Cassandra's POV
The next morning, I wake up to the smell of coffee.
I stumble out of my room in pajamas and find Elijah in the kitchen, already dressed in a suit, making breakfast.
Morning, he says, not looking up from the eggs he's scrambling.
Morning. I pour myself coffee. You cook?
Basic survival skills. Eggs, toast, coffee. That's about it.
Still more than I can do.
He glances at me, and something in his expression softens. You made pancakes yesterday.
Burnt pancakes.
Mia loved them.
I lean against the counter, cradling my coffee mug. This is strange. Domestic. Standing in a kitchen with a man I'm married to but don't know, talking about breakfast like it's normal.
Where is Mia? I ask.
Still asleep. She doesn't usually wake up until seven.
I check the clock. 6:15 AM.
You always up this early?
Always. I run at five, shower, work emails, then breakfast. He plates the eggs. Toast?
Sure.
We sit at the kitchen island. Eating in silence. It should be awkward.
It kind of is.
But also kind of isn't.
Thank you, Elijah says suddenly. For yesterday. With Margaret. With Mia. All of it.
That's what I'm here for.
Still. You didn't have to be so good with Mia. The contract just says appear as stepparent. You're actually being one.
I think about Mia crying in my bed. About the promises I made.
She's easy to care about, I say quietly.
Elijah nods, something complicated in his eyes. She is.
More silence.
Then he says, We should talk. About the evaluation. About how we're going to handle it.
Okay.
They're going to ask how we met. How long we've known each other. Why we got married so fast.
So we need our story straight.
Yes. He pulls out his phone, opens a note. I've been thinking about this. We should stick as close to the truth as possible. Harder to mess up that way.
Agreed.
So We met when I was hired to evaluate Hayes Tech. Five weeks ago.
Right.
We started talking after the board meeting. Became friends. Started having coffee.
Did we? I raise an eyebrow.
The social worker doesn't know that. As far as anyone knows, we were seeing each other quietly for the past month. We kept it private because of the professional relationship.
And we got married fast because?
He hesitates. Because we fell in love. Hard. Fast. And with Mia's custody hearing coming up, we didn't want to wait.
The word love hangs in the air between us.
They're not going to believe that, I say.
They might. People do fall in love quickly.
In romance novels. Not in real life.
We're both desperate. We've both been through loss. We connected over that. It's not completely unbelievable.
He has a point.
Okay, I say. So we're madly in love. Got it.
You don't have to say it like that.
Like what?
Like it's ridiculous.
It kind of is ridiculous, Elijah. We barely know each other.
I know. He sets down his fork. But we need to sell this. Which means we need to act like we know each other. Like we're comfortable together.
How do we do that?
We talk. We learn about each other. Favorite things, pet peeves, habits. The stuff couples know.
I sigh. Okay. Fine. What's your favorite color?
Blue. Yours?
Green.
Favorite food?
Thai. You?
Italian. Morning person or night person?
Night. Though you're clearly morning.
Coffee or tea?
Coffee. Black.
Same. He almost smiles. See? We already have things in common.
Ground breaking similarities. The social worker will be so convinced.
He laughs. Actually laughs. It transforms his face, makes him look younger, less burdened.
I like it.
Too much.
What about family? I ask. They'll ask about that.
His expression sobers. My sister Rachel was my only family. Her husband died two years ago heart attack. She was raising Mia alone. Then the car accident ten months ago. He's quiet for a moment. What about you?
My parents died when I was in college. Car accident too, actually. My grandfather raised me after that. He was all I had left.
I'm sorry.
Me too.
We look at each other. Two people bonded by loss and desperation.
Maybe that's our story, Elijah says. We both understand what it's like to lose family. To fight to keep what matters. We connected over that.
It's true enough.
It is.
The timer on his phone goes off. I have to get to work. Conference call at seven-thirty.
Go. I'll handle breakfast for Mia.
He stands, hesitates. Cassandra? If this gets too hard. If you want out. We can figure something else
I'm not quitting.
Even with Margaret threatening us? With the evaluation coming?
Especially because of that. I'm not letting them take Mia.
Something warm flashes in his eyes. Thank you.
He grabs his briefcase, heads for the door. Pauses.
My sister would have liked you, he says. She would have appreciated how you are with Mia.
Before I can respond, he's gone.
I sit there with my coffee, my heart doing strange things.
At 7 AM, Mia wanders out in her princess pajamas, rubbing her eyes.
Morning, sweetie.
Morning. She yawns. Where's Uncle Eli?
Work. But I made breakfast.
She climbs onto the stool. Did you burn it?
Not this time.
We eat eggs and toast. Mia chatters about a dream she had about dragons.
This, I think, I could get used to.
This quiet morning routine. This little girl. This strange life I've stepped into.
Which is dangerous.
Because in eighty-seven days, it ends.
Cassandra? Mia asks. Can you pick me up from school today?
Don't you have a sitter for that?
Usually. But I want you to pick me up. Can you?
