Christmas Eve in the city always looked like a postcard someone had smudged with real life. The streets glittered. The wind bit. And the office building where Veil Industries lived its sleepless corporate dream stood dark and silent, like it had finally exhaled.

Isaac Reed waited by the elevator with the tired patience of a man who had learned not to rush hope. His shift was over. His shoulders ached from hours hunched over servers and error logs, his eyes still swimming with blue light. He should have been home already, heating whatever was left in the fridge, checking his daughter’s breathing the way he always did when she’d had a rough day.

He felt someone behind him and turned.

Eleanor Vale stood there.

Not on a screen. Not in a company-wide memo. Not in the sharp, distant way she’d appeared twice in three years, floating through the building with lawyers like storm clouds with briefcases. She was here in person, close enough that Isaac could see the faint crease between her brows, the faint shadows under her eyes, the subtle tremor she tried to hide by keeping her hands still.

Everyone called her ice-cold. Untouchable. The billionaire CEO who could close million-dollar deals before breakfast and make seasoned executives sweat with a single glance. The woman who had been on the cover of Forbes three times before turning thirty.

But tonight she looked like someone standing at the edge of a cliff, trying to negotiate with gravity.

“I need you,” she said.

Isaac blinked, because those two words didn’t belong in her mouth. Not like that.

“I need you to pretend to be my husband tomorrow.”

For a second, Isaac forgot how elevators worked. Forgot how air worked. He stared at her like she’d just asked him to rewrite the laws of physics with a paperclip.

“I’m sorry,” he managed, because his brain was still catching up. “What?”

Eleanor didn’t repeat herself. She glanced toward the glass doors leading to the lobby, then back at him. Her jaw was tight, her shoulders squared. Her voice was low and controlled, but there was a crack running through it.

“I know how it sounds,” she said. “But I wouldn’t ask if I had any other option.”

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. Neither of them moved.

Isaac worked in IT on the sixth floor. He fixed servers, troubleshot network issues, and kept his head down because keeping your head down meant you got to keep your job. He’d been with Veil Industries three years. Eleanor Vale had walked past him like he was part of the wallpaper.

She wasn’t supposed to know his name.

“Why me?” he asked, because his mouth was brave even when his heart wasn’t.

Eleanor looked at him directly. Her eyes were dark and exhausted, the kind of exhaustion that money didn’t cure.

“Because you’re real,” she said. “And because I don’t have time to explain this to anyone else and risk them selling it to the press.”

Isaac’s phone felt heavy in his pocket. Ruby was with the neighbor tonight. Mrs. Callaway had agreed to watch her until he got home, but only because Isaac had promised to pay her by the end of the week. He was already two months behind on Ruby’s medical bills. The hospital had started sending letters, the kind with bold print and deadlines that felt like threats dressed up as paperwork.

He should have walked away. He should have said no and gone home.

But Eleanor Vale was standing here like a woman drowning in a suit that probably cost more than his car.

“Four days,” she said. “That’s all I need. You show up with me tomorrow. You meet my family. You act like we’re together. After that, you never have to see me again.”

Isaac crossed his arms, trying to find a foothold in this conversation. “And what do I get out of this?”

Eleanor didn’t hesitate.

“Two hundred thousand dollars.”

The air between them went still, like the building itself had stopped listening out of respect.

Isaac felt his chest tighten.

Two hundred thousand.

That was Ruby’s medical debt and then some. That was the overdue mortgage. That was breathing room. That was the kind of number that could change a life with a single deposit notification.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. His thoughts stumbled over each other, tripping in their hurry.

Eleanor stepped closer. “I know you have a daughter,” she said. “I know you’re struggling. I’m not asking you to do this for free. I’m asking you to help me… and I’ll help you.”

Isaac looked at her. Really looked.

Polished. Controlled. Untouchable. And yet—her eyes had the brittle edge of someone who had spent years holding herself together with sheer willpower. As if her whole life was a glass sculpture and one wrong breath could shatter it.

“Why do you need this?” Isaac asked quietly.

Her expression hardened, a shutter coming down.

“My family owns Veil Industries,” she said. “My grandfather built it. My father expanded it. And now they’re deciding whether I’m stable enough to keep it.” Her voice sharpened. “They think I’m too young. Too cold. Too focused on work and not enough on… life.”

