Chapter 3

Emma

[Two weeks earlier]

Moving quietly, I gathered my scattered clothing—bra hanging from a lampshade, panties torn beyond salvation, stockings ripped at the thigh. My hands wouldn't stop shaking, and I had to take three deep breaths to keep from hyperventilating. How had I let this happen? I knew better.

We had a contract—a prenuptial agreement spelling out exactly what our relationship was supposed to be. Professional. Mutually beneficial. Temporary. And above all, secret.

The public thought Noah York was Manhattan's most eligible bachelor. Our marriage existed on paper only—a strategic alliance known just to a handful of trusted employees, his aunt Violet, and my parents. The world saw me as his brilliant CSO, nothing more. The ring I occasionally wore at private events stayed locked in my desk drawer during business hours.

In several days, our three-year contract marriage would end. The prenup would expire, and we'd go our separate ways. That had been the plan from the beginning.

And then last night happened.

I glanced back at Noah as I pulled on my wrinkled skirt, wincing as the fabric scraped against my tender flesh. His face was turned into the pillow now, his broad shoulders rising and falling with each breath. For a moment, I allowed myself to imagine what it would be like if this were real.

But then I remembered what he'd said last night, in the moment when pleasure had overtaken him, when his control had finally slipped completely, when he'd thrust his cock deep inside me and shuddered with release: "Lucy."

"Fuck!" The word escaped through gritted teeth as I yanked on my blouse, not bothering with the missing buttons, and grabbed my jacket to cover it. My stockings were beyond salvation, so I stuffed them into my purse, hands trembling so badly I nearly dropped everything. I couldn't find one shoe and didn't have the patience to look for it.

As I limped toward the door, I took one last look at him.

The man who had never really seen me at all.

I slipped out of the room, closing the door silently behind me.

In the hallway, I leaned against the wall, trying to gather myself. I pressed my forehead against the cool wallpaper, cursing myself for a fool. I quickly bought a business suit and changed into it in the next room, pretending as if nothing had happened.

Back to the hallway, my phone showed three missed calls from Sarah Miller, my assistant. Before I could check the messages, a notification banner slid across my screen—a news alert that made my stomach drop:

"Grammy winner Lucy Manning ends European tour, returns to NYC this week."

So that was why Noah had gotten blackout drunk last night. Lucy was coming back. His first love, the famous singer who'd broken his heart years ago when their Silicon Valley startup was just taking off, was returning to New York. The gossip blogs would go wild, speculating about their reunion. No one would suspect that the "bachelor" CEO had a secret wife waiting in the wings.

"Shit, shit, shit," I hissed, digging my nails into my palms until they left marks. I fumbled in my purse for cigarettes—a habit I'd quit years ago but kept an emergency pack for moments exactly like this. My hands shook violently as I lit one, inhaling deeply despite the "No Smoking" sign ten feet away. The nicotine hit my system, calming my frayed nerves slightly.

"Mrs. York?"

I nearly jumped out of my fucking skin. Sarah was hurrying down the hallway, a garment bag draped over her arm. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in my disheveled appearance, but to her credit, her expression remained professional.

"I brought Mr. York's suit for the Johnson meeting, as requested," she said, looking everywhere but directly at me.

"Thank you, Sarah." I tried to sound normal, like I wasn't standing outside a hotel room looking like I'd been thoroughly ravaged by my own husband. "He prefers the black Armani for investor meetings, not the navy. And make sure the silver tie with the subtle pattern is pressed—he doesn't like the striped one with that suit."

Sarah nodded, making mental notes. "Of course. And shall I reschedule your 9 AM with the marketing team?"

"No, I'll make it. Just have coffee waiting in the conference room." I took the garment bag from her, grateful for the distraction. "Is the car waiting downstairs?"

"Yes, ma'am. And..." Sarah hesitated, glancing nervously at the closed hotel room door. "Mr. York is already awake. He seems... upset. He's broken several items in the suite already."

My heart sank to my fucking toes. "I see."

"He's asking for you," Sarah added, her voice dropping to a whisper. "He seems really angry, Mrs. York."

She glanced around quickly before saying "Mrs. York," one of the few people who knew our actual relationship. The title was never used in public, never around anyone who might leak it to the press.

Of course Noah was angry. He probably remembered enough of last night to know he'd slept with someone, but not enough to remember it was me.

"Thank you, Sarah. You can go now." I straightened my jacket with shaking hands, mentally switching into crisis management mode. This was familiar territory at least—handling Noah's tempestuous moods was part of my job description, both as his CSO and his secret wife.

As Sarah retreated down the hallway, I heard a crash from inside the suite, followed by Noah's voice—low, dangerous, threatening. "Get out! All of you, get OUT!"

The door flew open, and a terrified hotel staff member scurried out, nearly colliding with me. Behind him, I could see the destruction in the room—a shattered crystal lamp, what looked like the remains of a cell phone on the floor, bedsheets ripped from the mattress.

Noah stood in the middle of it all, a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair still damp from a shower. Even in this state, he was magnificent—every inch the powerful CEO, radiating authority even half-naked in a destroyed hotel room.

His eyes found mine, cold and hard as glaciers. "Where the hell have you been?"

I drew a deep breath, slipping seamlessly into the role I'd perfected over three years—the efficient, unflappable Ms. Wells in public, Mrs. York in private—who could handle any crisis with cool professionalism. I straightened my spine despite the ache between my legs.

"I had to deal with the Richards situation at the office," I lied smoothly, walking past him to hang up the garment bag. My hands were steady now, my emotions locked down tight. "I fell asleep at my desk reviewing the crisis communication plans last night."

Noah's eyes narrowed, studying my face with that penetrating gaze that had intimidated countless business rivals. His voice was raspy from last night's drinking, with an undercurrent of fury that would have terrified anyone who didn't know him as well as I did.

"Where was I last night?"

My heart skipped a beat, but I kept my expression neutral as I poured him a glass of water from the untouched pitcher on the sideboard. "You had too much to drink at the gala. I brought you back here to sleep it off."

"And then you left." It wasn't a question.