Chapter 3 The Gilded Cage

I spent the next three hours in a state of absolute denial.

I went back to my tiny, cramped office at Vertex Designs, told Tunde the good news (leaving out the part where I had basically sold myself into indentured servitude to my ex-fiancé), and packed a small duffel bag of essentials.

By 6:45 p.m., I was standing in the marble lobby of The Vantage, the most exclusive, obscenely expensive high-rise in the city.

The elevator required a fingerprint scan just to reach the top floor. When the doors opened, I was staring directly into Lucas's penthouse.

It was a monument to modern luxury. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a 360-degree view of the glittering city skyline. The floors were polished dark oak that reflected the dim, ambient lighting. The furniture was sleek, minimalist, and completely devoid of warmth.

It looked like a museum. A very expensive, very lonely museum.

"Miss Okafor," a voice said from the shadows.

I jumped, clutching my bag to my chest. Lucas stepped out of the kitchen, holding a glass of amber liquid, whiskey, no doubt. He had changed out of his three-piece suit and was now wearing a simple black T-shirt and grey sweatpants.

It was unnerving. He looked younger, softer. But the cold, calculating look in his eyes was exactly the same.

"Your room is the second door on the left," he said, not bothering with a greeting. "The bathroom is attached. There are fresh towels in the closet. Don't touch anything in the kitchen unless you know how to use it."

"I know how to use a kitchen, Lucas," I said, my voice tight. "I'm not completely useless."

"Could have fooled me," he muttered, taking a sip of his whiskey.

I ignored the sting and walked down the hall to the guest room. It was huge. The bed was a massive four-poster with crisp white sheets, and the walk-in closet was larger than my entire apartment. I dropped my bag on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands.

*Thirty days,* I told myself. *Just thirty days.*

I took a long, hot shower, trying to wash away the stress of the day. When I came out, wrapped in a plush robe, I realized I had made a critical error. I had forgotten to bring my hair dryer.

I padded out into the hallway, my wet hair dripping onto the hardwood floor, and headed toward the kitchen, hoping to find something to eat.

Lucas was sitting on the massive leather sectional with his laptop open, the blue light illuminating his sharp features. He didn't look up when I walked in.

"The takeout menus are in the top drawer next to the fridge," he said, typing furiously. "I ordered Thai food. There's some left on the counter if you want it."

I blinked, surprised. "You ordered food for me?"

"Don't read into it," he said, his eyes still on the screen. "I don't want you passing out from hunger during the board dinner tomorrow. It would look bad for me."

Right. Of course.

I walked over to the kitchen island and found a container of Pad Thai. I was starving, so I grabbed a fork and started eating it standing up.

"Are you going to hover at the kitchen island like a stray cat, or are you going to sit down?" Lucas asked, finally looking up from his laptop.

I paused, a noodle halfway to my mouth. "I didn't think you wanted me near your expensive furniture."

"I don't want you near my furniture with wet hair," he corrected. "Go get a towel."

I sighed and set the container down. "I forgot my hair dryer. I was actually coming out here to see if you had one."

Lucas stared at me. He closed his laptop with a definitive snap, stood up, and walked past me into his master bedroom. A moment later, he returned holding a sleek black hair dryer.

"Here," he said, holding it out.

I reached for it. My fingers brushed against his, and a spark of static electricity, or maybe something much more dangerous, shot up my arm. I yanked my hand back, clutching the hair dryer to my chest.

"Thanks," I mumbled.

"You're dripping on my floor," he said, his voice low.

I looked down. Sure enough, a small puddle was forming at my feet. "I'll clean it up."

"Leave it," he said. "I have a housekeeper."

He was standing so close. I could smell the whiskey on his breath, mixed with that intoxicating sandalwood scent. His gaze dropped from my eyes to my lips and lingered there for a fraction of a second too long.

My breath hitched. "Lucas..."

"We have a problem," he said suddenly, stepping back, the cold mask slamming into place.

"What kind of problem?" I asked, my heart racing.

"Vanessa," he said.

I frowned. "Who is Vanessa?"

"An... associate of mine," he said, his jaw tightening. "A very persistent associate who believes she has a claim on me. She saw your name on the guest list for the board dinner tomorrow. She's going to be there."

"Okay," I said slowly. "So? We're pretending to be engaged. I can handle a jealous ex."

"Vanessa isn't just a jealous ex, Maya," Lucas said, his eyes dark. "She's the daughter of my biggest investor. If she gets upset, she can sway her father to pull the funding for the merger. If that happens, everything I've built, and your precious contract, goes up in smoke."

I crossed my arms over my chest, a spark of defiance igniting inside me. "So what do you suggest we do?"

Lucas looked at me with a predatory gleam in his eyes. "We don't just convince her. We convince everyone. Tomorrow night, we need to be the most sickeningly in-love couple in that room. We need to make them believe that I am so obsessed with you that I would burn the world down for you."

"And how am I supposed to do that?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

Lucas stepped into my personal space again, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. His thumb stroked my jawline, sending shivers down my spine.

"Simple," he said, his voice a low, seductive rumble. "You let me touch you. You look at me like I hung the moon. And when I tell you to do something... you obey."

He dropped his hand and walked away, leaving me standing in the kitchen, clutching a hair dryer, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Thirty days.

If I survived thirty days in this house, it would be a miracle.

I went back to my room, dried my hair, and climbed into the massive bed. I lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, the taste of the Pad Thai still on my tongue.

And despite the hundred reasons why I hated him, despite the fear of the secrets threatening to tear us apart, I couldn't stop thinking about the way his thumb had felt against my skin.

I was playing with fire. And I was terrified that I was going to get burned.