Isaac frowned. “So you need a fake boyfriend.”

“A husband,” Eleanor corrected. “They won’t believe anything less.”

He let out a slow breath. This was insane. This was something that happened in movies, not in the echoing lobby of a corporate building on Christmas Eve. But the number sat in his skull like a bell that wouldn’t stop ringing.

“And after four days,” he said, “you go back to your life. I go back to mine. No one ever knows.”

Eleanor’s gaze didn’t soften, but something in it steadied. “Yes.”

Isaac should have said no. He knew he should have.

But then he pictured Ruby’s face when he’d told her they couldn’t afford the school trip. The way she’d nodded like she understood, too mature for seven, as if she’d already learned that disappointment was just part of being loved by him.

“Okay,” he heard himself say.

Eleanor’s shoulders dropped slightly. Relief. Actual relief, like someone had loosened a rope around her ribs.

“Thank you,” she said.

Isaac nodded, but his stomach was already twisting. “When do we start?”

“Now,” Eleanor said, and gestured toward the elevator.

The executive level felt like a different country. Quiet. Carpeted. The walls lined with dark wood and soft lighting that made everything look expensive and secretive. Eleanor led him into a private conference room and closed the door behind them.

Isaac hovered near the table, unsure if he was allowed to sit.

Eleanor walked to the far end of the room and turned to face him. Her posture was perfect. Her eyes were sharp.

“Before we go any further,” she said, “there’s one condition.”

Isaac waited, bracing himself.

“If either of us develops real feelings during this arrangement, we confess immediately,” Eleanor said. “The moment you feel something, you tell me. The moment I feel something, I tell you. And if that happens, the contract ends. No money. No deal. Nothing.”

Isaac stared at her. “You’re serious.”

“I’m always serious,” she said. And then, a beat later, like she regretted the harshness: “This only works if it stays fake.”

Something cold settled in Isaac’s chest. Not because the rule was unreasonable. Because it implied she’d seen this kind of thing go wrong before. Or she was terrified of it going wrong now.

“And there’s more,” Eleanor continued. “After the four days, you’ll be transferred to our Denver branch. New position. Better pay. But you won’t be in this city anymore. You won’t work in this building.” Her voice was firm, but her eyes flickered. “You won’t see me again.”

Isaac swallowed. “You’re exiling me.”

“I’m protecting both of us,” Eleanor said. “If you stay here, people will ask questions. They’ll dig. The press will smell blood.”

Denver was eight hundred miles away. Ruby would have to change schools, leave her friends, start over. But two hundred thousand dollars wasn’t just money. It was a clean slate.

Isaac pulled out his phone and opened a picture.

Ruby thought her smile could hold the world together. In the photo she was holding up a drawing: stick figures, a house, a sun in the corner like a promise.

“Her name is Ruby,” Isaac said. “She’s seven. She’s the only thing that matters to me.” He looked Eleanor in the eyes. “If I do this, it’s for her. Not for you. Not for your family.”

Eleanor stared at the photo a long moment, and for the first time her expression didn’t look like armor. It looked like something underneath armor. Something that remembered what it meant to want.

“Then we have a deal,” she said.

She slid a contract across the table. Isaac read it twice, because it felt like signing it would make the last five minutes real. Four days. Two hundred thousand upon completion. Transfer to Denver within one week. No contact after.

No exceptions.

Isaac’s hand hovered. This was the moment he could still walk away.

Then he thought about the bills and Ruby’s small brave nods and his own exhaustion, the kind that wasn’t from working late but from losing ground.

He signed.

Eleanor signed beneath his name, folded the contract, and tucked it back into the folder like she was filing away a weakness.

“Tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock,” she said. “Wear something formal. My driver will pick you up.”

Isaac left the building feeling like the city had gained weight while he was inside. Louder. Heavier. More alive and less forgiving. Snow flurried in the air like it couldn’t decide whether to be beautiful or cruel.

He walked toward the subway thinking: I just agreed to pretend to be someone else’s husband.

And for the next four days, he would have to lie to everyone.

Including himself.

At 8:55 a.m., a black sedan pulled up outside Isaac’s apartment.

