The Kane Capital private jet was everything I'd imagined and nothing I wanted.
White leather seats. Polished wood accents. A flight attendant who appeared with champagne before we'd reached cruising altitude. I sat stiffly in my seat, clutching the folder Margaret had given me, and tried not to think about the fact that I'd never been on an airplane before.
Well. Once. To Disney World when I was seven. That didn't count.
Declan sat across from me, laptop open, reading glasses perched on his nose. Reading glasses. The man who'd acquired my company, who'd proposed marriage like a business transaction, who'd screamed in the night about his mother abandoning him he wore reading glasses, and somehow that was the most human thing I'd seen yet.
"You're staring," he said without looking up.
"You're wearing glasses."
"I'm reading."
"I didn't know you needed them."
"Lots of things you don't know about me." He turned a page. "The glasses stay in the office and on the plane. Anywhere else would damage the image."
"The image."
"Cold, ruthless billionaire." His mouth curved. "Can't have the public knowing I'm actually forty-five and losing my eyesight."
"You're thirty-four."
"Details."
I laughed. A real laugh, surprised out of me. He looked up, and for a moment, something warm flickered in those grey eyes.
Then his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, and the warmth disappeared.
"Julian," he said. "My cousin. He's already heard about the marriage."
"How?"
"I don't know yet." He set the phone down. "But he'll be at the gala tomorrow. I need you prepared."
"I've been studying the folder."
"I know. But studying and facing are different." He removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes. "Julian is charming. People like him immediately. He'll smile at you, compliment you, make you feel like the most interesting person in the room. Don't believe it."
"What should I believe?"
"that everything he says has a purpose. Every question is a probe. Every kindness is a weapon." His eyes met mine. "He was the one who sent the woman who almost married me. She wasn't real. Neither was her love. It was all strategy."
I remembered the woman at the gala bathroom. I was his last arrangement. Run while you can.
"I won't let him hurt you."
Something shifted in his expression. Surprise, maybe. Or hope.
"You barely know me."
"I know you're terrible at asking for help. I know you work too much and sleep too little. I know you have nightmares about your mother and you hide behind that cold exterior because it's safer than letting anyone in." I held his gaze. "I know enough."
He was quiet for a long moment. Then: "You're dangerous, Olivia Chen."
"Mrs. Kane," I corrected. "At least for the next year."
"Mrs. Kane." He said it slowly, like he was tasting it. "I think I prefer Olivia."
"Because Mrs. Kane sounds like your mother?"
"Because Olivia sounds like you."
The flight attendant appeared before I could respond. Lunch was served. We ate in silence, but it was different now charged with something I couldn't name.
The New York penthouse was smaller than Chicago's but no less impressive.
Fifth Avenue. Central Park views. A doorman who called Declan by name. I stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows and watched the city sprawl below, a million lives happening without me.
"Your room is through there." Declan gestured without looking up from his phone. "Same arrangement as Chicago. Margaret stocked the closet."
I found my room again, perfect, impersonal, beautiful and changed for the first meeting.
Dinner with investors. Seven PM. The folder said they were nervous about the Calloway deal, about Declan's aggressive acquisition strategy, about the "unstable personal situation" of a sudden marriage.
I was the unstable personal situation.
I chose a navy dress from the closet conservative, professional, nothing that would draw attention. Heeled shoes that meant business. Hair pulled back. Minimal makeup.
When I walked into the living room, Declan looked up and went still.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing." But his eyes lingered. "You look... appropriate."
"High praise."
"It is, actually. From me." He offered his arm. "Ready?"
I took it. His muscles tensed under my fingers. "Ready."
The restaurant was the kind of place where the menu didn't have prices.
Private room in the back. Six men in expensive suits. Their eyes landed on me immediately assessment, curiosity, judgment.
"Gentlemen." Declan's voice was smooth, controlled. "My wife, Olivia."
Wife. The word still felt foreign.
I smiled, shook hands, remembered names from the folder. Harris liked golf. Chen was worried about his daughter's tuition. Morrison had a tell he touched his watch when he was nervous.
Dinner lasted three hours. I answered questions carefully, deflected gracefully, made Declan look like a man who'd found stability instead of a man who'd bought a wife.
In the car afterward, he was quiet.
"Did I do okay?" I asked.
"You did better than okay." He looked at me. "Morrison's tell. You caught that."
"Everyone catches that."
