"One rule," I say, setting the bottle down on the marble counter.
"Let me guess. Don't talk to the press?"
"If you are going to lie to me, Audrey, you need to be better at it."
She frowns, clearly caught off guard. "What?"
"Last night, you told me you were fine. You weren't. Today, you told me you were relaxed. You aren't." I hold her gaze, refusing to let her look away. "This arrangement only works if we operate with absolute transparency behind closed doors. You can lie to Simon. You can lie to my father. You can lie to the media. But in this apartment, you do not lie to me."
Her jaw clenches. She presses the thumb of her right hand against the side of her index finger—the physical tell I’ve seen in the photos. She’s calculating. Trying to figure out if this is a threat or a boundary.
"Transparency," she repeats slowly.
"Complete."
"Fine." She drops her arms, lifting her chin. "Transparency. I think your apartment looks like a high-end morgue. I think your family is a nightmare. And I think that putting this ring on my finger is the most terrifying thing I have ever done."
She waits for me to react. She expects me to get angry, or to dismiss her fear.
Instead, a genuine, dark amusement settles in my chest.
"Good," I say quietly. "Fear keeps you sharp. Don't lose it."
I turn away from her, walking toward my home office. "Settle in. Unpack your bags. If you need food, there is a tablet on the kitchen counter linked to a delivery service. I have a conference call in ten minutes."
I don't wait for her to respond. I walk into the office and leave the door open just a crack.
I sit down at the heavy mahogany desk and open my laptop. The screen illuminates the dark wood, but I don't look at the financial reports waiting in my inbox.
I listen.
For a long minute, there is no sound from the living room. Then, I hear the soft, uneven squeak of her suitcase wheels rolling across the hardwood floor, heading down the hallway toward the guest bedroom.
I hear the door open. I hear it close.
And then, I hear the heavy, metallicthudof the deadbolt sliding into place.
I lean back in my leather chair, staring at the sliver of light coming through the crack in the office door.
She locked herself in. She is terrified of the space, terrified of the situation, and terrified of me.
I reach into my pocket, my fingers brushing against the empty velvet box.
I told her not to lie to me, but I am already lying to her. I told her this was a business arrangement. I told her the ring was just a tool to break Simon’s ego.
I close my eyes, the memory of her pulse beating frantically against my thumb still burning into my skin.
Transparency,I think, a bitter smile touching my lips.
If Audrey Jennings knew the truth—if she knew exactly what I was willing to burn down to keep her in this penthouse permanently—she wouldn't just lock the bedroom door.
She would jump out the window.
CHAPTER 5
AUDREY
The mattress is too soft.
