Chapter 7: Settling Into the Routine

"Is this what married life is supposed to feel like?" I whispered, my voice drowned out by the penthouse's eerie quiet.

It was morning, and sunshine poured like liquid gold across the marble flooring from the enormous glass windows. I sat on one of the kitchen chairs and put my hands around a steaming mug of coffee. The mansion-sized penthouse was so large, immaculate, and completely dead that it could have passed for a museum.

Nicholas Scott curated this void.

Even when he wasn't around, his presence persisted. In this huge, soulless room, the gentle tap of my fingertips against the porcelain mug seemed like a scream. He's most likely going to some Scheming global dominance in a boardroom.

Though it was close to the truth, the notion should have been sardonic.

Nicholas has been a ghost for the last week. Always immaculately dressed, his visage an unreadable mask, his suit wrinkle-free, he arrived home late.

If he did recognize me, it was to say something like, "Good morning," or "Don't wait up," as though we were just acquaintances.

That should have been acceptable to me. For the millionth time, I reminded myself that this was a contract marriage. I went here to support my art center and the dream I would not give up. I should be appreciative. However...

My tumultuous thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heavy footfall.

Nicholas was standing at the kitchen doorway as I turned around. His dark hair was perfectly styled, his strong jawline was clean-shaven, and he wore a nice navy suit. Even though he was only ten feet away from me, he still had the impenetrable appearance of a man who belonged on magazine covers.

His voice was deep and measured as he said, "Good morning."

I reflexively said, "Good morning," in a smaller voice than I had planned.

Without looking at me, he took a large gulp of water from the refrigerator. I was annoyed by his wall-like isolation.

Detachment annoyed me greatly and felt like a wall.

Before I could stop myself, I asked, "How was the gala last night?" It was the faint sound of polished shoes on marble in the dark that I had heard him arrive late.

He capped the bottle and curtly replied, "Successful." "We inked two significant contracts."

"Congratulations," I responded, attempting to be impartial and kind even as my curiosity drew me in. "The party must have been amazing."

His blue eyes, which were piercing and sharp like ice, raised their gaze to me at that moment. It wasn't a celebration. It had to do with business.

He then turned and vanished down the hallway, leaving behind only the subtle aroma of pricey cologne.

The days blended into one another. lonely mornings. Silence enveloped the evenings. I kept myself occupied by going as often as I could to the art center and seeing how the artists who depended on me were doing. But even that failed to give me the retreat I so desperately wanted.

Because I felt like I was falling into quicksand when I returned here, to his penthouse.

Then, one Thursday night, an odd incident occurred.

Since the personnel at the center seemed to follow Nicholas's nonexistent schedule, I left early and planned to prepare dinner for myself. I froze as soon as I entered because the sound of my keys jangling in the door felt louder than usual.

Laughter.

I could see Nicholas standing at the window in the living room, and his voice was deep and male. A trace of a smile curled his mouth as he held his phone to his ear. The Nicholas I knew, the icy, aloof Nicholas, never grinned.

This dude was unique.

His smile vanished like smoke when his head snapped toward me after I dropped my luggage a bit too loudly. With a curt "I'll call you back," he hung up the phone and turned to address me directly.

With a mask-like face, he replied, "You're home early."

I was irritated when I realized that I had disrupted something significant, but I wasn't sure why. I retorted, "I didn't realize I had a curfew."

With a furiously composed stance, he lifted a brow. "You don't."

"So, with whom were you speaking?" Before I changed my mind, I asked.

"Is this a question?" I refused to back down, even if his voice faltered just enough to seem menacing.

I crossed my arms and stated, "I'm just curious." "After a week of living here, I still don't know anything about you."

Between us, the words lingered. His gaze scanned my face, and I briefly believed he might respond.

"Knowing me isn't part of the deal," he stated instead.

It was a quick and vicious blow. I was left alone once more when he vanished into his office.

I had trouble sleeping that night.

I rolled over and over, his words swirling like a tempest in my head. It wasn't part of the agreement to know him. So why did he linger like a shadow in my mind?

Why was it that the attraction was always growing when I stared at him?

Exasperated, I threw back the blankets as I exited my bedroom. I couldn't stay there in bed much longer, but I had no idea where I was heading.

The windows that spanned from ground to ceiling were the only source of light in the pitch-black apartment.

New York City towered over me in all its sparkling glory.

I should have felt alive because of it. Rather, it made me realize how insignificant I was in comparison to Nicholas Scott.

Why have I come here? I thought sourly.

I heard a door creak open down the corridor, a faint sound.

Nicholas's workspace.

I paused. Why was he up at this hour? Curiosity and caution fought in my chest, causing my heart to speed. I moved slowly in the direction of the office, my bare feet making no sound on the soft marble.

The door stood open. I froze when I looked inside and saw light spilling through the opening.

There was someone else at his desk besides Nicholas.

Opposite him was a tall, broad-shouldered, black-clad man I had never seen before. The voice of the stranger was low and threatening.

Scott, you're running out of time. The transaction is off if the money is not made.

I gasped. What's the matter?

Nicholas remained unflinching. "I promised to take care of it."

The man said, "You have a week." "No further extensions."

The stranger turned and went for the door before I could comprehend what I had just heard. He walked by me, his big boots thudding menacingly before I could duck into the darkness.

I looked back into the office after he left. Nicholas sat alone, his shoulders stiff and his face in his hands.

He appeared to be human.

For the first time since we first met, I understood that Nicholas Scott was more than business dealings and icy stares.

However, his voice broke the silence before I could move.

"You've been standing there for how long?"

I tensed up. His penetrating, relentless gaze was fixed on mine.