The CEO's Reluctant Bride

The morning sunlight filtered through the expansive windows, casting a warm glow across the sleek penthouse. Ava stirred beneath the plush covers, blinking against the unfamiliar brightness. Her gaze drifted across the room—too neat, too cold. Nothing like her cozy apartment.

Right. This wasn't her home. It was Adrian's. Her husband's.

The thought alone was enough to send a strange jolt through her. Husband. She groaned, burying her face in the pillow. How did she even end up here? Oh, right—a contract marriage to save her family. Pretend to be his loving wife, play her part, and walk away unscathed... hopefully.

A delicious aroma drifted into the room, coaxing her curiosity. Coffee? Her stomach grumbled, reminding her she hadn't eaten since yesterday's whirlwind of events. Tugging on a robe, she padded toward the kitchen.

There he was—Adrian Sinclair—in all his effortless morning glory. Crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up, dark hair slightly tousled as if he hadn't cared enough to tame it. He moved with that same poised confidence, pouring steaming coffee into a mug like he owned the world.

Well... he did, kind of.

"You cook?" Ava broke the silence, eyebrow arching.

Adrian didn't glance her way. "It's coffee, not rocket science."

"Still," she mused, leaning against the counter, "I figured someone like you would have a personal barista on standby."

He finally looked at her, gaze flickering over her disheveled hair and oversized robe. "I don't need someone to pour a cup for me."

"Impressive," she deadpanned. "Next thing I know, you'll be flipping pancakes in an apron."

Adrian's lips quirked—almost a smile. Almost. "Don't push your luck."

She shrugged, helping herself to a mug. The first sip was pure heaven. Maybe living with him wouldn't be so bad... if she ignored his smug attitude.

"Drink up," he said, grabbing his keys. "We've got errands."

Her brows furrowed. "Errands? I didn't sign up for your to-do list."

"You signed a contract, remember?" He shot her a pointed look. "Part of that involves public appearances. We're going shopping."

"Shopping?" Her nose scrunched. "Can't we just... not?"

Adrian's gaze was unwavering. "Unless you want people questioning our marriage, we need to look convincing."

Right. Pretend. Smile for the cameras. Easy... or so she thought.

An hour later, Ava found herself in one of the city's upscale boutiques, surrounded by racks of designer clothes with price tags that made her soul weep. Adrian sat on a leather chair, scrolling through his phone like this was the most mundane thing in the world.

"Do I really need to try all of these?" she whined, holding up a handful of dresses.

"Unless you plan on wearing that robe to dinner, yes."

She shot him a glare. "You're enjoying this."

"A little," he admitted, not looking up.

Rolling her eyes, she disappeared into the fitting room. Minutes passed, accompanied by her muttered curses and the occasional thump against the wall.

When she finally stepped out in a sleek black dress, Adrian glanced up—and paused.

"What?" she huffed, smoothing the fabric self-consciously.

His gaze lingered a beat too long before he looked away. "It's... fine."

"Fine? I'm suffocating in this thing!"

"Better than looking like you just rolled out of bed."

"I did just roll out of bed!"

A laugh—a real one—escaped him, catching her off guard. Warm. Unexpected. Disarming.

She blinked. "Was that... a laugh? Miracles do happen."

"Don't get used to it," he said, though the amusement lingered in his eyes.

As they left the store, bags in hand, Ava muttered, "If I knew marriage involved this much shopping, I would've signed sooner."

"Noted," Adrian smirked. "Next time, I'll add a shopping clause."

They strolled down the street, the cool breeze tousling her hair. People glanced their way—some curious, others openly snapping photos. Ava stiffened.

Adrian's hand slid to her lower back, guiding her closer. "Relax," he murmured. "We need to sell the act."

Her heart did a traitorous flip. It's just for show, she reminded herself. And yet... the warmth of his touch, the protective ease in his posture—none of it felt fake.

They ended the day at a quiet café, tucked away from prying eyes. Coffee cups between them, the conversation lulled.

"You're surprisingly tolerable when you're not being a control freak," Ava mused.

Adrian's brow arched. "And you're less insufferable when you're not talking."

She grinned. "Careful. I might start thinking you like me."

He took a slow sip of his coffee. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

Their eyes met over the table, tension lingering—teasing, unresolved.

Pretend or not... things were getting complicated.