Page 7 of Her Possessive Dominant Fake Husband

I nodded.

"And you’re…" she gestured at me as if she’d never seen a shirtless man before, "like that."

I almost smiled.

She was clearly more innocent than I’d anticipated, and that was another monkey wrench in this plan of mine.

She slipped under the covers as far away from me as she could physically be and still be in the bed. Her movements were cautious as if she was testing the boundaries of both the bed and our unspoken agreement.

"Your reaction when I kissed you," I said, seeing things fall into place, all the odd moments of the night, her actions and reactions…

She froze, and in that stillness, I saw everything I needed to confirm my suspicions. Claire Dawn – no, Claire Reed - untouched and pure, with no defenses for the war she’d just signed up for.

"You've never been kissed like that before, have you?" I pushed, watching the color rise to her cheeks, a tidal wave of honesty she couldn't hide.

Her silence said more than words ever could. I felt an unexpected success at her silence, but it was tinged with something deeper, a curiosity that bordered on fascination.Claire was unlike anyone I'd let into my world, and the realization was as unsettling as it was intriguing.

"This arrangement might be more interesting than I anticipated," I said, each word a promise I hadn't meant to make. I turned off the light, leaving us in darkness.

"Sleep well, wife," I added, listening for the hitch in her breath, the confirmation that my words unsettled her as much as she was starting to unnerve me.

I lay there, more awake than I'd been in years, wondering if I'd made the biggest mistake of my life—or if Claire Reed wasexactlywhat I needed her to be.

Chapter Three

Claire

I woke in a tangle of Egyptian cotton, the soft sheets probably feeling insulted by my ancient pajamas I’d brought from home.

Disoriented, I fought through the remnants of a strange dream: Alexander in a crisp white suit, taunting me with his polished watch, sneering “late” while he walked ahead of me, too fast for me to catch up. Even in dreams, he made me feel like I couldn't keep up.

The real-life Alexander had already vanished, leaving behind only a note in his sharp, direct script:Join me for lunch. Don’t be late.

The enormity of the penthouse swallowed me whole. It was as if I'd stepped into a modern art museum where the exhibits were designer furniture pieces and endless walls of glass. The air felt too crisp, too clean, without a trace of the warm, messy life I was used to. Sterile. It felt sterile. Each step I took echoed in the vast emptiness, reminding me how small and out of place I was here.

My heart pounded with a mix of excitement and anxiety. Everything seemed too beautiful, too perfect, like a world thatwould never accept me. I couldn't decide if I was Cinderella at the ball or an unwelcome intruder in Alexander's flawless life.

The cold design echoed the man exactly, every sharp corner and monochrome wall a callback to the man himself. I wanted to curl back into the softness of the bed and hide.

Instead, I braved the open space, touching the back of the smooth leather couch as if it might shock me. Even the kitchen gleamed like it had never been touched by something as humble as a spatula. My mind kept slipping to thoughts of my mother’s cramped house, Jen’s demands, and the crushing bills that had pushed me to this decision. As much as I wanted to be resentful, I knew I had no choice.

A wave of determination surged through me. This was temporary. I could survive this for Mom, for Michael, even for spoiled Jen. Alexander's brusque note crumpled in my hand, and I smoothed it out with a sigh.Don’t be late.Even on paper, he was commanding, arrogant. I wondered if he ever considered that I might have plans.

Of course, I didn’t have plans, but he didn’t know that.

Curiosity won over intimidation, and I explored the place that would be my home for the next year. I found the closet—or rather, the room pretending to be a closet. His clothes were lined up like soldiers on parade, each suit exuding power and money. I fingered the sleeve of one jacket, feeling the soft richness of the fabric and feeling just as poor and ridiculous as the old pajamas I wore.

What would he think when he saw the dress I planned to wear for lunch? The tag proved it was designer, but I'd found it in the clearance bin and clutched it like a prized possession. I knew Alexander's crowd wouldn’t be fooled, yet I had nothing else to wear. I almost laughed at the image of me next to him,his polished, magazine-ready wife with the spirit of a bargain hunter.

In his home office, I opened and flipped through pages of a notebook, not reading his tight, neat writing, but watching the full pages fly by. Until something else popped out – a photo. I know I shouldn’t look, but I need to know.

I pulled it out, and there she was—Allison. Her blonde hair shimmered, and her eyes seemed to mock me from the photo. Alexander stood next to her, his hand on her back, the cold perfection of his face tense.

Confusion filled me. Why did he have a picture of her and him tucked away like this like some kind of secret? She was dating his brother, so what was the story behind this?

My mind circled the questions like a dog chasing its tail. The picture felt like a warning, a small piece of honesty in a house of deception. I shoved it back between the pages, slamming it shut as if that could contain my emotions.

The note crinkled under my grip, the edges pressing into my palm like tiny knives, Alexander's command pulling me from my own spiraling thoughts. There was no time to let doubt settle in. I was going to lunch, and I would hold my head high, even if it killed me.

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