---
The Next Morning
Ashley barely slept. Her body was exhausted, but her mind? It had been running laps around Kelvin Boston's smug face all night.
She sat on the edge of the hotel bed, still in her silk robe, a cup of lukewarm coffee in her hands and a thousand thoughts racing through her head. The logical part of her screamed at her to get out of this fake marriage disaster while she still had her dignity. The practical part—tied to bills, her mother, and the promotion Kelvin had vaguely dangled—told her to survive it.
She chose survival. For now.
A knock sounded at her door.
She sighed and stood, still tying her robe tighter. "If that's room service, I swear I didn't order—"
But when she opened it, Kelvin stood there. Sharp as ever, already dressed in a dark grey suit, crisp white shirt, no tie.
Ashley groaned. "Don't you knock like a normal person?"
"I did. Twice. You're just slow." He pushed past her and walked in like it was his name on the reservation.
She closed the door behind him, arms crossed. "What do you want?"
He didn't look at her right away. Instead, he paced toward the window, hands in his pockets, and said, "We have a briefing with Mr. Vincenzo in two hours. Wear something less… distracting this time."
Ashley blinked. "Excuse me?"
He turned then, eyes cool and unreadable. "The dress. The heels. It's not a fashion show. We're here for business. Try looking like it."
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, voice laced with sarcasm. "Next time you send me a couture gown and heels, I'll remember to tone it down."
He ignored her jab. "I've arranged a car. Be downstairs in thirty. I won't wait."
He made to leave, but her voice stopped him cold.
"Why me?"
He turned halfway. "What?"
"You could've picked anyone for this fake-wife thing. Some model. Some socialite. Someone who actually likes you," she said, arms crossed tightly now.
Kelvin stared at her for a moment. Something flickered across his face, but it was gone before she could name it.
"I didn't have time to interview candidates," he said dryly. "And you were… convenient."
Ashley let out a bitter laugh. "Well, lucky me. The convenient wife."
"You want to leave?" he asked suddenly, voice sharp. "Walk out now. I'll find someone else, and you can go back to answering phones and fetching coffee for minimum wage."
Silence stretched between them.
Her jaw clenched. "No."
He gave a small nod, almost approving. "Didn't think so."
Then he was gone, the door clicking softly behind him.
Ashley stood there for a long minute, her chest rising and falling as she fought the urge to scream into a pillow. God, he made her so angry. And yet—
Why did the part of her that should hate him… feel intrigued instead?
------
At the Vincenzos' Office
The office of Mr. Vincenzo wasn't your typical conference room. It was more like a power statement—with its marble floors, gold accents, and a massive oil painting of his father staring down at anyone who dared to speak foolishly.
Ashley sat beside Kelvin at the long table, wearing a crisp navy-blue blazer dress and low heels—professional, sharp, and unbothered, even though her pulse told a different story.
Kelvin, as usual, was unreadable. He spoke confidently, sliding through presentations with his signature cold precision. Ashley chimed in only when necessary—reading figures, presenting mock-ups, answering a few sharp questions with graceful composure.
Midway through, Mr. Vincenzo turned toward her. "You're sharper than you look, Mrs. Boston."
Ashley smiled politely. "That's what he pays me for."
Kelvin barely turned his head, but she saw the twitch of his jaw.
"Good," Mr. Vincenzo said, pleased. "It's important to have a wife who can hold her own. Especially in our world."
Ashley nodded, feigning gratitude while her fingers gripped the edge of the table under her folder.
As the meeting wrapped up, Mr. Vincenzo stood. "I look forward to signing the full contract this week. Bring your wife to dinner again. My wife insists."
Kelvin responded with a bland smile. "Of course, sir."
As they walked out, Ashley picked up her pace to catch up with him.
"Can I speak to you for a sec?" she asked tightly.
Kelvin didn't slow down. "If it's about your performance back there, relax. You didn't embarrass me."
"That's not what I was going to say."
He stopped, finally turning to her. "Then say it."
Ashley stepped closer, her voice low. "If I'm going to keep playing this game for you, I need one thing. Respect. You don't get to insult me and then expect me to parade around like your trophy wife."
