Xavier Cole prided himself on having absolute control over every facet of his life. Power and decisiveness had guided him from a scrappy business school graduate to the head of Cole Enterprises. Yet, as he leaned back in his office chair that evening, he couldn't shake the unfamiliar feeling that lingered since Elizabeth Hayes had walked out of his office.
She was… intriguing. Infuriatingly stubborn, perhaps, but there was something in her gaze that reminded him of himself. She'd looked at him as if she could see through the armor he wore for everyone else, as if his power and money meant nothing to her. He respected her determination to hold onto that gallery. Most people folded when he gave them a price. Elizabeth, however, had defied his expectations, and that was precisely why she was the perfect candidate.
His phone buzzed, interrupting his thoughts. He checked the message from his assistant, who confirmed Elizabeth's move-in date for next Monday. He leaned back, folding his hands behind his head. She'd soon enter his world, a world she'd no doubt try to resist. But a year wasn't so long. He could manage a pretend marriage, and then they'd part ways as strangers once again.
Or so he kept telling himself.
Monday morning arrived with a strange tension hanging in the air. Xavier had ordered his house staff to prepare Elizabeth's suite with the same care he afforded high-profile clients. Yet, he knew she wasn't the sort to be impressed by luxury; no, Elizabeth was different. A challenging variable, perhaps, but he respected that.
As the clock struck noon, he spotted her car pulling up to the house. Xavier watched from the front window, studying her as she emerged, looking slightly out of place amid the sprawling estate's pristine landscaping. She was wearing a simple, understated outfit, but her posture was anything but submissive. She straightened her back, lifted her chin, and took in the grand surroundings with an almost defiant look, as if daring him to judge her discomfort.
Xavier found himself almost… amused.
He met her at the entrance, gesturing for the valet to take her keys. "Welcome, Mrs. Cole," he greeted her, a hint of irony in his tone.
Elizabeth eyes narrowed, and he could sense her bristling at the name. "That's going to take some getting used to," she replied, her tone flat.
He allowed himself a faint smile. "It's temporary. You'll survive."
She met his gaze without flinching, and for a moment, he almost admired her resolve. She was clearly out of her element, yet she didn't let it show.
"If you'll follow me, I'll show you to your suite," he said, keeping his tone neutral. "We'll be living in the same house, but your space is your own. Privacy is a priority."
She simply nodded, and he turned, leading her down the long hallway to the east wing. He could feel her gaze on him as they walked, and he wondered what she saw. Likely, she assumed he was just another rich, ruthless CEO with more money than morals. In truth, he'd seen Elizabeth's type before: people who thought they were too noble to be corrupted by wealth. But everyone had a price, and Elizabeth had just named hers.
They reached the suite, and he gestured for her to step inside. It was a beautifully decorated space—tasteful, with touches of elegance. French doors opened to a private terrace overlooking the estate's manicured gardens, and a cozy seating area featured a selection of books that he'd instructed the staff to arrange based on her taste. Her expression softened for the briefest moment as she took it all in, though she quickly masked it, as if wary of giving him any satisfaction.
"It's… nice," she said after a moment, her tone cautious.
"I thought you might find it comfortable," he replied. "Consider it a place to unwind. No need to spend time together more than necessary."
She glanced at him, and he could sense her relief. "Good. The less we pretend, the easier this will be."
Xavier raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised by her bluntness. Most people tried to please him or, at the very least, avoid challenging him directly. Elizabeth was the opposite, and in a way, it was refreshing. At least she was honest.
"Tomorrow, I'll arrange for a driver to take you to and from the gallery," he continued, ignoring her remark. "We'll also need to attend a dinner event together this Friday. It's an important networking opportunity, and my grandmother will be present."
He noticed her slight wince, and he realized that the mere mention of his family would likely test her patience. Elizabeth looked like she had a thousand questions, but she only nodded, accepting his conditions.
"That should be manageable," she said, her voice carrying a note of resignation. "I assume there's a dress code."
He gave a small nod, catching her gaze. "The dress code is formal. I'll have something delivered to you by Thursday. You'll look the part."
Elizabeth's eyes flashed with annoyance, and he could almost see her biting back a retort. He found himself wondering what she would say if she actually let her guard down. It was almost… entertaining, the way she seemed to fight against every part of this arrangement.
But then, she surprised him by sighing, a trace of vulnerability breaking through her facade.
"I never imagined I'd be living here," she said, more to herself than to him. "My life feels like it's spinning out of control."
Xavier felt a rare pang of sympathy, though he buried it quickly. Her situation was a result of her own choices. In his world, people either rose or fell based on their decisions, and she was simply adapting to the circumstances she'd created. Still, her quiet words lingered in his mind.
"Control is a choice," he replied, his tone softer than he intended. "You may be here because of your situation, but how you respond to it is entirely up to you."
She looked at him, seeming caught off guard by his response. He could tell she hadn't expected him to be anything more than the cold businessman she'd pegged him as. But he didn't elaborate further, and before she could respond, he turned and left, letting the silence settle between them.
Xavier returned to his office, feeling unsettled in a way he hadn't anticipated. In his world, emotions were weaknesses, distractions from the goals he set for himself. Yet something about Elizabeth's presence struck a nerve he couldn't quite define.
She was a fascinating contradiction—a woman fiercely loyal to her past, yet practical enough to compromise on her principles when necessary. And though she despised him, she still held her head high in his presence, refusing to be intimidated.
The rest of the week passed with the usual rhythm of meetings, strategy sessions, and late-night conference calls. Yet in the quiet moments, his mind drifted to Elizabeth, to the woman now sharing his home. She was like a puzzle he couldn't quite solve, an enigma wrapped in a sense of stubborn resilience.
On Thursday, he arranged for a custom gown to be delivered to her suite, knowing the social event on Friday would require a specific level of elegance. He didn't give it much thought until he saw her in the doorway of the foyer that evening, ready for the event. She was breathtaking. The gown, a rich shade of deep emerald, hugged her figure perfectly, and her hair was styled in loose waves that framed her face. But it was her expression—a mix of determination and guarded vulnerability—that truly captivated him.
He caught himself staring, quickly masking his surprise with a neutral expression. "You look appropriate," he said, his voice carefully controlled.
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by his restrained compliment. "I'll take that as a compliment from you."
He offered her his arm, and after a moment's hesitation, she took it, though her grip was stiff and tentative. They stepped into the car, and he could sense her nerves as they drove through the city.
As they arrived at the venue, Xavier braced himself for the inevitable scrutiny from his family, particularly his grandmother. Eleanor Cole was a formidable woman, and though he respected her, he knew she wouldn't hesitate to probe into his motives for marrying a woman she'd never heard of.
He felt Elizabeth tense beside him as they walked into the grand ballroom, the weight of countless eyes falling on them. He leaned toward her, lowering his voice.
"Remember," he murmured, "you're not here to prove anything to them. You're here to help me. That's all."
She looked up at him, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. He could tell she hadn't expected even a hint of reassurance from him. But she nodded, taking a steadying breath.
The evening passed in a blur of introductions, formalities, and subtle tests from his family, particularly his grandmother, who watched them both with a critical eye. To his relief, Elizabeth handled it well, her polite smiles and composed demeanor masking the discomfort he knew she felt.
Yet, as the evening wound down, he realized he hadn't anticipated the effect this arrangement might have on him. Elizabeth's presence felt less like a business obligation and more like a disruption in his carefully ordered life. She was a constant reminder that, despite his success, there were things even he couldn't control.
And as he glanced at her one last time before they left the ballroom, he wondered if she might become the one challenge he couldn't quite conquer.