He climbed in wearing a borrowed suit that didn’t quite fit. Eleanor was already there, dressed in a cream-colored coat and dark sunglasses. She looked like she belonged in a world where doors opened before you reached them.

“Good morning,” she said.

Isaac nodded, because he didn’t trust his voice yet.

The city slid past outside the window. Then the streets widened, the houses grew bigger, and the fences became less about keeping dogs in and more about keeping people out.

Eleanor spoke again without turning her head.

“My mother will be the hardest,” she said. “She doesn’t trust anyone. She’ll watch you like a hawk. My sister Clara will try to trip you up. She thinks this is funny. My uncle will ignore you unless he sees an opportunity to use you against me.”

Isaac glanced at her. “And your father?”

Eleanor’s mouth flattened. “He’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said. “He’s been gone three years. The company should’ve been mine then. But the board wanted to wait.” Bitterness surfaced like dark ink in water. “Being good at your job isn’t enough. You have to prove you’re human.”

That line landed hard.

Isaac understood that kind of test. He’d been taking it for years, trying to prove he was enough for Ruby, enough for a life that kept asking for more than he had.

The car turned onto a long driveway lined with trees. At the end stood the Vale estate. Not a house. A monument. Stone walls. Tall windows. Columns like judgment.

The front door opened before they reached it.

Eleanor’s mother stood in the doorway. Tall, sharp-eyed, dressed in a dark gray dress that looked like it had been tailored for disapproval. Her gaze moved over Isaac like a scanner.

“So this is him,” she said.

Eleanor stepped beside Isaac and took his hand. Her grip was firm, almost too firm.

“This is Isaac Reed,” Eleanor said. “My husband.”

The word hung in the air like a dare.

Isaac forced a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Vale.”

She didn’t smile back.

“We’ll see,” she said, and turned away.

Inside, the estate was marble and museum art and silence. Perfect, pristine, and cold. Isaac felt like if he spoke too loudly he’d leave fingerprints on the air.

In the sitting room, Clara and Victor were waiting.

Clara reminds Isaac of a blade wrapped in velvet. Dark hair, bright false smile, eyes sharp with amusement. Victor, Eleanor’s uncle, sat back like he already owned the room.

Clara stood immediately. “Ellie,” she sang. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing a guest.”

Eleanor didn’t let go of Isaac’s hand. “Clara. This is Isaac.”

Clara’s smile widened as she shook his hand. Her grip was ice. “How wonderful,” she said. “I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone.”

“We’ve been keeping it private,” Eleanor replied smoothly.

Victor didn’t offer his hand. “Victor Vale,” he said, like a warning label.

Mrs. Vale gestured to the chairs. “Sit. We have much to discuss.”

Isaac sat beside Eleanor on a stiff couch. Clara sat across from them, smile still pinned in place. Victor watched.

Mrs. Vale folded her hands. “Isaac Reed, tell me about yourself.”

The question was simple. The trap was that it wasn’t.

Isaac kept his voice steady. “I work in IT. I’ve been with Veil Industries three years.”

“And how did you and my daughter meet?”

Isaac opened his mouth and found nothing. Panic rose like heat in his throat. They hadn’t rehearsed this.

Eleanor answered before the silence could grow teeth.

“We met at work,” she said. “He fixed my laptop after it crashed during a board meeting. I was furious. He stayed calm. We started talking.”

Clara leaned forward. “How romantic. And when did this happen?”

“Eight months ago,” Eleanor said without blinking.

Clara’s smile sharpened. “Eight months. And none of us knew?”

Eleanor held her ground. “I didn’t want the press involved. I didn’t want the board questioning my judgment.”

Mrs. Vale’s eyes narrowed. “And yet here you are introducing him now.”

Eleanor met her mother’s gaze like it was a negotiation. “Because he matters,” she said. “And I’m tired of pretending he doesn’t.”

The room went quiet. Isaac felt every eye on him.

Victor spoke, finally. “What are your intentions with my niece?”

Isaac could feel the snare. Any answer could be wrong.

“I care about her,” he said. “That’s all.”

Victor leaned back. “Caring isn’t enough in this family.”

Clara laughed softly. “Uncle Victor, don’t scare him off already.”

Mrs. Vale stood. “Dinner is at seven. Don’t be late.”

And then they were alone.