Kelvin's eyes darkened. "I didn't ask you to parade. I asked you to play a role. If you can't handle that, walk."
Ashley's glare was ice. "You keep offering that door like you want me to take it."
He held her gaze, but said nothing. Then he turned and walked toward the car.
She followed. Because leaving now would feel like losing.
---
A Moment with Mrs. Vincenzo
Later that evening, Ashley found herself alone on the Vincenzos' sunlit balcony, trying to catch her breath. The party was smaller tonight—just close associates. She needed air. Space. Sanity.
"Ashley, yes?" came the soft voice behind her.
Ashley turned to find Mrs. Vincenzo approaching, dressed in a stunning ivory wrap gown, her eyes kind but observant.
"Yes," Ashley replied, forcing a smile.
"I hope you don't mind. I wanted to speak with you—woman to woman."
"Of course," Ashley said politely, bracing herself.
Mrs. Vincenzo leaned on the balcony rail beside her. "You seem... tired."
Ashley laughed softly. "Is it that obvious?"
"It's in your eyes. You smile, but it never quite reaches them."
Ashley looked away, heart thudding. "It's been a long week."
"I remember when I married Vincenzo," the older woman said. "It wasn't for love. Not at first. But over time... we learned each other. Understood each other. There's a kind of fire that comes from two strong people clashing."
Ashley's throat felt dry. "You think that's what this is?"
Mrs. Vincenzo smiled. "I see the way you look at him when you think no one's watching. And I see how he watches you when you're not."
Ashley froze.
Mrs. Vincenzo touched her hand gently. "Just... be careful, dear. Power and love—they're both dangerous if not handled with care."
Ashley nodded slowly, mind spinning. She wasn't ready to admit anything. But the words lingered, planting a seed she couldn't ignore.
---
Back at the Hotel Suite
Ashley stepped into the suite and closed the door behind her with a soft click. She leaned back against it for a moment, heels dangling from her fingers, the silence wrapping around her like a second skin.
The balcony doors were open. The breeze carried the scent of roses and something faintly smoky from the streets below.
Kelvin was already inside, tie off, shirt sleeves rolled up, sitting in the armchair with a glass of scotch in one hand. His phone was on the coffee table, forgotten.
"You're late," he said, not looking at her.
Ashley dropped her shoes with a quiet thud. "I needed air. Mrs. Vincenzo wanted to talk."
He raised an eyebrow but didn't comment.
"She said something interesting," Ashley added, walking past him toward the small minibar. "Said love and power are dangerous when handled carelessly."
Kelvin's jaw tightened, just slightly. "She romanticizes too much."
"She also said you watch me when I'm not looking."
He took a sip of his drink, eyes still fixed ahead. "She's observant. Doesn't mean she's right."
Ashley poured herself a glass of water and turned to face him, leaning back against the counter. "Why are you like this?"
"Like what?" he asked flatly.
"Cold. Abrasive. You treat people like they're tools you can toss away when they stop being useful."
He looked at her now, eyes sharp. "Because it works."
"That's sad."
"It's efficient."
Ashley shook her head. "You know, you could at least pretend to be decent."
He stood then, suddenly. Not threatening—just tired. But there was a tension in his frame, like something he kept wound too tightly might snap.
"You think I enjoy this? Playing house with someone I barely know?" he said, stepping closer. "Do you think I asked for this charade, for people to expect me to smile and lie through my teeth while pretending you're someone I love?"
His words were like ice—but it was the way he said "someone I love" that struck her. Like the idea itself tasted bitter on his tongue.
Ashley looked up at him, her heart pounding—not from fear, but from the nearness. The electricity. The fact that despite everything, despite the way he could strip her patience with just a sentence… she couldn't deny she was drawn to him.
"Then end it," she said quietly.
He stared at her. "Is that what you want?"
Ashley's lips parted. She didn't answer.
He took a step closer. "Say the word, Benson. I'll call it off. Right now."
She swallowed, heat rising in her chest. "You'd lose the contract."
"And you'd get your freedom," he replied. "So which matters more to you?"
Their eyes locked. Neither moved. The moment stretched, heavy and intimate, more honest than either of them was ready to admit.
