Page 10 of Her Possessive Dominant Fake Husband

He leaned against the glass door, as if waiting for me to continue. I wondered if he knew how intensely he could look at someone, how those blue eyes seemed to reach inside and search for things I wasn’t sure I wanted to reveal.

"I didn’t mean to put you in a difficult position," he said, his voice was lower and almost apologetic.

"You didn’t," I said quickly. "I mean, I’m the one who—"

I paused, words tumbling around like unpinned grenades in my mind. I’m the one who doesn’t belong. I’m the one who’s way over her head.

Alexander tilted his head, his curiosity more than I could bear.

"It was intense," I said, my words unsure but gaining strength as I spoke. "But I can handle it." I surprised myself with the confidence in my voice. The Claire who lived in fear of being not enough had been quieter lately, leaving room for this bolder, braver version.

"I know you can," he said. It was almost like a compliment, though from Alexander it was hard to tell. His approval was a slippery thing, difficult to hold onto, and I found myself wanting more of it.

We fell into silence, the city buzzing beneath us. Alexander’s gaze drifted toward the horizon, as unreadable and cold as ever. I felt a pull to understand him, to break through the façade he wore so well. But it was like chipping away at marble with a plastic spoon.

"Also, the man that day who mentioned Allison and James," he said, "It won’t happen again."

I blinked, startled by his directness. "It’s none of my busine—"

"Claire," he said, turning his full attention back to me. "I’m not in the habit of lying. You handle yourself well today. Especially with the curveballs thrown at you."

A rush of warmth spread through me. His words seemed honest, without ulterior motives or hidden traps. I wanted to soak in this version of Alexander, but shadows of doubt crept in, reminders of how fleeting it could all be.

"It’s not the first time I’ve been in a difficult situation," I said. My thoughts rewound to my last job, the humiliation and fear crashing over me like a relentless tide. The worst of it was done; I could talk about it now without wanting to curl into a ball.

His expression shifted, subtly at first, but enough for me to notice. A flicker of something—was it anger? concern? —passed through his eyes.

"My last boss," I continued, uncertain. "He didn’t exactly take no for an answer. Gave me a choice…" I swallowed hard. "Himor walk."

There was no mistaking the hardness in Alexander’s features now. I stumbled over my words, regretting my openness, convinced I’d caused a problem in this small, fragile connection between us.

"He didn’t fire me, outright," I said, trying to fill the space. "Not until he was sure I wasn’t going to... never mind. I don’t know why I’m telling you this."

His silence unnerved me. I felt stripped bare, and the chill of exposure seeped into my bones. He looked out over the city, and I wondered if he was even listening.

Then, without warning, he turned back to me, his expression unreadable. "Are you worried about the same thing with me?"

The question hit like a physical blow. I hadn’t let myself go that far in my thoughts. I hadn’t dared. I opened my mouth to respond, but my brain and tongue weren’t cooperating.

"I—" I said, remembering that the contract protected me from that but unable to articulate those thoughts.

The harsh ring of my phone interrupted the tension, an unwelcome call back to the reality I’d tried to escape. I fumbled for it, grateful for the distraction but frustrated by the timing.

It was Jen. Of course, it was. Her name flashed on the screen like the woman in real life, refusing to be ignored. I couldn’t not take the call.

Alexander watched me, his jaw set, his eyes demanding answers to a question we’d already discussed. Well, he’d discussed it, and I’d signed my name. I turned away, mumbling an apology as I answered.

"Claire! You said you’d send it yesterday," Jen’s voice pierced through my skull like a lobotomy pick. "I need the money now."

I heard the words, but my focus was on Alexander, the way he stared, the way he didn’t bother hiding his irritation. Somehow, though, I suspected he was annoyed with Jen, not me. I made excuses to Jen, promising to send it immediately. It was always immediately with her, as if she thought I had nothing else to do.

"I’m sorry," I said again, feeling the sting of Alexander's disapproval like a slap. "I have to—"

"Go ahead." He cut me off, his tone flat. "Don’t be late."

His words circled back to the beginning of our day, full of expectation and pressure. I wondered how I was supposed to balance it all—this marriage, my family, and whatever this was between us.

Chapter Four

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