Isaac exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for an hour.

Eleanor released his hand. “That went better than I expected,” she said.

“That was better?”

She almost smiled. “Almost.”

She led him upstairs to a large elegant bedroom with a four-poster bed. “We’ll be sharing this room,” she said. “My mother will check. She always does.”

Isaac stared at the bed like it was a courtroom. “I can sleep on the floor.”

“You’ll make the bed look suspicious,” Eleanor said. “Married people sleep in the same bed.”

Isaac nodded slowly. He could do this. He could do four days. He could survive marble floors and sharp questions.

He didn’t realize the hardest part wouldn’t be the lies.

It would be the moments that didn’t feel like lies.

Dinner was held in a dining room that could seat twenty. The table glittered with crystal and silver. Candles burned. Everything was designed to look like tradition and power had always lived here.

Isaac sat beside Eleanor, careful not to reach for the wrong fork like it might trigger a family alarm.

Clara smiled across from them like she’d already decided to be entertained.

“So, Isaac,” Clara said, “do you have family?”

Isaac set down his fork. “I have a daughter. Ruby. She’s seven.”

Clara’s brows lifted. “A daughter. How lovely. And where is her mother?”

Isaac’s jaw tightened. “She’s not in the picture.”

Clara tilted her head. “So you’re a single father.”

“Yes.”

Clara’s gaze flicked to Eleanor. “Did you know about this, Ellie?”

Eleanor looked at Isaac, not her sister. “Of course I did,” she said. “Ruby is wonderful.”

Isaac’s chest tightened, surprised by the warmth in her voice. She’d never met Ruby, but the way she said it made it sound like she already knew her laugh.

Mrs. Vale spoke next. “And how does your daughter feel about this relationship?”

Isaac met her gaze. “She’s happy. She wants me to be happy.”

Mrs. Vale didn’t soften. “Children often want what’s best for their parents… even when their parents don’t know what that is.”

The words dropped like a stone into Isaac’s stomach.

The questions kept coming, dressed up as conversation. Where did they go on their first date? What did Isaac think of Eleanor’s work? Did he understand what it meant to be part of this family?

Isaac answered as best he could. Eleanor filled in gaps with smooth precision, like she’d always been good at protecting what she wanted to keep.

By dessert, Isaac felt like he’d been interrogated under candlelight.

Then Clara leaned forward with delighted cruelty.

“I have an idea,” she said. “Let’s play a game.”

Eleanor’s expression hardened. “Clara—”

“It’s simple,” Clara said. “If you two are really in love, you should be able to prove it.”

Mrs. Vale set down her glass. “Clara, that’s enough.”

Clara ignored her. “Just one kiss. Right here. Right now. If you’re really married, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Isaac felt his heart slam against his ribs.

Eleanor’s hand found his under the table. Her grip was tight. Then she lifted her chin.

“Fine,” Eleanor said.

She turned to Isaac. Her eyes were calm, but her shoulders were tense.

“It’s okay,” she whispered.

Isaac nodded. He leaned in. Eleanor met him halfway.

Their lips touched.

It was supposed to be simple. A performance. Nothing more.

But the moment their mouths met, something shifted like a lock clicking open.

The kiss deepened. Isaac’s hand rose to her jaw. Eleanor’s fingers curled into his shirt, not as a prop but as if she needed something solid to hold onto. For a heartbeat, the room vanished. The table. The family. The chandeliers. All of it.

When they pulled apart, Isaac’s heart was pounding like it had been running.

Eleanor’s breath was unsteady.

Clara smiled wider, satisfied. “Well,” she said. “That was convincing.”

Isaac couldn’t look at Eleanor. Because he had just broken the rule.

He had felt something.

And the worst part was, he wasn’t sure when it started.

Back in their room, silence filled the corners.

Eleanor stood by the window with her back to him. “That was close,” she said quietly.

Isaac swallowed. “Yeah.”

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He forced a nod. “Fine.”

Eleanor studied him, then turned away and walked into the bathroom. “I’m going to get ready for bed.”

When the door closed, Isaac sat on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands.

He’d made a mistake. The kind you couldn’t undo with an apology.

Later, he lay awake beside her in the dark. Eleanor slept with her face turned slightly away, her breathing soft.