"No. Everyone doesn't." He leaned back. "You're good at this. Better than I expected."
"I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an admission that your expectations were low."
"Both." Almost a smile. "Definitely both."
The gala was the next night.
A ballroom on the Upper East Side. Crystal chandeliers again. Orchestras this time live. Women in gowns that cost more than my education. Men in tuxedos that probably cost the same.
I wore red. Declan had chosen it's a gown that Margaret produced from somewhere, that fit like it was made for me, that made me feel like someone else entirely.
"You look..." He stopped when I walked out.
"I look what?"
"Dangerous." His eyes moved over me. "In the best way."
He offered his arm. I took it.
The cameras started flashing before we reached the door.
Declan leaned close, his mouth near my ear. "Smile. Look happy. Don't answer questions."
"I remember."
"Good. And Olivia"
"Yes?"
"If Julian approaches, stay close to me."
I nodded.
We walked into the light.
Julian found us within the first hour.
He was exactly as Declan described: charming, handsome, warm in a way that made you want to trust him. His smile reached his eyes. His handshake was firm but not aggressive. He looked at me like I was the only person in the room.
"Cousin." He clasped Declan's shoulder. "And this must be the famous Olivia."
"Julian." Declan's voice was ice.
"I've heard so much about you." Julian took my hand, held it too long. "Declan's sudden marriage has been the talk of the family. We're all dying to know the story."
"The story," I said, smiling, "is that we met at a gala and he couldn't stop thinking about me."
"Is that so?" Julian's eyes flickered to Declan. "My cousin isn't known for thinking about people."
"He thinks about me." I squeezed Declan's arm. "Quite a lot, actually."
Julian laughed. It sounded genuine. It probably wasn't.
" Well played." He released my hand. "We'll talk more later. I want to hear everything."
He disappeared into the crowd.
Declan's jaw was tight. "He's circling."
"I noticed."
"He'll try to separate us. Find out if this is real."
"Then we make sure he can't."
Declan looked at me. "How?"
I rose on my toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Stayed close. Whispered in his ear: "We look like we can't keep our hands off each other."
His breath caught.
"That's"
"Strategy." I pulled back, smiled. "Unless you're uncomfortable."
"Uncomfortable isn't the word I'd use."
"Good. Then let's give them a show."
For the next three hours, we performed.
His hand on my lower back. My fingers linked through his. Stolen glances across the room. The kind of intimacy that looked real because it almost felt real.
At one point, he pulled me onto the dance floor. Slow song. Close quarters.
"You're good at this," he murmured.
"You're not terrible yourself."
"I'm not dancing. I'm surviving."
"Same thing."
His hand tightened on my waist. "Julian's watching."
"I know."
"He looks frustrated."
"Good."
We turned, and I caught Julian's eye over Declan's shoulder. He smiled. I smiled back. Neither of us meant it.
"You're enjoying this," Declan said.
"I'm enjoying winning."
"Careful. He doesn't lose gracefully."
"Neither do I."
He looked at me then, really looked. The music faded. The crowd disappeared. For one moment, it was just us.
"Olivia." His voice was different. Softer.
"Yes?"
"I...."
A flash exploded. Photographer. Declan stepped back, the moment broken.
"We should mingle."
"Yes." I smoothed my dress. "Of course."
But I felt it all night. The echo of whatever he'd almost said. The weight of it, pressing against my ribs
We left at midnight. In the car, we sat on opposite sides again, but the distance felt different now. Smaller. Like we were both pretending it existed.
"Julian didn't get what he wanted," Declan said.
"No."
"He'll try again."
"I know."
Silence. Then: "Thank you. For tonight. You didn't have to "
"I know." I looked at him. "But I meant what I said. I won't let him hurt you."
His eyes held mine. In the dark of the car, they looked almost black.
"You barely know me."
"I know enough."
He reached across the space between us. Slowly. Giving me time to pull away. I didn't. His fingers brushed my cheek.
"Olivia."
"Yes?"
"I think I...,,,,"
The car stopped. The penthouse. The moment shattered.
"We're here," the driver said.
Declan pulled his hand back. "Thank you, Raymond."
We walked inside in silence. At my door, I paused.
"Goodnight, Declan."
"Goodnight." He didn't move.
I opened my mouth to say something I don't know what. Something true. Something real.
Instead, I closed the door and leaned against it, my heart pounding.
Nothing had happened.
Everything had happened.
And I had no idea what came next.