The aftermath of the confrontation in the lobby left a strange, vibrating energy in the penthouse. It was the kind of silence that follows a lightning strike, heavy with the scent of ozone and the realization that the ground has shifted. I retreated to the library, a room paneled in dark, polished mahogany that smelled of old paper and expensive tobacco. It was the only room in the house that felt grounded, though I knew every book on the shelves probably cost more than my first car.
I spent the afternoon trying to work. I had my laptop set up on a massive ebony desk, attempting to review the structural blueprints for the New Heights project, the last major contract Vance Architects had secured before the Miller merger went south. But the lines on the screen kept blurring into the grey of Silas's eyes.
Every time I heard a footstep in the hallway, my heart did a frantic little dance against my ribs. Was he coming in to discuss "business"? Was he going to ask me about my father? Or was he going to look at me with that clinical, predatory curiosity again?
By seven o'clock, the sky over Central Park had turned a bruised purple. A soft chime echoed through the suite, and a woman in a discreet uniform appeared at the door.
"Mr. Vane is requesting your presence in the dining room for dinner, ma'am," she said with a polite dip of her head.
Ma'am. The word felt like a costume I wasn't quite ready to wear.
I followed her to the dining room. The long glass table was gone, replaced by a smaller, intimate circular table set for two near the window. A single candle flickered in the center, casting long shadows across the marble floor. Silas was already there, but he had traded his suit jacket for a charcoal sweater that made him look slightly less like a corporate titan and slightly more like a man.
"You look like you're walking toward a firing squad," he said as I approached. He stood up, pulling out my chair with a practiced, effortless gallantry.
"I wasn't sure if dinner was a requirement of the contract," I replied, smoothing my skirt as I sat. "Does your grandfather have cameras in here, too?"
Silas sat down across from me, the candlelight reflecting in the dark depths of his eyes. "No cameras. Not in here. This is... neutral territory."
"There's no such thing as neutral territory in this building, Silas. Everything here belongs to you."
He didn't argue. He poured me a glass of wine, a deep, blood-red vintage that looked like ink in the dim light. "I wanted to talk to you about the gala. And about how we're going to survive the next few months."
I took a sip of the wine. It was rich, earthy, and hit my bloodstream with a welcome warmth. "I thought you said it was only three days until the gala."
"Three days until the public announcement," Silas corrected, his voice dropping. "But the trust dictates that the marriage must remain 'stable' for at least a year to ensure the transfer of voting rights is permanent. If we divorce before then, the shares revert to my uncles. They'll be watching us, Evelyn. They'll hire private investigators. they'll bribe your friends. They'll look for any crack in the foundation."
A year. I felt a cold knot form in my stomach. "You're telling me I'm trapped here for a year?"
"I'm telling you that for the next twelve months, you are the most powerful woman in New York," he said, leaning forward. "You have a billion-dollar budget at your disposal. You can revitalize your father's firm, you can build whatever you want, and you can live a life of absolute luxury. In exchange, you simply have to be Mrs. Silas Vane. You have to attend the events, you have to host the dinners, and you have to make sure that when the world looks at us, they see a couple that is disgustingly in love."
"A year is a long time to lie," I whispered.
"It's only a lie if we're bad at it," he said.
The first course arrived, a delicate lobster bisque, but I couldn't bring myself to touch it. I looked at the man across from me. He was breathtakingly handsome, powerful, and apparently willing to buy a year of my life.
"I have conditions," I said, my voice gaining strength.
Silas leaned back, an amused glint in his eyes. "I expected as much. Let's hear them."
"One," I began, counting off on my fingers. "My father's medical bills and the company's debts are paid in full, with no strings attached. Vance Architects remains an independent entity under the Vane umbrella. I run it. You don't interfere with my designs or my clients."
"Agreed," Silas said without hesitation. "Your father is already being moved to the best cardiac facility in the country. The debt was cleared an hour ago."
I blinked, momentarily stunned by the speed of his power. "Two. We have separate bedrooms. Always. No matter who is visiting or what your grandfather thinks, my private space is mine."