Then he heard it. A whimper, quiet at first, then sharper.

“No,” Eleanor whispered. “Don’t leave me, please.”

Isaac sat up.

Eleanor’s hands were clenched into fists. Her face twisted in distress.

“Eleanor,” he said softly. “Hey.”

She didn’t wake.

“Please,” she whispered again, voice reminding him of broken glass. “Don’t go.”

Isaac reached out and touched her shoulder. “You’re okay,” he said. “You’re safe.”

Eleanor’s eyes snapped open. She gasped and pulled away, hand flying to her chest.

“What?” she whispered.

“You were having a nightmare,” Isaac said, holding his hands up. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Eleanor’s breathing was shallow. For a moment, she looked like she didn’t recognize the room. Then she blinked and her face shifted back toward control.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” Isaac said.

Eleanor dragged a hand through her hair, and in the low light she looked younger. Smaller. Like someone who had been taught all her life to stand alone.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Isaac asked.

She hesitated. Then, quietly: “I dream about being alone. About everyone leaving. About being the only one left in a house that’s too big and too empty.”

Isaac felt something tighten in his chest.

“You’re not alone,” he said, and he meant it before he remembered he wasn’t supposed to.

Eleanor looked away. “I know. But sometimes it feels like I am.”

Isaac didn’t try to fix it with words. He just sat beside her, present in the dark, like a lighthouse that didn’t demand anything from the storm.

After a while, Eleanor lay back down. Isaac did too.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes.

And knew: something had shifted.

The third morning arrived heavy as unshed rain.

Isaac woke first. Eleanor was still asleep beside him, face turned toward the window. She looked peaceful. Almost soft. Like the ice had melted into something human when no one was watching.

He slipped into the bathroom and splashed water on his face, trying to drown the feeling building in his chest.

When he returned, Eleanor was awake, sitting up against the headboard with her knees drawn close.

“We need to talk,” she said.

Isaac’s stomach dropped. “About what?”

Eleanor looked at him. Her eyes were steady, but her hands trembled.

“About the kiss.”

Isaac swallowed. “It was for show. Clara made us.”

Eleanor shook her head slowly. “No. It wasn’t just for show. And you know it.”

The silence stretched.

“I felt something,” Eleanor said. “And I think you did too.”

Isaac closed his eyes. The contract flashed in his mind. Ruby’s bills. The deposit that hadn’t happened yet. The future he’d been counting on.

“We made a deal,” Eleanor continued. “If either of us felt something, we had to confess.”

He looked at her. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying we broke the contract,” she said. “Both of us.”

The floor dropped out from under him.

“So that’s it,” Isaac said, voice rough. “It’s over. The money is gone.”

Eleanor’s gaze flickered, like that hurt her. “It has to be.”

Isaac stood and walked to the window because he couldn’t sit still while his life collapsed again.

“When do I leave?” he asked.

Eleanor’s voice softened to a whisper. “You don’t have to leave yet. Give me one more day.”

He turned. “Why?”

She stood and crossed the room, stopping a few feet away as if closeness was dangerous.

“Because I don’t want this to end like this,” she said. “Because I want to know what it feels like to have something real… even if it’s just for one day.”

Isaac should have said no. He should have protected himself.

But he heard the loneliness in her voice and it sounded too familiar.

“One day,” he said.

Eleanor nodded. “One day.”

They left the estate that afternoon without telling anyone the truth. Eleanor texted her mother a brief excuse and drove them herself, no driver, no suit. Jeans and a sweater. The billionaire CEO dressed like a woman who wanted to breathe.

She followed Isaac into his neighborhood, where the houses were small and the fences were chain-link, where kids played basketball in the street like tomorrow was guaranteed.

“This is where you live,” Eleanor said, staring up at the worn brick building.

“Yeah,” Isaac said. “This is it.”

Inside, the apartment was small but clean. The furniture was tired. The walls held more hope than paint.

Eleanor drifted toward a closed door. “Ruby’s room?”

Isaac nodded.

Eleanor opened it.

Pink comforter. Stuffed bear. Drawings taped to the walls. Stick-figure dreams and crayon suns. Eleanor stood in the doorway a long moment, like she’d walked into a chapel.

Then she turned to Isaac.

“She’s lucky to have you,” she said.