I should say no. Keep boundaries. But when she looks at me like that
Yes. What time?
Three o'clock!
I'll be there.
Her smile could light up the room.
After breakfast, I help her get ready for school. We do the lopsided braid again. She insists on wearing her favorite dress purple with sparkles.
You look beautiful, I tell her.
Like a princess!
Exactly like a princess.
The sitter Mrs. Chen, an older woman with kind eyes arrives at 8 AM to walk Mia to school.
You must be the new Mrs. Morgan, she says warmly. Congratulations.
Thank you.
Mia seems happy. That's good to see.
After they leave, the apartment feels too quiet.
I shower, get dressed for a day of working from home. Set up my laptop in the living room.
Three hours of video calls with the Hayes Tech team. Reviewing projects, approving budgets, managing the fallout from Marcus's suspension.
At noon, my phone rings. Unknown number.
I answer cautiously. Hello?
Mrs. Morgan? This is Patricia Santos from Child Protective Services. I'm calling to schedule a home evaluation as part of Elijah Morgan's custody case.
My stomach drops. Of course.
Would tomorrow work? Say, 2 PM?
Tomorrow. Twenty-four hours to prepare.
Yes, that works.
Wonderful. I'll see you then. Please have both you and Mr. Morgan present, as well as the child.
We will.
She hangs up.
I immediately text Elijah: Evaluation tomorrow. 2 PM.
His response: I'll be there. We'll be ready.
But will we?
Can we convince a trained professional that this marriage is real?
That we're a stable, loving couple?
When we've been married for two days?
At 3 PM, I pick up Mia from school as promised.
Her face lights up when she sees me.
Cassandra! You came!
Of course I came. I promised.
She runs over, grabs my hand. This is my new mom, she tells her teacher proudly.
The teacher looks surprised. I didn't know Mr. Morgan had gotten married. Congratulations.
Thank you, I manage.
Mia's been so happy lately. It's wonderful to see.
We walk home, Mia chattering about her day. She made a painting. She played on the swings. Her friend Sophie shared her cookies at lunch.
I listen, ask questions, feel more like a real parent with every block.
We're almost home when I see her.
Margaret Whitmore. Standing outside the building. Waiting.
I stop walking.
What's wrong? Mia asks.
Nothing, sweetie. Just... stay close to me, okay?
Okay.
We approach the building. Margaret sees us. Her expression hardens.
Mia, she says coldly. Come here.
Mia presses against my side.
Mrs. Whitmore, I say evenly. This isn't your scheduled visitation.
I'm her grandmother. I don't need permission to see her.
Actually, you do. The court order is very clear.
That order is about to change. Once the judge hears about your fraudulent marriage
Cassandra isn't fraud! Mia bursts out. She's nice! She makes me pancakes and reads me stories and she's my mom now!
Margaret's eyes narrow. She's not your mother, Mia. Your mother is dead.
Mia starts crying.
I kneel down, pull her into a hug. It's okay, sweetie. It's okay.
I want Uncle Eli, she sobs.
I know. Let's go inside.
I stand, Mia in my arms, and face Margaret.
If you contact us again outside of court-approved visitation, I'll file a restraining order.
You don't have that authority.
Watch me.
I walk past her into the building, my heart pounding, Mia crying against my shoulder.
The doorman holds the elevator for us. We ride up in silence.
In the apartment, I set Mia on the couch, wipe her tears.
I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm so sorry she said that.
I miss my real mom, Mia whispers. But I like you too. Is that okay?
My heart breaks.
That's more than okay. Your mom would want you to be happy. And if I make you happy, then she would like that.
Really?
Really.
She hugs me tight.
When Elijah comes home an hour later, I tell him everything.
His jaw clenches. I'm calling my lawyer. This harassment has to stop.
There's more, I say. The evaluation is tomorrow.
He closes his eyes. Right. Tomorrow.
Are we ready?
He looks at me. Really looks at me.
I don't know. But we're out of time to figure it out.
We order dinner. Eat as a family. Put Mia to bed together.
And then stand in the hallway, two strangers who are supposed to convince the world we're in love.
We should practice, Elijah says.
Practice what?
Being married.
My heart rate picks up. What does that mean?
He steps closer. It means we need to be comfortable with this.
He takes my hand.
His palm is warm. Calloused slightly. Strong.
We need to look natural together, he says quietly.
His thumb brushes across my knuckles.
I forget how to breathe.
Cassandra?
Yeah?
If I do something that makes you uncomfortable, tell me.
Okay.
He lifts our joined hands. Studies them.
Tomorrow, we convince a social worker we're in love.
Tomorrow, I echo.
He releases my hand. Steps back.
Get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be hard.
You too.
We go to our separate rooms.
I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, my hand still tingling where he touched it.
Tomorrow, we sell the lie.
Tomorrow, we risk everything.
Tomorrow, a stranger decides if this desperate gamble was worth it.
And I have no idea if we're going to pull this off.