The gown weighed heavily on Catalina's body, not from the silk and beads but from everything it represented. She sat on the edge of a plush velvet chaise in Alexander Moretti's penthouse, the city skyline sprawled out behind her through the glass walls. The twinkling lights of skyscrapers mocked her—the freedom they symbolized felt just as unreachable as before.
The room was silent, save for the hum of the air conditioning and the occasional rustle of fabric as she shifted. The dress, still pristine despite her daring escape, clung to her like a ghost from her past. Her hands clenched the delicate folds of her skirt, knuckles white.
She wasn't sure what surprised her more—the fact that she had run or that Alexander had let her stay.
She glanced at the closed door of the suite. Behind it, he was likely making arrangements. Or maybe regretting ever opening the door to a runaway bride.
The memory of his voice replayed in her head. Cold, controlled, but not unkind. "You want safety. I want convenience. A deal benefits us both."
A fake marriage to the city's most ruthless CEO.
Catalina swallowed hard. What the hell had she gotten herself into?
When Alexander returned, he didn't knock.
He never knocked.
He entered like he owned the world—which, in many ways, he did. Wearing a tailored black suit, shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled to his forearms, he looked like power and danger made flesh.
She sat straighter.
He studied her for a moment, gaze sharp. "The dress needs to go."
Her eyes widened. "Excuse me?"
He arched a brow, voice as cool as ever. "You can't walk around looking like you've escaped a wedding. I've had clothes brought up. You'll find them in the closet. Change. Then we talk."
And just like that, he turned and walked away.
She blinked.
The nerve of him.
But the logic was undeniable.
Minutes later, Catalina stood in front of the walk-in closet, jaw dropping. The space was bigger than her childhood bedroom. Racks of designer clothes lined the walls—none of them hers, all clearly selected by Alexander's staff.
She chose a simple outfit: a cashmere sweater, jeans, and flats. The fabric felt luxurious against her skin, a sharp contrast to the tight bodice of her discarded gown. She carefully folded the dress and placed it in a garment bag she found nearby. A small part of her whispered to keep it—proof of her rebellion.
When she stepped out, Alexander was at the kitchen island, pouring a drink.
He looked up. Paused.
Their eyes met, and something shifted.
Gone was the runaway bride.
In her place stood a woman who had chosen to leave.
He handed her a glass of water. "Sit."
She obeyed, taking the stool opposite him.
He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "Tell me exactly what you're running from."
Her throat tightened.
Memories rushed in. The cold touch of Mateo's hand on her back as he guided her toward the altar. The way his mother had smiled—tight-lipped, satisfied. The subtle threats. The isolation. The lies.
"My fiancé," she whispered. "Mateo Delgado."
Recognition flickered in Alexander's eyes. "Delgado Industries?"
She nodded. "It wasn't love. It was an arrangement. A transaction. I was supposed to smile and obey."
"And you didn't."
She met his gaze. "No."
A moment of silence stretched between them.
Then, he set down his glass. "Here's how this will work. We'll announce our engagement next week. You'll stay here. In public, we're a couple. Behind closed doors, we're business partners. No intimacy. No expectations."
Her heart fluttered despite the cold tone.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked.
His jaw tightened. "I need a fiancée for reasons of my own. This helps both of us. Once you're safe, we dissolve the agreement."
She swallowed. "And if Mateo comes looking?"
"He won't dare touch what's mine."
His words sent a shiver down her spine. Possessive. Final.
And yet, a part of her felt…safe.
The next morning, the media exploded.
BREAKING: Alexander Moretti Engaged to Mystery Woman
Runaway Bride Becomes CEO's Fiancée?
Photos of them walking out of the building—her hand tucked into his arm—were splashed across gossip sites. The comments ranged from admiration to suspicion.
Catalina scrolled through the headlines, heart thudding.
She was in too deep.
Too late to turn back.
By day three, Catalina had memorized the rules of their arrangement.
No public affection unless necessary.
No questions about the past.
No real intimacy.
Always smile when the cameras are watching.
Simple. Clean. Controlled.
Just like Alexander.
But rules have a way of bending when emotions start to bleed through cracks.
It began with the little things—how he brewed an extra cup of coffee for her in the mornings. How he checked the locks twice at night. How his hand brushed hers when no one was watching.
And how, despite his icy exterior, he listened when she spoke.
Real listening.
On the fifth night, she found him in the study, bathed in warm lamplight, reading a file.
"Why me?" she asked softly from the doorway.
He didn't look up. "You needed help. I offered it."
"That's not the whole truth."
Silence.
Then, he said, "You reminded me of someone."
Her chest tightened. "Someone you lost?"
He finally looked up. The shadows under his eyes made him look less like a CEO and more like a man who hadn't slept in years.
"Yes."
She walked in, sat across from him. "I won't ask who. But… thank you. For everything."
His gaze locked with hers. "Don't thank me yet."
Catalina began to learn the rhythm of his world—scheduled meetings, guarded expressions, whispered threats that never quite reached the surface. The city feared Alexander Moretti.
But when they were alone, she caught glimpses of something softer.
A man broken, yet functioning.
A man who kept everyone at arm's length but hadn't pushed her away.
Not yet.
The danger came on a Wednesday.
They were having dinner—quiet, routine—when his phone buzzed.
He answered. Froze.
His eyes snapped to her.
"They found you."
Her fork clattered to the plate.
"Mateo?"
He stood, already issuing orders. "Pack a bag. We leave now."
Fear surged.
"But where—?"
"My private estate. Off the grid."
She rose shakily. "Is it safe?"
His gaze hardened. "Safer than here."
As he turned to make more calls, she whispered, "Will you be there with me?"
He paused.
"I won't leave you alone."
The car ride was tense.
Silence filled the space between them, but her fingers curled around his, unspoken trust settling in.
She didn't know what tomorrow held. Whether Mateo would truly back off. Whether this arrangement would survive the storm.
But tonight, with the city lights fading behind them and Alexander by her side, Catalina felt something she hadn't in years.
Hope.
Not because the danger was gone.
But because—for once—she wasn't facing it alone.