Isaac didn’t know how to respond to praise he didn’t believe he deserved.

They spent the afternoon talking, not about contracts or power plays, but about movies and books and small opinions that felt strangely intimate. Eleanor picked up one of Ruby’s drawings from the coffee table.

“She drew this?” Eleanor asked softly.

Isaac nodded. “All the time.”

Eleanor traced the stick figures with her finger. “It’s beautiful.”

Isaac watched her. Her face carried something like longing, like she was seeing a doorway she’d never been allowed to walk through.

“What was your childhood like?” Isaac asked.

Eleanor set the drawing down carefully. “Lonely,” she said. “My parents were always working. Clara and I were raised by nannies. We had everything we needed… except them.”

Isaac sat beside her. “Is that why you work so hard? To prove you’re not like them?”

Eleanor’s eyes sharpened, then softened. “Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe I’m exactly like them. Maybe that’s the problem.”

Isaac shook his head. “You’re not.”

“How do you know?” she asked.

He gestured toward the drawing. “Because you looked at that and saw something beautiful. Not something beneath you.”

Eleanor stared at him as if no one had ever said that to her without wanting something in return.

Then she leaned forward and kissed him.

This time, it wasn’t for show.

This time, it was real.

Isaac kissed her back. Her fingers threaded into his hair like she was anchoring herself to a world that didn’t feel like marble and judgment. When they pulled apart, Eleanor rested her forehead against his.

“I don’t want to leave,” she whispered.

Isaac closed his eyes. “I know.”

They both knew it was borrowed time.

But borrowed time could still be precious.

Later, they picked Ruby up from Mrs. Callaway’s apartment down the hall.

Ruby opened the door and stared at Eleanor like she was a character who’d stepped out of a bedtime story.

“Who’s that?” Ruby asked.

Isaac crouched. “This is Eleanor. She’s… a friend of mine.”

Ruby squinted, suspicious in the way only children can be. “A girlfriend?”

Isaac glanced at Eleanor. Eleanor smiled, a real smile, uncertain but warm.

“Something like that,” Isaac said.

Ruby’s face lit up. She grabbed Eleanor’s hand. “Do you want to see my room?”

Eleanor looked at Isaac for permission. He nodded.

“I’d love to,” Eleanor said.

For the next few hours, they were a family in the simplest way: Ruby talking a mile a minute about school, Eleanor listening like every word mattered, Isaac standing at the edge of it all feeling something he hadn’t felt in years.

Hope.

They made spaghetti with jarred sauce. Ruby laughed. Eleanor smiled. Isaac watched them and wondered how something so ordinary could feel so impossible.

Ruby fell asleep on the couch between them afterward. Isaac carried her to bed, tucked her in, kissed her forehead, and lingered in the doorway like he was memorizing the moment.

When he returned, Eleanor was standing by the window, looking out at the street.

“Thank you for today,” she said quietly.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Isaac replied.

“Yes, I do,” she said. “Today was the first time I’ve felt like I belonged somewhere. Like I was part of something real.”

Isaac reached for her hand. “You do belong here.”

Eleanor shook her head. “No. I don’t. And you know it.”

Before Isaac could respond, his phone buzzed.

A bank notification.

Deposit: $200,000.

Isaac stared at it, stunned.

Eleanor’s face went pale. “I authorized it this morning,” she said. “Before we left.”

“But… the contract,” Isaac said.

“I know we broke it,” Eleanor whispered. “I know the deal is off. But you need this money. Ruby needs this money. So I’m giving it to you anyway. Not because of the contract. Because I want to.”

Isaac’s throat tightened. “You thought what? That money would make this easier?”

Eleanor’s voice broke. “I thought if you had it with no strings attached… you wouldn’t feel trapped. You could make a real choice. Stay or leave. Not because you need the money. Because you want to.”

Something cracked open inside Isaac.

“I don’t want to be free,” he said. “I want to be with you.”

Eleanor’s eyes filled with tears. “But you can’t,” she whispered. “If you stay here, people will ask questions. The press will find you. Ruby’s life will be torn apart. I can’t do that to you.”

Isaac’s hands tightened around hers. “Then come with us.”

Eleanor froze. “What?”