Silas's expression didn't change, but something in the air between us shifted. "Agreed. Your suite is your sanctuary. I won't enter without an invitation."
"Three," I continued, my heart racing. "When the year is over, we part ways quietly. No drama, no messy court battles. I get a fair settlement, enough to ensure my father and the firm are secure forever, and we go our separate ways."
Silas watched me for a long beat, the silence stretching out between us. The candle flickered, casting a golden glow over his sharp features.
"You're already planning your exit, Evelyn. Most women in your position would be trying to find a way to make this permanent."
"I'm not most women, Silas. I don't want to be a trophy on a shelf, and I certainly don't want to be a piece of leverage in a family war."
"Fair enough," Silas said, raising his glass in a mock toast. "I accept your terms. My lawyers will have a formal addendum to our... agreement... ready for you to sign in the morning."
"Good." I finally picked up my spoon, the tension in my shoulders easing just a fraction. "Now, tell me about these uncles. You said they make the Millers look like Sunday school teachers."
Silas's face darkened. "My father had two brothers. Marcus and Julian. They've spent their entire lives living off the fumes of my grandfather's success. When my father died, they expected to take over. Instead, Arthur handed the keys to me. They've been trying to find a way to oust me ever since. They're clever, they're cruel, and they have no sense of loyalty. Marcus is the older one, he's the strategist. He'll try to charm you. Julian is the loose cannon. He'll try to find your weaknesses."
"And what do they think of me?"
"They think you're a desperate girl who grabbed a lifeline," Silas said bluntly. "They think you're weak because Mark Miller was able to fool you. They're expecting you to be an easy target at the gala."
I felt a flash of that cold, sharp rage again. "They think I'm weak? Because I was betrayed by someone I trusted?"
"In their world, trust is a weakness," Silas said. "They don't understand that betrayal can be a forge."
"Then I suppose I'll have to show them," I said, a slow smile spreading across my lips. "I've spent my life designing skyscrapers, Silas. I know exactly how to build something that looks beautiful on the outside while being reinforced with steel on the inside. If they want a performance, I'll give them a masterpiece."
Silas looked at me then, and for the first time, the look in his eyes wasn't just intrigue or tactical appreciation. It was something closer to admiration. He reached across the table, his hand covering mine. His skin was warm, his touch surprisingly gentle.
"I think the Millers made a very big mistake when they underestimated you, Evelyn."
I didn't pull my hand away. For a moment, the world outside the penthouse, the scandal, the debt, the revenge, seemed to fade. There was only the flicker of the candle and the strange, magnetic pull of the man whose name I now shared.
"We have a lot of work to do before the gala," Silas said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur. "We need to know each other's stories. We need to know each other's habits. If we're going to convince the world we're in love, we need to act like we've been together for years."
"Then start talking, Silas," I said, leaning in. "What's your favorite color? What's your biggest fear? And why do you look like you've never had a home cooked meal in your life?"
He laughed, a genuine, rich sound that filled the room. "Black, failure, and because my chef is better at presentation than nourishment. Your turn."
We sat there for hours, talking long after the plates had been cleared and the wine bottle was empty. We traded pieces of ourselves like currency, small, harmless truths at first, then deeper, more guarded memories. I told him about the summer I spent on a construction site with my father. He told me about the pressure of being the "heir apparent" and the loneliness of a childhood spent in boarding schools.
By the time I stood up to retire to my room, the moon was high and the city below was a sea of twinkling lights.
"Goodnight, Silas," I said, standing at the door of the dining room.
"Goodnight, Evelyn," he replied. He stayed seated, watching me go.
As I walked down the hall to my suite, I realized something terrifying. The "Flash Marriage" was supposed to be a shield. It was supposed to be a business deal. But as I touched my hand the one he had held, I realized that the shield was starting to feel like a magnet.
I was falling into the role too well. And in a year's time, I wasn't sure if I'd be able to remember where the performance ended and the truth began.
I entered my room and locked the door, just like he said. But as I lay in the dark, listening to the hum of the city, I realized that the lock wouldn't protect me from the one thing I hadn't accounted for.
I wasn't afraid of the Vane family anymore. I was afraid of the man in the other room.