Isabella woke to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar windows and, for one blissful second, forgot where she was.
Then reality crashed down on her like ice water.
The penthouse. The wedding. The contract.
She was Mrs. Black now.
She was married.
Isabella sat up slowly, her eyes burning from crying herself to sleep. The clock on the nightstand read 5:47 AM—earlier than she usually woke, but her body refused to rest in this strange bed, in this cold home, in this life that felt like someone else's nightmare.
She could hear movement somewhere in the penthouse. Water running. Footsteps.
Liam was awake.
Isabella's stomach twisted. What was she supposed to do? They were married now—legally, officially—but he'd made it clear they weren't really husband and wife. So what was the protocol? Did she make breakfast? Did she stay in her room? Did she pretend yesterday never happened?
The contract hadn't covered this part.
She got up, showered quickly, and dressed in one of her usual work outfits—a tailored navy dress, modest and professional. She stared at herself in the mirror, looking for some sign that she was different now, that yesterday had changed something fundamental.
But she looked exactly the same.
Just Isabella. Just the secretary.
Just a woman pretending to be a wife.
Taking a deep breath, she opened her bedroom door and stepped into the hallway.
The penthouse was silent except for the quiet tapping of keyboard keys. Isabella followed the sound to the kitchen and stopped in the doorway, her breath catching.
Liam sat at the marble kitchen island, dressed in a crisp white shirt and black slacks, his tie already perfectly knotted, his hair damp from a shower. His laptop was open in front of him, his expression focused and cold as he typed rapidly.
He looked perfect. Untouchable. Exactly like he did every morning at the office.
Like nothing had changed at all.
Isabella stood there for a long moment, unsure. Should she say good morning? Should she ask if he wanted coffee? Should she acknowledge that twenty-four hours ago, they'd stood in a courthouse and promised to be husband and wife?
Liam didn't look up. Didn't acknowledge her presence. Just kept typing, his jaw tight, his shoulders tense.
The silence stretched, suffocating and awkward.
Finally, Isabella cleared her throat. "Good morning."
Liam's fingers paused on the keyboard for half a second, then resumed. "Morning."
One word. Flat. Distant. The same tone he'd use with a stranger in an elevator.
Isabella walked to the kitchen, hyper-aware of every sound she made. She opened cabinets, searching for coffee, feeling like an intruder in what was supposed to be her own home now.
"Third cabinet from the left," Liam said without looking up. "Coffee maker is built into the wall panel next to the refrigerator."
"Thank you," Isabella whispered.
She found the coffee—expensive, imported, the kind that cost more per pound than her old rent—and started the machine. The sound of it brewing filled the painful silence.
Isabella made herself a cup, the warm ceramic a small comfort in her shaking hands. She stood there awkwardly, unsure whether to sit down or go back to her room or just disappear entirely.
"There's yogurt and fruit in the refrigerator if you want breakfast," Liam said, still not looking at her. "The chef comes three times a week to stock everything. She'll adjust to your preferences if you tell her."
A chef. Of course he had a chef.
"I'm not very hungry," Isabella admitted.
"Suit yourself."
More silence. More typing. More of Liam treating her like furniture.
Isabella finally gathered her courage and sat at the far end of the island, keeping maximum distance between them. She wrapped both hands around her coffee mug and stared into it, searching for something to say.
"How was your dinner last night?" The words came out before she could stop them.
Liam's hands stilled. For the first time that morning, he looked up, his gray eyes sharp and cold.
"Business dinner," he said flatly. "Why?"
Because I saw you with her, Isabella wanted to scream. Because you spent our wedding night with another woman. Because I waited for you like an idiot, wondering if you'd check on me, if you'd say something, if you'd acknowledge what we did yesterday.
"Just curious," she said instead, her voice carefully neutral.
Liam studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he returned to his laptop. "My business dealings are none of your concern unless they directly affect your work."
The dismissal stung like a slap.
Isabella took a sip of coffee, forcing herself to swallow past the lump in her throat. This was the deal. This was what she'd agreed to. Professional distance. No emotional involvement. Just two years of pretending.
But knowing the deal and living it were two completely different things.
