Chapter 3 WELCOME TO HIS WORLD

Elena Hayes had always admired generosity in theory, but with Adrian Blackwood, she found it had a way of crossing lines she'd rather keep intact.

At exactly eight the next morning, a sleek black car parked in front of her hotel. A driver in a spotless suit stepped out, holding an envelope with her name on it. Inside: details for Friday's dinner, a rundown of scheduled appearances, and a note from Adrian that a car would pick her up later to take her to the penthouse.

Apparently, her input wasn't needed.

She read the note twice-just to be sure-then glanced out the window at the driver waiting patiently by the car.

"Absolutely not," she muttered.

Daniel, her assistant manager, looked up from the reception desk. "Something wrong?"

"They're coming to collect me."

Daniel frowned. "Who is?"

"My fiancé."

Both of his eyebrows shot up. "You have a fiancé?"

"Only on paper. But with a bank account that's very real."

She didn't bother explaining more. Admitting how close she came to losing the hotel-and how Adrian had stepped in to save it-felt like opening a wound she wasn't ready to share. She'd worked hard to earn her reputation for independence. She didn't need her staff gossiping about her sudden, mysterious engagement.

Instead, Elena called Olivia.

"Good morning," Olivia said, polished as ever. "I trust you received the schedule."

"I did. Along with the news that I'm apparently moving into Mr. Blackwood's penthouse today."

"Mr. Blackwood thought it would be more convenient for everyone."

"He might have mentioned it to me first."

A pause. "I can relay your concerns."

"Please do. And tell him that if he wants to sell this engagement, he should start by remembering I'm a real person-not just a prop."

Elena hung up before her temper got ahead of her.

Twenty minutes later, her phone rang.

"Miss Hayes." Adrian's voice was quiet, all control and authority. She guessed he was standing in his glass office, looking out at the city like it owed him something.

"Mr. Blackwood."

"I understand you're unhappy with the arrangements."

"I'm unhappy with being told what to do after decisions have already been made."

"There's plenty of room. Your being there helps sell the engagement."

"That explains what you want. It doesn't explain why you think you get to decide for me."

Silence. Longer than expected.

"Would you rather stay at your hotel until the first event?" he finally asked.

"I'd like to be asked before anything else is arranged."

"Fine. Would you agree to stay at the penthouse temporarily, at least through the first round of events? After that, we can review things."

His question came out stiff and formal, as if negotiating peace terms.

Elena leaned against the desk. "How temporary?"

"Until the major events are over. You get your own suite."

"I can come and go as I please?"

"Yes."

"And you won't send anyone for me unless I say so?"

Another pause.

"Yes, Elena."

He used her name, and she was suddenly, sharply aware that she barely knew the man whose voice she was starting to recognize-a voice that often sounded like a locked door.

"All right. I'll come this afternoon."

"Good. The driver will return at four."

"At four, after I confirm I'm ready."

He let out a slow breath. "After you confirm you're ready."

She hung up, realizing she was smiling. It wasn't a big win, but it felt important to have pushed him, even a little. She didn't need Adrian to become a romantic partner overnight. She just needed him to understand that working together didn't mean surrendering who she was.

By four fifteen, Elena stood outside the Blackwood penthouse with a single suitcase, a handbag, and a clear intention not to lose herself-no matter how posh the address.

The private elevator opened onto white marble floors. Beyond the foyer, a living room stretched out with floor-to-ceiling windows framing the city like a jeweler's showcase. Everything was polished, calm, almost intimidatingly pristine. No pictures. No stray books. No signs anyone actually lived here, unless living meant being on display.

A woman in her fifties smiled warmly as she approached.

"You must be Miss Hayes. I'm Margaret, the housekeeper. Mr. Blackwood asked me to show you around."

"Thanks, Margaret. Elena is fine."

Margaret led her through the place: kitchen, guest rooms, security system-every detail explained. Eventually, they came to a hallway with two massive bedrooms and a cozy sitting room in the middle.

"Your suite is here," Margaret said, opening a door. "Mr. Blackwood's is at the other end."

Elena stepped in and tried not to stare.

The room was three times the size of her old apartment. Soft curtains at the windows, a cream sofa by the fireplace, fresh flowers. Someone had laid several shopping bags by the wardrobe, ribbons and tissue all perfectly arranged.

"What's all this?" Elena asked.

"Clothes, shoes, accessories. Adrian's assistant had them sent for your appearances."

Elena peeked into a bag. The dress inside probably cost more than her last two months' groceries.

She closed the bag.

"Can you tell Mr. Blackwood I'm grateful, but I brought my own things?"

Margaret looked uneasy. "He wanted to be certain you had what you needed."

"I understand. But if I want anything different, I'll ask. Otherwise, I'd rather wear my own clothes."

Margaret nodded like she was used to people who didn't ask questions-just followed orders.

Not long after, Adrian showed up in the sitting room, dressed down-no jacket, sleeves rolled. He almost looked relaxed, at least until you caught the set of his jaw.

"So, you found your suite," he said.