Ashley's voice was barely a whisper. "I don't know anymore."
Kelvin's gaze dropped to her lips—just for a second. Then he turned away.
"Get some sleep," he said, walking toward his room. "We've got another meeting in the morning."
The door shut softly behind him.
And Ashley stood there alone, pulse racing, unsure which lie was more dangerous—the one they told the world… or the one she was starting to tell herself.
---
Scene: Ashley's POV
Ashley lay in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ornate ceiling above her.
The sheets were too soft. The room too quiet. And her mind—unforgiving.
Why didn't I tell him to end it?
She could have. She should have. But the words caught in her throat and dissolved into nothing.
She rolled onto her side and stared at the wall separating her from Kelvin's room. She wondered if he was asleep. Wondered if he ever really slept, or if he just lay there like her—restless, tangled in thoughts he wouldn't dare admit.
Everything about this situation was wrong. The lie. The pressure. The spotlight. And yet…
There was something about the way he had looked at her before walking away. Not with affection. But not with coldness either. More like… recognition. Like he saw through the armor she wore and was quietly acknowledging his own.
Ashley sighed and was about to get out of bed when her phone buzzed.
"Incoming Call: Mom"
She picked it up immediately. "Hey, Mom. Everything okay?"
"You tell me," her mother's voice said gently. "You sound like someone who's carrying the world on her back."
Ashley let out a half-laugh, trying not to sound too fragile. "It's just work, Mom. Nothing I can't handle."
"Oh please," came another voice suddenly—Vivian, loud and nosy through the speaker. "Tell her the truth, Ash. Did Mr. Iceberg give you another emotional scar?"
Ashley laughed softly despite herself. "You're on speaker? Seriously?"
"I am the emotional support committee, thank you very much," Vivian said proudly. "And your mother forced me to call because she had a 'gut feeling' that you needed to hear our voices."
Her mom's voice followed, gentler now. "I know you're not one to open up easily, but don't carry everything alone, sweetheart. We're still here. And we're just one call away."
Ashley closed her eyes, biting her lower lip. "I know. I just… I didn't expect things to get this complicated."
"Then uncomplicate it," Viv said. " Is he giving you a hard time?
There was a silence on Ashley's end.
"it hasn't been easy working for him," she replied quietly. "i wish I could step away from all these"
That made both voices go quiet. Then her mom said softly, "Ashley… don't lose yourself in someone else's storm."
"I won't."
They hung up with promises of random check-ins and love yous.
Ashley slipped the phone under her pillow and finally got up, walking out to the balcony. The breeze brushed against her skin, and somewhere in the stillness, she could breathe again.
But as she stared into the night, one truth settled deeper into her chest:
She was already in the storm.
---
Kelvin's Room, Same Night
Kelvin sat at the edge of the bed, glass of untouched scotch resting in his hand.
The room was dark except for the sliver of moonlight filtering through the blinds. The city murmured faintly outside, but he barely noticed.
She should've walked away.
He'd given her the out. Laid it down like a contract clause. Say the word. Walk away.
But she hadn't.
And that unsettled him more than he was willing to admit.
He wasn't used to second-guessing. Not in business. Not in life. He made decisions, executed them, and moved on. That was how you survived in a world that bled you dry if you showed too much heart.
But Ashley Benson…
She was a disruption. A crack in a perfectly structured routine.
The way she'd stood up to him, fury in her voice, fire in her eyes—he should've been angry. Should've put her in her place. But instead, he'd listened. Actually listened.
She didn't care about his name or his money. Didn't shrink beneath his coldness or flatter him like the rest of the world did. And that made her dangerous.
Because it made her real.
He exhaled sharply and stood, walking over to the window. He drew the blinds aside just slightly, catching a glimpse of her on the balcony next door. Her back was to him, her shoulders curled inward from the cold, hair dancing with the breeze.
She looked… tired. But strong.
Too strong for this bullshit, he thought.
And still, she stayed.
He let the blinds fall shut.
This was a mistake. All of it.
But he'd already let the lie slip, and now, they were both trapped in it—dancing around the edges of something neither of them had agreed to feel.