"We'll leave for the office at six-thirty," Liam continued, his tone back to business. "Marcus is bringing the car around. We'll arrive separately—I'll drop you two blocks away so no one sees us together."
"Of course," Isabella said quietly.
"At work, nothing changes. You're my secretary. I'm your boss. The same rules apply as they always have."
"I understand."
"No lingering in my office. No personal conversations. No deviation from our normal routine."
"I said I understand," Isabella repeated, a hint of frustration creeping into her voice.
Liam's eyes flashed to hers, sharp and warning. "Do you? Because this is critical, Ms. Hart. One mistake, one slip, one moment of familiarity that makes anyone suspicious, and everything falls apart. The board will investigate. They'll discover the marriage. They'll claim it's fraud to satisfy the will clause."
He closed his laptop with more force than necessary.
"And if that happens, I lose everything. The company, the inheritance, my reputation. And you—" His voice dropped, dangerous and cold. "—you get nothing. No payment. No medical coverage for your mother. Nothing but a scandal that will destroy any chance of you working in this city again."
Isabella's hands tightened around her mug. "I'm not going to make a mistake."
"See that you don't." Liam stood, grabbing his laptop and phone. "I'm going to finish getting ready. Be at the door in twenty minutes."
He walked past her without another word, his shoulder nearly brushing hers but not quite, like even accidental contact was too much to risk.
Isabella sat alone in the massive kitchen, in the home she was supposed to share with her husband, drinking coffee that tasted like ashes.
This was her life now.
Cold mornings. Colder conversations. A husband who couldn't even look at her.
She thought about her mother, probably just waking up in her small apartment, preparing for another round of treatment. Thought about the medical bills that would be paid, the security that would come, the future that was possible now because of this sacrifice.
It's worth it, she told herself. It has to be worth it.
But sitting there in that beautiful, empty kitchen, Isabella had never felt more alone.
Twenty minutes later, Isabella stood by the penthouse door, her work bag in hand, her professional mask firmly in place.
Liam emerged from his bedroom wearing a full suit now, his tie pin glinting under the lights, every inch the powerful CEO. He grabbed his briefcase and coat without acknowledging her, then headed for the door.
Isabella followed silently.
They rode the elevator down in complete silence. Sixty-two floors of excruciating quiet. Isabella stared at the numbers counting down, hyper-aware of Liam standing two feet away, so close she could smell his cologne, so distant he might as well be on another planet.
The elevator chimed. The doors opened.
Marcus waited by the car, professional and silent. He opened the back door, and Liam slid in. Isabella moved to follow, but Liam's voice stopped her.
"Front seat."
Isabella's cheeks burned as she redirected to the passenger side. Of course. The secretary sits in front. The boss sits in back. That was the rule.
That was the role.
The drive through the city was torture. Isabella stared out the window, watching the streets wake up, while Liam worked on his phone in the back, making calls and sending emails as if she didn't exist.
Two blocks from Blackwood Global, the car pulled over.
"Here," Liam said curtly.
Isabella reached for the door handle, but Liam's hand shot out, gripping her wrist. Not hard, but firm enough to stop her.
She turned, startled, and found herself looking directly into those cold gray eyes.
"Remember," Liam said, his voice low and final, each word sharp as a blade. "At work, you are nothing but my secretary. One hint of familiarity, one look, one word that makes anyone suspect there's anything between us—" His grip tightened just slightly. "—and you're both fired and divorced with nothing."
Isabella's breath stopped. The threat hung in the air between them, heavy and absolute.
"The contract can be voided for breach of terms," Liam continued, his voice dropping to something almost dangerous. "And make no mistake, Ms. Hart—I will not lose my company because you couldn't maintain professional distance. If I have to choose between this arrangement and everything I've built, I'll choose my company. Every time."
He released her wrist, and Isabella pulled back like she'd been burned.
"Do we understand each other?" Liam asked, his expression carved from ice.
Isabella's hand trembled as she reached for the door handle. "Perfectly, Mr. Black."
She got out of the car, her legs shaking, her heart pounding.
The door closed. The car drove away, leaving her standing on the sidewalk two blocks from work, fighting back tears she refused to shed.
She'd been married for less than twenty-four hours.
And her husband had just threatened to destroy her.