Lyla Monroe (Nova Kingsley)
Luca and I were acting like complete strangers at home. Yes, we exchanged the occasional one-liner or sarcastic jab in passing. But other than that? It was silence.
The apartment was beautiful—sleek marble, floor-to-ceiling windows, and everything modern money could buy. But it felt cold. Empty.
Just like us.
Dinner was always prepared by his live-in chef, but we never ate together. I’d take mine in the formal dining room, curled up with a book in silence, while he carried his plate to the office in the back of the apartment, where he worked late into the night.
We shared a roof but nothing else.
Yet the moment we stepped out in public, we were suddenly perfect. A picture of luxury, elegance, and unity.
Tabloids were obsessed. “New York’s Power Couple: The Steeles Steal the Spotlight.”
Gross.
Behind the scenes, I was juggling my own business, managing everything long-distance from California. Morning calls. Virtual meetings. Budget approvals. Sometimes I worked from home, but most days I used the spare workspace in Luca’s office building. It kept me sane.
Also, I could keep an eye on Penny.
Penny was a disaster.
I don’t know what she was qualified for, but it certainly wasn’t assisting a CEO. Every task had to be corrected. I had to guide her like a toddler through every step. She forgot documents, misread schedules, and once even double-booked two board meetings. This wasn’t the Penny I approved of.
I watched Luca’s jaw twitch from his office glass wall more times than I could count. But the surprising part?
He never said a word.
Never.
The same man who used to chew me out if I printed something single-sided instead of double-sided now just… tolerated chaos.
With me, it was immediate corrections, firm orders, constant precision.
With Penny? Crickets.
I hated how much that bothered me.
Tonight, we were attending a charity ball for one of our shared investors. Big names, big press. I wore a fitted red gown, off-shoulder with a side slit that made me feel expensive. My hair was curled and pinned to one side by my stylist, and my makeup was subtle but flawless.
When I came downstairs, I found Luca already in his tux, standing near the mirror, trying—and failing—to fix his tie.
He frowned at his reflection, tugging and twisting the knot.
I sighed and walked over. “Let me do it.”
He glanced at me through the mirror. “You don’t think I can tie my own damn tie?”
I smirked. “I’m just saying… you’re clearly losing the battle.”
He swatted my hand away and grumbled, continuing to wrestle with the silk. Another failed attempt.
I just stood there.
Finally, he turned back to me with a heavy sigh. “Fine. Do whatever.”
I stepped closer and began working on the knot. My fingers moved quickly, and he watched.
“How’d you learn to do that?” he asked, softer this time.
I didn’t even look up. “I used to fix my dad’s tie when I was younger. After my mom died, he never really figured it out, so I did it for him.”
He was quiet for a moment, his eyes still watching my hands.
“You remind me of someone,” he said suddenly.
My breath caught in my throat.
“Oh, really? Who?” I asked, casually, even though my heart slammed against my ribs.
He shrugged. “Someone from my past.”
I scoffed. “Well, that’s helpful.”
He straightened up once I finished the tie. “Car’s waiting outside.”
We arrived at the ball and were instantly swept into flashing lights and champagne trays. Everything sparkled. Everyone smiled. We were greeted like celebrities. Photos were taken. Hands were shaken.
At one point, I slipped away to grab a drink. Luca was deep in conversation with some tech investors across the ballroom. As I stood near the bar, a tall man with slicked-back hair and a perfect smile approached me.
CEO of a sneaker company, if I remembered correctly.
“Nova, right?” he asked, voice smooth. “You look absolutely stunning tonight.”
“Thank you,” I said politely, taking a sip of my champagne.
He moved closer, his hand brushing my waist a little too intentionally.
“Do you mind if I—”
Before he could finish that thought, I felt a hand firmly settle on the small of my back.
I turned.
Luca.
He looked calm, but his jaw was tight.
“I think you’ve met my wife,” he said, his voice cool and sharp. “Nova Steele.”
The way he said “wife”—low, clipped, and possessive—sent a weird shiver down my spine.
“Oh,” the man said, stepping back. “I didn’t realize…”
“Well, now you do,” Luca replied flatly.
The guy gave an awkward chuckle and walked off.
I side-eyed Luca. “Really?”
He didn’t even look at me. “What?”
“Was that… jealousy I heard?” I asked, lifting an eyebrow.
He glanced down at me, unimpressed. “No. That was me making sure you don’t embarrass me in front of people who matter.”
I smiled, slow and wicked. “Sure, Mr. Steele. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
He gave me a look but said nothing.
Still, I couldn’t help but notice—his hand stayed on my back a little longer than it needed to.
And for a moment…
Just a moment…
It didn’t feel like a performance.
30
