August's POV I shouldn't enjoy what I was doing, but it was interesting watching Isabelle try to resist sleeping in my room and fail. We had only been together for two weeks, and now she was going to live in my house. It felt a little strange helping her put her things away in my closet. I had never thought about marriage, much less felt any interest in tying myself to someone. All my relationships had been temporary and loveless, at most a stronger infatuation. If my father hadn't said I would never have a place on the board unless I got my life together, and that no one would take me seriously without a family, I would never have considered getting married. Maybe one day I would find someone, but I doubted it. After putting her things away, Isabelle took a shower and came out wearing oversized pajamas, without showing a single inch of skin. The days at the beach had made her happy, tanned, and even more beautiful, but I could still see the sadness behind her eyes and the sleepi

"There's something else... I hope you forgive me. I should've said something before, but I didn't want to interfere," Danielle said, nervously twisting her hands. "You already knew about Carl and my sister?" "No. That really was a surprise. But I'm almost sure he was also having an affair with the receptionist. Whenever you left early, he would send me home right after, and she'd go into his office." Apparently, I was even more foolish than I thought. If that was true, then Karen had also been cheated on. After all, the receptionist had been working there for over a year. "What happened to her?" I asked. "Karen fired her the only time she came here. But that's not all... I don't know if it's true, but after everything that happened, it's easy to assume it is. The gossip around the people in the building was that Carl always had multiple affairs. Ana swore he only got involved with you because of the company. But that was all just gossip," Danielle replied awkwardly. Anna ha

August's POVFor the past few days, Isabelle had been working on something. She had asked me for money but didn't explain why. I imagined what my father would say if he knew I was handing out money like this, especially to my fake fiancée, whom I barely knew and was already sharing a house with. But that wasn't even the real problem. Isabelle being cheerful and excited was something I didn't know how to deal with, because every day when I got home, she was in the kitchen making something—usually something completely outside my diet. Now I was opening the door, and the house smelled like chocolate cake. Popcorn came to greet me at the door, happy to see me. The orange cat, on the other hand, had completely switched sides to Isabelle and practically glued himself to her, almost forgetting I existed. I walked into the kitchen and saw a magnificent cake on the counter, with frosting that should probably be considered a crime. "Beautiful, right?" she said excitedly. "And to celeb

For a moment, I felt happy and vindicated. But when I walked through August's front door, I was faced with harsh reality. My sister was jealous of a relationship that didn't even exist. I lived in that house like a roommate who just happened to sleep in the same bed as the owner. That was August's environment, his territory. I was only temporary company. The only thing proving my presence there was my clothes in the closet. Everything else belonged to him, and I was nobody in that house. As if to prove just how insignificant I was, August sent me a message saying he would be home late. I couldn't stop myself from imagining that he had found another woman and taken her to his other apartment. Of course that would happen sooner or later. Ever since I moved in, August had been coming home on time every day, which probably meant he simply hadn't found a mistress yet. I shouldn't have felt jealous. But I couldn't help it. I felt abandoned and hurt. In a childish and complete

August's POVIsabelle slept for four hours. At some point, she curled up against me, hugging me as she slept peacefully. I, on the other hand, couldn't close my eyes for even a second. My mind was racing with a thousand possibilities—and above all, with rage over the audacity of someone invading my house with my woman inside it. Because yes, even if our relationship was purely contractual, Isabelle was my woman. When she finally stirred and opened her eyes, it took her a moment to understand where she was. "It's okay. Nothing happened to you. You're safe, at my grandmother's house," I said, trying to calm her. We were far too close on that bed, wrapped around each other, my face inches from hers, staring into each other's eyes. I had never really noticed Isabelle's eyes before. They were light brown, almost green. Her lips were beautiful, full, inviting… and I knew exactly how they tasted. She didn't say anything. For a second, we got lost in each other's gaze. I don't