“Come to Denver,” Isaac said. “Leave all of this behind. The company. Your family. All of it.”

Eleanor pulled her hands away slowly, like she was afraid of breaking him. Tears slid down her cheeks.

“I can’t,” she said.

The words hit Isaac like a punch.

“Why not?” he demanded, hurt sharpening his voice.

“Because I’ve spent my entire life building this,” Eleanor said, voice rising. “The company, my career, everything. If I walk away, who am I?”

Isaac stared at her. “And if you don’t, what are you?”

Eleanor flinched.

Isaac turned away because looking at her hurt too much.

“Then I guess we’re done,” he said.

Eleanor didn’t argue. She just cried silently and walked to the door.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Then she left.

Isaac stood in the empty apartment, the deposit sitting in his account like a cruel joke. Ruby’s future was secure.

And Isaac felt like he’d lost everything that mattered.

The next morning, Isaac packed.

He dropped Ruby off at Mrs. Callaway’s one last time, promising everything would be okay in the way parents do when they’re lying to themselves.

Ruby looked up at him with worried eyes. “Where’s Eleanor?”

Isaac couldn’t answer. He just kissed her forehead and left before his face could betray him.

He drove to the office to pick up his final paperwork. The building looked the same, but it felt like a place he no longer belonged. His desk on the sixth floor had been cleared. A box with his personal items sat on his chair.

Isaac picked it up, turned toward the elevator… and stopped.

Eleanor was standing there.

Soaked.

Hair dripping. Clothes drenched. Her breath came hard, as if she’d run through a storm to get here.

Isaac’s voice came out rough. “What are you doing here?”

Eleanor took a step toward him.

“I quit,” she said.

Isaac stared. “What?”

“I quit,” she repeated, voice shaking but eyes clear. “I told the board this morning. I told my mother. I told everyone. I’m done.”

Isaac set the box down like he couldn’t carry anything else.

“Eleanor—”

She crossed the distance and grabbed his hands.

“I was wrong,” she said. “I spent my whole life thinking the company was all I had. That if I lost it, I’d have nothing.” Her voice broke, but she didn’t look away. “But the day I spent with you and Ruby… was worth more than every deal I’ve ever closed. Every board meeting. Every dollar.”

Isaac’s chest tightened.

“I don’t want the company,” Eleanor whispered. “I want you.”

“What about your family?” Isaac asked, though part of him already knew her answer.

“They’ll survive without me,” Eleanor said. “But I won’t survive without you.”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a ring.

The fake wedding ring.

“I don’t want this to be a prop anymore,” she said. “I want it to be real. I want us to be real.”

Isaac looked down at it, then back at her.

“Are you sure?” he asked, because a part of him still couldn’t believe this was happening.

Eleanor nodded. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Isaac took the ring, but he didn’t put it on his finger. Instead, he pulled her into his arms, holding her like she’d been the answer to a question he hadn’t dared ask.

“I don’t need a ring,” he said. “I just need you.”

Eleanor sobbed into his chest, not out of sadness but out of relief, like she’d been holding her breath for years and had finally found air.

They stood there in the middle of the empty office building, two people who had tried to rent love for four days and ended up buying a whole new life.

When they finally pulled apart, Isaac wiped the tears from her face.

“Let’s go get Ruby,” he said.

Eleanor smiled through her tears. “Okay.”

One year later, they lived in a small house on the outskirts of Denver.

It was nothing like the Vale estate. No marble floors. No staff. No towering ceilings designed to make people feel small.

But it was home.

Ruby’s room was covered in drawings, as if she was wallpapering the world with her joy. Eleanor had learned how to cook spaghetti without burning it. Isaac had a new job with better hours and better pay. And on weekends, the Vale family visited.

Mrs. Vale was still distant, but she had softened in small ways: a glance that lingered, a question asked without a trap inside it. Clara apologized one afternoon while Ruby made her wear a plastic tiara. Victor stopped trying to manipulate everyone when he realized no one was playing his game anymore.

They sat around a small kitchen table that creaked when you leaned on it, eating dinner and talking like a real family.

Eleanor caught Isaac’s eye across the table.

She smiled.

Isaac smiled back.

This was not the life either of them had planned.

It was the life they had chosen.

And for the first time, choice felt like love instead of a sacrifice.

THE END