’s been gone five years. Car accident."

Elana’s smile started to hurt.

"Champagne?" A waiter offered.

"No," Adrian said without looking. "She doesn’t drink."

"How do you know what I drink?" Elana asked quietly.

"I read the file." His hand was on the bare skin of her back. It burned. "Clause one. Know your asset."

"Is that what I am?"

Adrian didn’t answer.

Then Victoria Hale appeared. White dress. Blonde. Walking straight toward them like she owned the floor.

"Adrian," Victoria said. "I didn’t know you were bringing someone."

"Not someone," Adrian said. His hand tightened on Elana’s waist. "My wife."

Victoria’s gaze raked over Elana. The dress. The ring. The bare skin. "Voss." She smiled. "That ring. Interesting."

Adrian’s fingers dug into Elana’s hip until it bruised. "Victoria."

"What? It’s identical to Lily’s." Victoria’s eyes gleamed. "Weird coincidence."

The quartet started a waltz.

"Dance," Adrian said.

"I don’t know how"

"Then learn."

He pulled her to the floor. One hand on her bare back. The other holding hers.

They moved perfectly. Like they’d done it before. Like their bodies already knew.

"You’re shaking," Adrian murmured against her ear.

"I’m not Lily."

"I know."

"Then why are you holding me like this?"

Adrian stopped. "Clause one, Elana."

"Screw clause one."

His eyes flashed. "Don’t"

The music ended. Cameras flashed.

Victoria stepped forward, holding up her phone. On the screen: a photo.

The black door. Open.

Elana standing in front of it at 12:14 AM in bare feet and a robe.

Victoria smiled. Loud enough for 200 people to hear.

"Oh Adrian," she purred. "I think your new wife broke the rules on night one. She was in Lily’s room."

The entire gala went silent.