Lily sighed as she finished another late night at the office—covering for Jenny, who’d called in “sick” yet again. But when she finally dragged herself home and scrolled through social media, her stomach twisted. There was Jenny, cocktail in hand, laughing with a group of friends at some trendy bar.
Of course. The realization stung. Jenny had never been her friend. Behind that sweet smile, she’d been seething with envy over Lily’s work ethic—and worse, spreading vicious rumors that Lily was sleeping with their boss, David.
None of them knew the truth: she wasn’t his mistress. She was his wife.
Lily was used to the whispers, the sideways glances. She’d learned to swallow the bitterness. But as she got ready for bed, her phone buzzed with a breaking news alert—a gossip headline splashed across the screen:
"Billionaire CEO David Thorne Reunites with Ex-Girlfriend Marina at Exclusive Gala—Are Sparks Still There?"
Her breath hitched. A photo beneath the caption showed David, devastatingly handsome in his tuxedo, standing close to the stunning socialite. Too close.
Unlike the office rumors, this wasn’t just petty gossip. This was David. Her husband. The man who, after five years of marriage, still looked at her with polite detachment rather than love. Except on the bed.
A sob tore from her throat as the dam inside her broke. She crumpled onto the edge of the bed, tears streaming down her face. How could it still hurt this much?
Lily had loved David Hardison from the moment she first saw him.
Nine years ago, fresh out of university, she’d joined Hardison Corp with starry-eyed ambition—only to have her breath stolen the instant David strode past her desk. Sharp suit. Colder eyes. A presence that commanded every room, every glance, every foolish heart.
Including hers.
But he’d been Marina’s.
Everyone knew he had been Marina’s.
Still, Lily stayed. Became his secretary. Learned the rhythm of his moods, the way his jaw tightened before he fired someone, the rare, fleeting smirk when a deal went his way.
And five years ago, when Marina vanished without a trace—leaving David shattered—Lily was the one who picked up the pieces.
Literally.
That night at the bar, David had been a wreck. Whiskey-soaked and hollow-eyed, he’d gripped her wrist like she was the only thing keeping him from drowning.
Her heart shattered. But she knew her place. She was just his secretary.
She drove him home. Tended to him with quiet efficiency, careful not to overstep. But as she turned to fetch a fresh towel, he pinned her against the wall and kissed her with a feverish, bruising intensity—as if she were someone else.
Lily tried to resist. But the raw agony in his eyes broke her. And so, she let him take her, rough, reckless.
And when she woke the next morning—naked, aching, his scent still on her skin—he stood by the window, smoke curling from his cigarette as he tossed a contract onto the rumpled sheets.
"Read it. Sign it."
Her fingers shook as she lifted the paper.
Marriage Contract.
Terms: Wife in name only. No emotional attachments. No expectations.
Duration: Until Marina returns.
Lily’s throat closed. "Mr. Hardison, you don’t owe me anything. Last night was—"
A dark chuckle cut her off. He turned, and the look in his eyes froze her blood.
"Don’t flatter yourself. This isn’t about responsibility." He crushed his cigarette, voice merciless. "My mother wants me to be married. She likes you. And I need a placeholder."
"You’ll be my wife on paper only. You’ll have everything—except my heart. You’ll never be Marina."
The words haunted between them, sharp as a blade.
Lily knew the rules. Knew she’d never hold his heart. But four years of loving him in silence had carved hope too deep to ignore.
Maybe, whispered the foolish part of her, if I stay long enough, he’ll see me.
So she signed.
And for five long years, she learned the torment of being a placeholder.
By day, she was his flawless secretary—polite, professional, invisible.
By night, she was his warm body in the dark—a silent substitute for the woman he truly wanted.
And every time he groaned "Marina" into her skin, Lily died a little more.
Lily’s fingers trembled as she adjusted the straps of her silk nightgown, the champagne-colored fabric clinging to her curves. She’d bought it weeks ago, imagining David’s reaction—Would his eyes darken? Would he finally see her?
A key turned in the front door.
Her breath hitched.
David strode in, his tailored suit jacket slung over one shoulder, tie loosened. The scent of his cologne—smoky sandalwood and sin—flooded the room before he even spotted her. Then his gaze locked onto her, and his steps faltered.
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “What’s this?”
Lily lifted her chin, pulse racing. “Five years today.”
A beat of silence. Then his mouth curled, not in a smile, but a challenge. He closed the distance in three strides, his fingers tangling in her hair, tilting her head back. “Expecting a celebration?”
Before she could answer, his mouth crashed down on hers.
His kiss was all heat and hunger, teeth scraping her lower lip, tongue claiming hers with a possessiveness that made her knees buckle. She gasped as he backed her against the wall, his hands sliding down to grip her thighs, hitching her up until her legs wrapped around his waist.
“David—”
“Quiet.” His voice was rough, his breath hot against her throat as he bit down where her pulse fluttered. “You wanted my attention? You’ve got it.”
Every rational thought evaporated. This—the way he manhandled her, the growl in his voice—was the David she craved. The one who burned the world down for what he wanted.
And for tonight, she was what he wanted.
His hands tore at the flimsy silk, his mouth leaving bruising kisses down her collarbone. When he carried her to the bed, she arched into him, her legs sissored on his waist.
“Look at me,” he demanded, pinning her wrists above her head.
Her breath came in shallow pants as she obeyed. His eyes were black with lust, but beneath it—was that something else? A flicker of… recognition?
Hope flared in her chest—
Then he buried himself inside her with a groan, claiming her hard. Lily arched against him, nails raking down his back, meeting his thrusts with a desperation she’d never allowed herself before.
Maybe tonight. Maybe this time—
His breath hitched, his rhythm faltering—a telltale sign. With a final snap of his hips, he spilled inside her, his body shuddering against hers.
And then, on a ragged exhale: “Marina.”
The name punched through Lily’s chest like a blade.
As if summoned, David’s phone rang—Marina’s custom tone, a lilting piano melody Lily had come to dread.
David rolled off her in an instant, grabbing the phone. His voice, moments ago rough with desire, softened into something tender. “Hey. Yeah, I’m here.”
Lily lay frozen, the sheets tangled around her legs, his release still warm between her thighs. She watched his back—the taut muscles, the faint scars she’d traced with her lips a thousand times—as he paced to the window, his laughter low and intimate. “Miss me already?”
The contrast was cruel. With Lily, he was all sharp edges and demands. With Marina, he melted.
When he hung up, the silence was suffocating. Lily sat up, clutching the ruined silk to her chest.
“She’s back.” Not a question.
David didn’t look at her. “We reconnected last month.”
Last month. While Lily had been marking their anniversary on the calendar like a fool.
She swallowed the bile rising in her throat. “I’ll pack my things. I can be out of the penthouse by—”
“Stay.” He finally turned, his expression unreadable. “Marina doesn’t like used spaces. She won't come here.”
Used. The word lodged in Lily's heart like a shard of glass.
Her fingers dug into the mattress, nails scraping against silk as she watched him dress with mechanical efficiency—tie knotted with military precision, cufflinks snapped into place.
He didn't glance back. Didn't hesitate. The front door clicked shut with surgical finality.
Five years of marriage.
Not even a "thank you."
She was a placeholder. A temporary solution. And now that his real love had returned?
It was time for her to step aside.