Chapter 4 Let's Not Blur The Lines

• I couldn't sleep. By midnight, I was wandering the dim hallways in a comfortable cotton sweater and lounge pants. The endless wooden corridor stretched out like a maze, illuminated only by small brass wall sconces.
• My bare feet made almost no sound on the runner rug. Every door I passed belonged to another empty room, another piece of history I didn't belong to. I followed a faint yellow light into the grand library.
• ​The room smelled of old paper, polished leather, and beeswax. Tall shelves reached up toward the painted ceiling. Atticus sat in a leather armchair near the window.
• His suit jacket was gone, replaced by brown cotton pants and a green robe tied loosely. Reading glasses sat on his nose as he turned a page of a thick hardback book.
• ​"Billionaires don't sleep?" I asked softly, leaning against the doorframe.
• ​He looked up, pulling his glasses off. "Rarely. What keeps you awake?"
• ​"The fact that my life changed entirely in twelve hours," I said, walking over to the fireplace. I rubbed my arms against the chill, watching the low embers glow behind the iron grate. "Twelve hours ago, I was buying pastries for my fiancé. Now I'm staying in a palace with his father."
• ​"Life shifts quickly when you remove toxic elements," Atticus said, closing the book with a heavy thud and setting it on the side table. "You should be resting, not brooding."
• ​"I'm not brooding," I lied. "I'm processing."
• ​"There is nothing left to process," he said softly. "The contract is signed. Your tuition is secured. Solomon is out of your way."
• ​"You make it sound so simple," I said. "Like wiping dust off a table."
• ​"Change is uncomfortable," he said, his deep voice filling the quiet room. "But necessary."
• ​"You're remarkably calm for a man who just fake-engaged his son's ex-fiancée," I said, a small smile tugging at my lips.
• ​"I am always calm, Freya," he said, his gaze steady on mine. "It keeps the world moving smoothly."
• ​"Does anything ever shake you?" I asked, taking a small step closer to his chair. "Does anything ever force you to break character?"
• ​"Very few things," he replied, standing up slowly. His tall frame cast a long shadow across the rug. "And none of them involve chaos caused by my son."
• ​"He's going to tell everyone, you know," I said. "Solomon won't just let this go. His pride is crushed."
• ​"Solomon will do exactly as he is told," Atticus said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "He relies on my capital. A man without his own foundation should not make demands."
• ​"And what about me?" I asked, looking up at him. "Can I make demands?"
• ​"You made your demand when you asked for your future back," Atticus said, his eyes scanning my face. "And I granted it."
• ​"In exchange for playing your fiancé," I reminded him.
• ​"In exchange for a strategic partnership," he corrected smoothly. "One that benefits us both."
• ​"I should get back to bed," I whispered, the atmosphere turning heavy between us.
• ​"I will walk you," Atticus said, standing up from his chair.
• ​He walked around the heavy desk, taking broad, even strides. We stepped out into the dim hallway together.
• ​We walked down the long, quiet hallway together. Every step felt louder than the last. The grand portraits on the walls seemed to stare down at us, frozen in gold frames. The silence between us wasn't uncomfortable, but it hummed with an odd, nervous energy. We stopped outside my bedroom doors.
• ​"Thank you for the macarons," I said, turning to face him.
• ​"You enjoyed them?" he asked softly.
• ​"I did," I admitted. "Even if you ordered them to be made just to prove you know everything about me."
• ​"I don't know everything," he said softly. "Not yet."
• ​Atticus stepped closer. He raised his hand, his fingers briefly brushing the side of my neck as he straightened the folded fabric of my sweater collar. The heat from his hand radiated against my skin. My breath hitched in my throat.
• ​The scent of sage, lavender, and the warmth of his expensive cologne wrapped around me. Solomon had never smelled like this. Solomon had always smelled like sweet body spray and young arrogance. Atticus felt completely different. Powerful. Dangerous.
• ​His fingers lingered on my collar for a fraction of a second before dropping. His eyes dropped down to my lips, then slowly slid back up to meet my gaze.
• ​"You're standing very close, Atticus," I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs.
• ​"Is that a complaint?" he asked softly, his thumb brushing the edge of my jaw before dropping back to his side.
• ​"No," I breathed, unable to look away from his face. "Just an observation."
• ​Atticus raised his right arm, bracing his hand against the doorframe right beside my head. He didn't touch me, but he hovered so close I could feel the heat rolling off his chest.
• ​"I am a man of my word, Freya," he said, his baritone voice dropping into a low husk that sent a shiver straight down my spine.
• ​I couldn't breathe. "And?"
• ​"Do not tempt me to break it," he whispered.
• ​"What happens if I do?" I murmured, my voice barely audible in the dark hallway. "What happens if I don't follow your rules?"
• ​"You don't want to find out," he said softly, his chest rising and falling slowly.
• ​My pulse went wild, hammering against my ribs. Instead of stepping back into the safety of my room, I lifted my chin. I looked directly at his mouth, his open chest and then back at his eyes, challenging him.
• ​A sharp spark flared in his dark eyes. He didn't laugh. He didn't smile.
• ​Suddenly, Atticus snapped his hand off the doorframe and took two large steps backward. The warm air between us instantly turned freezing cold.
• ​"Goodnight, Miss Barnes," he said sharply.
• ​He turned on his heel and walked swiftly down the dark corridor without looking back. I stood frozen outside my doors, breathless, heart pounding, and furious at how much I wished he hadn't walked away.