Chapter Four: Close Enough to Touch
Ava barely slept.
By morning, the mattress felt harder than concrete and the silence in the penthouse was suffocating. She got up, changed into the modest dress she'd packed, and tiptoed into the hallway.
She didn't expect to see him in the kitchen.
Dominic stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up, stirring a mug of black coffee. No suit, no tie—just a crisp white shirt and dark pants that made him look almost... human.
He looked up. "You're awake."
"I didn't think billionaires made their own coffee," she said before she could stop herself.
His lips quirked. Was that... a smile?
"I make a lot of things myself," he said, handing her a second mug. "Including mistakes."
Her fingers brushed his as she took it. Warm. Steady.
For a second, they just stood there.
"I didn't expect to feel so out of place," she admitted softly.
"You're not," he said. "You just haven't found your place yet."
The quiet crackled. Her heart skipped. Why did that sound like something a husband would say?
"You didn't strike me as someone who cared about comfort," she said.
"I don't," he replied. "But you do."
And for the first time, she saw something in Dominic's eyes that wasn't cold or cruel—it was concern.
Just a flicker. But enough to make her chest ache.
Then, just as quickly, he looked away. "You should get dressed. We're having dinner with my board tonight. You're coming—as my wife."
Wife.
The word hung between them like a challenge. Like a promise. Like a lie waiting to become the truth.