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Ashley awoke to the soft rustle of city sounds outside the window—the distant hum of traffic, a faint horn, and the sharp, crisp air that only mornings in a foreign city carried. The suite was bathed in filtered light, the kind that made everything look softer, quieter, like the world itself had paused for breath.
For a long while, she stayed still.
She wasn't ready to move. Not yet.
Her head rested against the pillow as she stared up at the ceiling, last night still playing on a loop in her mind—the grand lie, the dinner, the easy laughter Mrs. Vincenzo shared with her, the way Kelvin looked calm and composed even as he dragged her deeper into his plan.
And then there was her—Ashley Benson, the assistant who'd somehow become someone's fake wife overnight. The audacity of it still burned.
"We've been married for six months."
His words had echoed in her mind long after the party, long after dinner, and long after he'd left her alone with her thoughts.
She should have packed her bags and walked out. But she hadn't. Why?
The knock on her door from room service interrupted the silence, and she got up slowly, wrapping herself in a robe as she opened the door to the breakfast cart.
"Compliments of Mr. Boston," the staff said with a polite smile before disappearing down the hallway.
Ashley blinked.
Kelvin? Sending breakfast?
Suspicion crept into her chest. She rolled the cart inside, lifting the lid off a plate of fresh croissants and fruit. Two eggs, perfectly poached, sat beside a folded note.
Eat. We have a long day ahead. – K
No apology. No explanation. Just… this.
Is this his version of sorry?
Ashley wasn't sure whether to roll her eyes or laugh.
She dropped the note onto the tray and sat on the edge of the bed, chewing slowly as her mind wandered again.
She wasn't just angry anymore. She was confused. Somewhere in all the mess, something had shifted. She had seen a different side of him that night—not gentler, no, but quieter. More restrained. Calculated.
And for a flicker of a second at dinner, when she laughed at something Mrs. Vincenzo said, she thought she caught Kelvin staring—not with amusement or disdain, but with something like... softness.
Ridiculous. He probably thought she had spinach in her teeth.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She checked the caller ID—Vivian.
Ashley sighed and picked it up. "You're up early."
"Correction: You're up late," Vivian fired back. "I've been refreshing your WhatsApp for hours. Did you elope? Did you slap your boss? Did you stab him with a butter knife at the Vincenzos' dinner table?"
"I did all three. In that exact order."
Vivian gasped. "I knew you had it in you."
Ashley laughed in spite of herself, the sound surprising her.
"How did the dinner go?" Vivian asked, a bit more gently this time.
"It was... weird. I don't even know where to start, Viv. He introduced me as his wife. Again. And the Vincenzos loved it. Then there was the private dinner, and the wife kept gushing about how happy she was that Kelvin finally had someone."
"Ugh. Sounds like you're in a Hallmark movie directed by Satan."
Ashley let out a soft snort. "That's one way to describe it."
"You okay though?" Vivian asked.
There was a beat of silence before Ashley replied. "I don't know. I should be furious. I am furious. But I can't tell if I'm angrier at him... or at myself for going along with it."
Vivian's voice softened. "Whatever you're feeling, just let yourself feel it. You don't have to make sense of it all right now."
Ashley closed her eyes for a moment. "Thanks, Viv."
"Anytime. Now go out there, be a badass, and tell Mr. Pretend Husband that if he pulls any more stunts, he'll have to explain the bruise on his ego."
Ashley grinned. "Noted."
She ended the call just as another one came in—this time, her mom.
"Baby," her mom's voice said warmly. "How's France treating you?"
"It's fine, Mom. A little... intense."
Her mother's voice immediately sharpened. "He's not overworking you, is he? Because I swear, I will fly over there and—"
"No, no," Ashley said quickly. "It's nothing like that. Just... work stuff."
"Hm," her mother muttered, unconvinced. "Well, Viv's been keeping me company, and we both agreed that if you don't come back with at least one expensive souvenir or a scandalous story, we're cutting you off."
Ashley smiled. "I've already got both. Just don't ask too many questions."
Her mom laughed, and for a moment, Ashley felt lighter.
But once the calls ended, and she was left alone again in the hotel suite, the silence returned. She looked around the room—elegant, polished, cold.
Just like him.
And she hated the fact that part of her wanted to see him today. To look at him and ask, Why me? Why drag me into this? And maybe... Why do I matter in any of this to you?
She shook her head, pushing the thought aside.
She wasn't here to catch feelings. She was here for a job.
Still, as she stood to get ready, one quiet, unwelcome truth echoed in her mind.
Something's changing. And I don't know how to stop it.
Ashley stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the sleeves of her blazer with a precision that masked her inner turmoil. Her hair was pulled into a sleek bun, her makeup subtle but immaculate. If she had to play the role of someone's fake wife and professional assistant, she would at least do it with dignity.
Downstairs, the hotel lobby buzzed with polished guests and business elites checking in and out. She spotted Kelvin near the elevator, his face buried in his phone, suit sharp as always.
He didn't acknowledge her immediately. Of course not.
"Ready?" he asked flatly, glancing up.
"Always," she replied coolly, matching his energy.
"Good. Don't speak unless I tell you to."
Ashley clenched her jaw. "Yes, sir."
They entered the waiting car in silence. The air between them was thick with unspoken things, his presence commanding, hers simmering. It wasn't long before they arrived at the towering glass building where the presentation would be held.
Inside the boardroom, a dozen eyes turned toward them. Mr. Vincenzo was already seated at the head of the long table, flanked by his advisors and legal team. Beside him sat Mrs. Vincenzo, her elegant fingers wrapped around a porcelain cup of tea. Her warm smile widened the moment she saw Ashley.
"There's our favorite couple," she said, making Ashley's cheeks burn with discomfort.
Kelvin didn't react.
