CLAIRE'S POV
The Carter mansion looked different somehow. Bigger. Colder. Or maybe I was the one who had changed during my week away. I stood in the grand foyer, my small suitcase beside me, wondering if I still belonged here.
"Welcome home, Mrs. Carter," Jenkins, the butler, said with a warm smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Mr. Carter is in his study. He asked not to be disturbed."
Of course he did. Three days in the hospital, another four recovering at my apartment, and not once had Ethan visited. Just flowers with a card that said "Get well soon" in what was clearly his secretary's handwriting.
"Thank you, Jenkins. I'll get settled in."
I headed upstairs to the room I'd been using since our arrangement began—not Ethan's room, but a guest suite at the opposite end of the hallway. My prison and sanctuary all at once.
The bed was made with fresh linens, and someone had placed a vase of white lilies on the nightstand. I touched a petal, wondering if Ethan had chosen them or if it was just the housekeeper being thoughtful.
My phone buzzed. Emily.
*Did you make it? Do I need to come rescue you yet?*
I smiled despite myself.
*I'm fine. He's working. No dramatic reunion.*
*His loss. Call me if you need anything. I mean it.*
I unpacked slowly, my body still weaker than I liked to admit. The doctor had warned me about pushing myself too hard again, but what choice did I have? This marriage might be fake, but my job was real—and I needed it.
A knock at the door made me jump.
"Come in," I called, expecting Jenkins.
Instead, Ethan stood in the doorway. His gray eyes were unreadable, his face a perfect mask. He wore a simple navy suit that probably cost more than my monthly salary.
"You're back," he said.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Clearly."
His jaw tightened at my tone. "How are you feeling?"
"Better." I folded a sweater with careful precision. "The doctor says I can return to work on Monday."
"That won't be necessary."
My head snapped up. "What?"
"I've hired a temporary assistant." He stepped into the room, hands in his pockets. "You need more time to recover."
"I don't need—"
"It wasn't a suggestion, Claire."
I bit my lip to keep from saying something I'd regret. "Fine. Then what am I supposed to do all day? Stare at the walls?"
Something flickered across his face—guilt, maybe?
"We have an event this weekend," he said. "The Sullivan Foundation Gala. As my wife, you're expected to attend."
"Right. Your wife." The word tasted bitter. "Will I need to prepare anything special? A speech about how madly in love we are, perhaps?"
Ethan frowned. "That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" I met his gaze directly. "I did everything you asked, Ethan. I played my part perfectly. And then when I needed you—"
"I sent the flowers," he interrupted, looking uncomfortable.
"Wow. Flowers. How thoughtful." I turned away, blinking back unexpected tears. "Your secretary picked a lovely arrangement."
A heavy silence fell between us. I could feel him watching me, but I refused to look back.
Finally, he sighed. "There will be a dress delivered tomorrow. The car will be ready at seven on Saturday." He paused at the door. "And Claire? I'm... glad you're feeling better."
Then he was gone, leaving me with the ghost of words that almost sounded like he cared.
The next morning, I ventured downstairs for breakfast, determined to at least try to eat something. The dining room was empty except for one person—Matthew Carter.
"Good morning, Claire," he said without looking up from his newspaper. "Coffee?"
"Yes, please." I sat across from him, suddenly nervous. I'd met Ethan's father several times but never shared a meal alone with him.
"How are you recovering?" he asked as a maid poured my coffee.
"Well enough, thank you."
Matthew folded his newspaper and studied me with eyes identical to Ethan's. "My son was quite... distracted during your absence."
I nearly choked on my coffee. "Was he?"
"Mmm." Matthew buttered his toast methodically. "Ethan has always been focused. Single-minded. It's what makes him an excellent CEO."
"I know," I said, wondering where this was going.
"But when you collapsed, he left an important meeting with our Japanese investors. Did you know that?"
I hadn't known. "I'm sure it was just—"
"It was the first time he's ever walked out of a business meeting." Matthew's gaze was penetrating. "For anyone."
My heart skipped a beat, but I quickly squashed the hope rising in my chest. "I'm his assistant. He probably just felt responsible."
"Is that what you think this is? Responsibility?" Matthew set down his knife. "What exactly are your intentions toward my son, Claire?"
The question caught me off guard. "My intentions? This marriage was his idea, Mr. Carter."
"Yes, but you agreed rather quickly, didn't you?" He leaned forward. "A temporary assistant suddenly becoming the wife of one of New York's most eligible bachelors. People talk."
Heat crept up my neck. "I've worked for Ethan for five years. I'm hardly temporary."
"Which makes me wonder why you'd risk everything for this... arrangement." His eyes narrowed. "Unless you wanted something more all along."
My coffee cup clattered against its saucer. "That's not—"
"Dad." Ethan's voice cut through the tension. He stood in the doorway, his expression thunderous. "That's enough."
Matthew straightened, unruffled. "Just getting to know my daughter-in-law, son."
"By interrogating her at breakfast?" Ethan walked to the table. "Claire, we have the charity planning meeting in an hour. Are you up for it?"
I nodded, grateful for the escape. "Of course."
Matthew watched us with calculating eyes. "The Thompson contract needs your signature today, Ethan. I'll have it sent to your study."
"Fine." Ethan's hand hovered near my shoulder but didn't quite touch it. "Shall we?"
As we left the dining room, I could feel Matthew's gaze boring into my back.
"I'm sorry about that," Ethan said once we were alone in the hallway. "My father can be..."
"Suspicious? Intimidating? Convinced I'm a gold-digger?"
To my surprise, Ethan's lips twitched. "All of the above."
It was the closest thing to a smile I'd seen from him in weeks.
"Did you really leave a meeting when I collapsed?" I asked before I could stop myself.
Ethan looked away. "The hospital called. They wouldn't tell me anything over the phone."
"Oh." I tucked that information away, unsure what to do with it.
We worked through the charity plans efficiently, falling back into our familiar rhythm. But something was different. Ethan seemed more aware of me somehow—offering me water, asking if I needed to rest, his eyes lingering when he thought I wasn't looking.
That night, I found a small package outside my door. Inside was a silver bracelet with a single charm—a tiny key. No note, no explanation.
My phone buzzed with a text from Daniel: *Ethan actually asked how you were doing today. Twice. Progress?*
I smiled, touching the bracelet. Maybe.
Saturday night arrived with the promised dress—a stunning midnight blue gown that fit perfectly. As I stepped into the car beside Ethan, he stared for a moment too long.
"You look beautiful," he said quietly.
The gala was a blur of fake smiles and small talk. I played my part, standing by Ethan's side, laughing at the right moments. And Ethan...he stayed close, his hand occasionally touching the small of my back, his eyes finding mine across crowded conversations.
It felt different. Real, somehow.
Later, as we drove home in comfortable silence, Ethan reached across the seat and took my hand.
"Thank you," he said, "for tonight."
I looked at our joined hands, afraid to hope. "I was just doing my job."
"No." His voice was soft. "You were being you. That's what made it work."
My heart pounded as he raised my hand to his lips and gently kissed my knuckles. Such a small gesture, yet it set my world spinning.
When we arrived home, Ethan walked me to my door.
"Goodnight, Claire," he said, his eyes holding something new—something warm.
"Goodnight, Ethan."
I leaned against my closed door, touching my hand where his lips had been, allowing myself to finally wonder: Was this still just an arrangement? Or was it becoming something more?
My phone rang, shattering the moment. Unknown number.
"Hello?" I answered.
Silence, then a woman's voice—cool, confident, and hauntingly familiar.
"Hello, Claire. It's been a long time."
My blood froze.
"Sophia?"