"I did."

"And the clothes?"

"I won't be wearing them."

His gaze flicked to the bags. "You don't like them?"

"They're fine. I just don't want you picking them for me."

"I wasn't picking-I was making sure you were prepared for our events."

"Or you could've simply asked what I needed."

He looked at her as if she'd suggested something foreign.

"Do you always argue with people who try to help?"

"Do you always think helping means deciding for them?"

That made him pause.

Elena almost apologized for the bite in her tone. But honestly, she was done defending every little choice around this man. She agreed to act as his fiancée, not his employee.

Adrian loosened his cuffs. "I'm used to handling things efficiently."

"I'm used to making my own decisions. We'll just have to adjust."

His eyes sharpened, but instead of snapping, he looked away.

"I'll have Margaret return the clothes."

"Thank you."

"You sound surprised."

"I didn't realize you returned things just because someone said no."

He looked at her, almost amused.

"You're determined to make this difficult."

"Only if you do."

Adrian shook his head, not quite annoyed, and walked toward the dining room. "Dinner's at seven. We need to discuss Friday."

"I'll be there."

He paused. "You don't want to know what we're having?"

"Unless you're serving mystery meat, I'll survive."

"Not unless you dislike high-end restaurants."

"I don't like bad food, regardless of price."

For a second, he just looked at her-then chuckled, catching himself as if it surprised him too.

It was quick, but it changed him. The stern lines eased, and his eyes lost that frozen distance. She was almost caught off guard by how different he looked when he let go.

Then he turned and left, and the brief softness vanished.

Dinner ended up being homey-roast chicken, vegetables, potatoes. No fuss, no waiter lurking to refill wine glasses every two minutes. Elena relaxed. She didn't need spectacle every night.

Adrian ate in silence, checking his phone as if the world would collapse if he didn't. She counted six times in ten minutes before she set her fork down.

"Does everyone here work through dinner?"

He looked up, puzzled. "What?"

"Your phone. That's the sixth time."

"I have business."

"And I have dinner. I thought the point was to get to know each other."

"We're faking an engagement, Elena. There's no need to share life stories."

She pushed her plate away. "You could at least pretend to care who you're eating with."

He reluctantly put his phone down.

"There. Happy?"

"Somewhat."

"You're hard to please."

"Or maybe you just never try."

Adrian bristled, walls back up.

She waited for him to go back to his phone, but instead, he surprised her.

"What do you want to know, then?"

She could have asked about his family, his business, why he needed a fake engagement. But those felt too easy. With Adrian, she guessed the real answers lingered in the silences.

"If you could change one thing about your life, with no one to judge you, what would it be?"

He looked startled. "Strange question."

"You asked."

"And that's your choice to ask?"

"Would you rather tell me your favorite color?"

A reluctant smile flickered. "I'd work less."

She expected something about his business. His answer sounded raw, honest, almost like an admission.

"So why don't you stop?" she asked.

"If I did, everything I've built could collapse."

She watched him, picking out the tension in his shoulders and the weariness that even expensive suits couldn't hide.

"If it only stands when you destroy yourself, maybe it's not worth keeping upright."

He stared at her, unsure how to respond.

She let the silence linger.

After dinner, Elena returned to her suite, unpacked her things, and set a photo of her mother beside the bed. It was the one familiar thing in a place where even the air felt reserved.

She was brushing her hair when she heard a knock.

Adrian stood there with a printed schedule.

"Friday's dinner starts at seven," he said. "My grandfather, Richard Sterling, and some board members will be there. They'll ask how we met. We need a story."

"Okay."

"We met at a charity event last year, kept in touch, became friends, and recently got engaged."

She considered it. "That works."

"They may ask why we waited."

"Because you were scared I'd turn you down?"

He blinked. She grinned. "Kidding. Sort of."

"You think this is funny."

"Sometimes."

He handed her the schedule, and their hands touched-a quick brush, nothing more, but it lingered.

Then the seriousness came back into his face.

"Friday matters, Elena. I need you to treat it that way."

She caught the urgency he tried to hide. For once, she answered gently.

"I will. You don't have to worry I'll embarrass you."

"That's not what worries me."

Before she could press, he stepped away.

"Good night, Elena."

"Good night, Adrian."

He disappeared, leaving her holding a schedule and a feeling she hadn't expected: uncertainty about just how clean and easy any of this would be.

She closed her door, leaned against it, and reminded herself: six months. That was the deal. Her hotel was safe, her independence intact, and Adrian Blackwood was just a man she made an agreement with.

She repeated those things until they almost felt true.

Across the hall, Adrian stared out at the city. Through the quiet, he could hear Elena moving in her suite, the faint sound of distant laughter.

He'd spent his life keeping everything in perfect, careful order. Now, one woman with a single suitcase had arrived, questioned everything he did, and somehow managed to make the entire place feel different.

He told himself it was temporary. Just six months.

And yet, hearing her laugh, he realized-far more annoyed than he expected-that this was the first problem he didn't know how to solve.