Chapter Three: One Bed, Two Strangers
Ava followed Dominic into the penthouse like a guest—not a wife.
The space was cold, modern, too clean. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a glittering skyline. Everything screamed wealth… and distance.
She trailed behind him, clutching the strap of her bag. "So... where do I sleep?"
Dominic turned his head slightly. "The guest room is down the hall."
Of course. A marriage of convenience didn't come with shared beds.
But when she walked into the "guest room," she froze.
It was a library.
A beautiful one—with mahogany shelves, antique lighting, and not a single bed.
"No one stays here," Dominic said from behind her. "The guest room was being remodeled. I had the mattress moved in here this morning."
A mattress lay on the floor, still in plastic.
Her cheeks flamed. "You're serious?"
"You signed up for one year, not comfort." His voice was quiet, unreadable.
She wanted to scream. But her mother needed the surgery. Her debts weren't going anywhere. She was trapped—by her own choice.
"Right," she muttered. "Thanks for the mattress."
He turned to leave, then paused. "Ava."
She looked up.
"Don't confuse this for something it's not."
Her heart dropped.
"I won't," she whispered.
He walked away, and the door clicked shut behind him.
Alone in a stranger's mansion, married to a man who made her feel invisible, Ava lay on the mattress and stared at the ceiling.
And for the first time, s
he wondered:
What have I gotten myself into?