Chapter 8
The smell of roasted beans clung to the air as I stirred my coffee absentmindedly. Across from me, Alice was grinning like she knew something I didn’t.
“You’ve been postponing your project meetings lately,” she said, lifting her cup. “Let me guess. Too many rich–people events with your husband?”
I gave her a deadpan look. “It’s not what you think.”
She leaned closer, chin resting on her hand. “No strings attached, purely business… yeah, yeah,
I’ve heard that before.”
“It is,” I insisted, sipping my latte. “He needed a wife for his inheritance. I needed an escape.
That’s it.”
“But he’s hot,” she smirked. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”
I groaned, rolling my eyes. “Fine. Yes. He’s nice. Smart. Annoyingly hot. Always composed, smells like sin and power, and somehow manages to look expensive even in a T–shirt.”
“Exactly my point.” She raised her brows suggestively.
“But,” I cut her off, setting my cup down with a soft clink, “I’m not interested in love. Not anymore. I’ve been burned once, not going for seconds.”
Alice sobered, nodding slowly. “Fair enough… but you sounded a little weird earlier. Like you’re curious about him?”
I hesitated before confessing, “I think he’s in love with someone else.”
Alice blinked. “Wait, what? Why would you say that?”
I leaned back, eyes unfocused. “The other day, he pulled out his wallet to get something. I saw a photo inside. It wasn’t clear, but it was of a woman. Looked important. He doesn’t talk about her, and I haven’t seen anything in the estate to suggest he’s currently dating someone, but still…”
Alice hummed. “You know… now that you say that, I do remember hearing something. Some rumor that he used to date someone seriously. But no name, no face. Nothing.”
“Exactly,” I murmured. “But hey–none of my business. I’m not planning on falling for a man who might already belong to someone else.”
She gave me a look. “You’re already thinking too much.”
I smiled faintly. “Which is why we should change the topic. Let’s talk about the project.”
We dove into plans and outlines, but even after the meeting, my thoughts lingered around Rozen. When I returned to the estate, the smell of garlic and herbs filled the air. My eyes widened as I found Rozen in the kitchen–apron on, sleeves rolled up, preparing what looked like a full dinner spread.
“You cook?” I asked, more amused than shocked.
Rozen glanced up, then shrugged. “Sometimes.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“No occasion.” He slid a bowl toward me. “Eat with me.”
I arched a brow. “Why?”
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He met my gaze without hesitation. “Because I want to.”
Something about his tone made me pause. It wasn’t a command, it wasn’t even a suggestion–i was… a request. And it felt oddly intimate.
I took a seat.
‘You’re not as cold as you pretend to be,” I muttered while chewing.
He didn’t look at me. “You’re not as detached as you claim.”
Touché.
A beat passed in silence before I asked, “How long do you think this arrangement will last?”
He paused, setting his glass down. “Until one of us breaks the rule.”
nodded. “The no–falling–in–love clause.”
Rozen’s lips tugged into a small smirk. “Exactly. And if one of us does… they pay the price.”
smiled wryly. “Don’t worry. I won’t. I don’t believe in love anymore.”
Then, curious, I ventured, “Have you ever been in love?”
The question seemed to shift the atmosphere.
Rozen stilled, eyes darkening slightly. His fork hovered above his plate, then slowly lowered. Bu he didn’t answer.
didn’t push. His silence spoke louder than words:
Later that night, the estate was quieter than usual. The stillness felt heavy. I wandered aimlessly my feet guiding me through winding halls until I stumbled upon a large double–door tucked in a dim corner.
Curiosity got the better of me.
pushed the doors open and gasped.
A library. A massive one.
Floor–to–ceiling shelves stretched across every wall, filled with books that looked like they hadn’t been touched in years. There was a faint scent of old paper, mahogany, and something floral. My eyes wandered to the center of the room where a large painting hung–an oil portrait of a
woman.
She was beautiful. Delicate. Her eyes held a softness I’d never seen in Rozen. Was this… her?
Beneath the portrait was a long wooden table with neatly arranged vases, framed photos, and tiny knickknacks. My fingers brushed a porcelain vase trimmed with gold.
lifted it, curious. There was a faint inscription on the bottom in cursive. I tilted it to read it-
‘What the hell are you doing here?”
The sharp voice startled me.
My hand jerked.
The vase slipped.
It shattered on the floor.