The meeting began with pleasantries, followed by dry financial reports and projected figures. Ashley sat beside Kelvin, flipping slides on the screen with practiced ease. When it came time to walk them through the core logistics, Kelvin gave her a brief nod.
"Ashley?"
She stood, hands steady despite her racing heart.
"The project timeline will run in three phases," she began, moving toward the display. "Phase one includes the restructuring of international logistics, while phase two focuses on digital infrastructure and localized talent acquisition…"
Her voice was even, clear. She didn't stumble once. And when she locked eyes with Mr. Vincenzo, she saw the nod of approval. But what surprised her most was Kelvin's subtle glance—brief, sharp, but unmistakably impressed.
By the time she sat back down, his expression was unreadable again.
The presentation concluded with handshakes and signatures. The deal had officially been sealed. Relief flooded Ashley's chest. It was over. At least this part.
"Such poise," Mrs. Vincenzo said as they all stood to leave. She turned to Kelvin with an arched brow. "You'd better treat this one well, or I'll be personally offended."
Ashley gave an awkward smile, unsure how to respond.
Before they could slip away, Mrs. Vincenzo touched her arm gently. "I'd love to have you both over for dinner again tonight. Something more casual this time. Just us girls and Vincenzo grumbling over pasta."
Ashley blinked. "Oh… that's thoughtful of you, but—"
"We'll be there," Kelvin cut in. His voice left no room for debate.
Ashley didn't look at him. She only nodded politely. "Thank you. I'll look forward to it."
Back in the car, she could no longer hold it in.
"You could've at least asked if I wanted to go," she muttered.
Kelvin was checking his messages. "You're part of this arrangement now. Play your role."
"You mean the fake wife role?"
"Call it whatever you like. It's working, and you're being paid."
"Right. Because money makes up for dignity."
He glanced at her then, one brow slightly raised. "You're the one who stayed, Ashley. Remember that."
Her heart stung. But she didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing it. She simply turned away, watching the city pass by outside the window, wondering how she ended up here—with a man who made her feel everything at once and nothing at all.
By the time they arrived back at the hotel, she was mentally drained.
Kelvin stepped out first and said without looking back, "Be ready by seven."
Ashley stared at the closing elevator doors, teeth clenched.
But later that evening, as she stood before her suitcase debating between two dresses, a whisper of uncertainty crept in.
Why was she still trying to impress him?
– Kelvin's POV
Kelvin leaned against the doorframe of his suite, watching the hallway where Ashley had just disappeared. The door to her room clicked shut seconds later, but the sound lingered longer in his head than it should have.
He pulled at his tie, frustration buzzing beneath his skin like static. She challenged him. Not with arrogance or rebellion—but with her decency. Her fire. The nerve she had to speak up to him. Most assistants would've crumbled under half his pressure.
But not Ashley.
And damn if it didn't both irritate and intrigue him.
He loosened his cufflinks, thinking back to the presentation—how she spoke with poise, how her voice didn't shake even under pressure. It wasn't just her words, it was the way she carried herself. Unafraid. Grounded.
This was supposed to be a simple arrangement. Play the devoted husband. Sign the deal. Get out.
But now?
Now he couldn't stop remembering the way her eyes flashed when she was angry. How her voice trembled—not with fear, but with passion—when she confronted him after the party.
And tonight, they had another dinner to sit through, pretending.
Only… he wasn't sure which part of it was pretend anymore.
---
– Evening at the Vincenzos'
By the time Kelvin knocked on her door, Ashley was dressed in a knee-length satin wine-red dress. Elegant. Safe. Nothing that screamed "wife of a billionaire," but enough to look the part. She had her arms folded when she opened the door.
"You're late," she said.
"You look fine," he replied, ignoring her statement completely.
"Not exactly a compliment, but thanks," she muttered, grabbing her clutch.
The drive to the Vincenzos' villa was quiet—tension palpable. Ashley stared out the window, her lips pressed in a line. Kelvin stole a glance at her reflection in the glass.
Still angry. Good. She had fire. He could work with that.
The Vincenzos greeted them warmly, this time without the pomp and formalities. The dinner table was smaller, cozier—set out on the back terrace overlooking a lush garden. Lanterns hung from pergola beams, flickering with soft amber light. It felt almost… intimate.
"Come, come," Mrs. Vincenzo waved them in. "No business talk tonight, I insist."
Ashley smiled, trying her best to keep it genuine. She was getting better at pretending. Kelvin, as always, was effortlessly unreadable—charming when needed, distant otherwise.
They sat through courses of grilled vegetables, creamy pasta, and rustic bread dipped in olive oil. The wine flowed easily, and conversation drifted between childhood stories and travel anecdotes.
Mrs. Vincenzo leaned toward Ashley with a twinkle in her eyes. "I must say, it's refreshing to see Kelvin with someone who brings softness into the room. He's always so... prickly."
Ashley nearly choked on her sip of wine. Kelvin shot a look at his host, but she only smiled back innocently.
"Oh, don't scowl at me, caro," she teased him. "You need someone who'll take you down a few pegs."
"I try," Ashley said quietly, surprising even herself.
Mrs. Vincenzo laughed heartily. "Oh, I like her."
Kelvin said nothing. But his hand brushed against Ashley's beneath the table—quick, accidental… or maybe not. She stiffened, but didn't pull away immediately.
After dinner, as the men talked in low tones near the garden, Mrs. Vincenzo tugged Ashley aside toward the rose bushes.
"I know this may not be my place," she said gently, "but I've seen many kinds of love over the years. Some start loud and burn out fast. Others… they creep in when you least expect."
Ashley smiled politely, but her chest tightened.
"You think we're in love?" she asked, voice light.
Mrs. Vincenzo tilted her head. "I think you're both trying very hard not to be."