She stayed in bed long after that night. Not asleep. Just lying there, staring at the ceiling while the shock settled into something heavier and quieter.

The next two days blurred into each other. Unpaid bills on the table. Three in the morning with her eyes wide open. A grief that came and went in waves with no warning.

By the second morning something shifted. Not hope exactly. More like stubbornness. She couldn't undo any of it, but she wasn't going to lie there and let it take her apart either.

She started looking for jobs and barely came up for air. Waitress, temp work, admin assistant, anything that could cover rent. Nothing was enough. She applied anyway, refreshed her inbox every twenty minutes, tried not to think about Friday.

She was about to close the laptop when she saw it.

*PERSONAL ASSISTANT WANTED. High-profile client, discretion required, immediate start, competitive salary. Montoya Industries.*

She stared at the name longer than she should have.

All of Madrid knew who Alejandro Montoya was. The kind of man business magazines wrote about in the same sentence as words like brilliant, ruthless, untouchable. Javier's uncle. The one who never smiled in photographs and somehow made that look deliberate.

She attached her résumé and hit send before she could talk herself out of it.

By midday she'd given up and was flat on her back again, fully prepared for silence. Then her phone rang.

*Interview confirmed. 4:00 PM. Montoya Industries, Madrid.*

She read it three times.

Three hours later she was standing in a lobby that made her feel underdressed just by existing inside it. Three receptionists looked her over with that specific polished curiosity that meant they'd already decided something.

"I have an interview," she said. "Catalina Rivas."

One of them checked her screen. "Mr. Montoya will see you now."

Catalina blinked. "Mr. Montoya himself?"

"Top floor. Private elevator."

The ride up felt endless. Thirty floors, forty, fifty. When the doors opened she walked into a wall of glass and sky and silence that looked nothing like an office and everything like a statement.

She found his secretary outside the door, introduced herself, got looked over the way you look over something you're not sure belongs there.

"You can go in."

His voice hit her before she'd fully crossed the threshold.

"Catalina Rivas. You're late."

She glanced at the clock. 3:56.

"The interview was scheduled for 4:00," she said.

"Then you should have been here at three fifty." He didn't look up from his laptop. "Punctuality isn't about arriving on time. It's about being ready before time."

She pressed her lips together. "Noted."

He looked up then, finally, and the full weight of his attention landed on her like something physical. She sat, crossed her legs, kept her hands still in her lap and her eyes away from his. The room felt too quiet.

He felt too sure of himself. The kind of sure that doesn't need to fill silence with anything.

"Catalina Rivas," he said, looking at something on his tablet. "Twenty-five. Marketing background, freelance work, no stable employment in the past year."

Her cheeks went warm. "That's not exactly how I'd put it."

"I prefer precision." He set the tablet down and looked at her directly for the first time. "You don't look like someone who belongs in my office."

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Nervous. Unpolished. Out of place." Said it like a weather report. "I wouldn't compare you to even the lowest member of my staff."

Her fingers tightened on the strap of her bag. She felt small and hated feeling small. "With all due respect-"

He ignored her and leaned back, studying her the way you study something you haven't catalogued yet. "How far would you go to keep your life from falling apart, Miss Rivas?"

"Is that part of the interview?"

"Consider it practical." He opened a folder and slid a document across the desk. "I'm not looking for a personal assistant."

She looked at the paper.

There was a number at the bottom that made her forget how to breathe.

"I'm looking for someone who can play a role."

She looked up. "A role?"

"Temporary. Events, dinners, travel when necessary. The public will believe you're my fiancée."

The word dropped into the room and stayed there.

"Your what?" she said.

"Fake fiancée." Said it like quarterly projections. "Three months, possibly extended. You'll be compensated at the end of the contract."

She stared at him. "You're joking."

"I don't joke." He folded his hands on the desk. "The family patriarch wants stability. The image of a settled man. That's a distraction I can't manage with someone real."

She looked at the contract again. Monthly stipend, completion bonus, numbers that could undo everything that had gone wrong in the last forty-eight hours and then some.

"You could hire anyone for this," she said. "A model. An actress. Why me?"

"Because you're nobody."

She felt that land somewhere behind her sternum. "Pardon?"

"No public profile. No scandals. No social ambitions. You're safe." A pause. "And desperate enough not to say no."

"Wow." A short laugh. "You really know how to make a girl feel special."

He didn't react. "I'm not looking for special, Miss Rivas. I'm looking for reliable."

She put the papers down and made herself think straight. "Do you understand how insane this is? You're asking me to pretend to be engaged to a man I just met. To live in your house. To hold your hand at parties."

"In public, when necessary - affection, familiarity, the illusion of intimacy. Nothing more."

"And your family?" she asked. "What if they figure out it's not real?"

"They won't. There's a confidentiality clause. Break it and the penalties will be unpleasant."

She looked at the signature line.

Fifty million dollars.

She couldn't make that in five years of nonstop work, and she was going to get all of it for three months?

The thing about Javier and Alejandro could wait.

She picked up the pen and signed. Her hands were shaking.

Alejandro reached over to collect the papers and their fingers brushed. Brief. Electric.

Their eyes met for a second and she caught the smallest shift in his breathing before he looked away.

"There are rules," he said, putting the contract away. "You'll live in my residence, be available when I need you, and you won't confuse this for anything other than what it is."

"What does that mean?"

"It means you don't fall in love with me."

She almost laughed. "Trust me, Mr. Montoya. That won't be a problem."

He looked at her for a long moment, like he was filing something away, then stood. "Good. My driver will take you to the penthouse tonight."

"Tonight?"

He turned toward the window.

Madrid spread out behind his reflection, vast and indifferent. "We have a gala tomorrow. You'll need something to wear." She opened her mouth but he was already done with the conversation.

"Welcome to the contract, Miss Rivas. Let's hope you're worth the risk."

The elevator doors opened onto a world Catalina had only seen in movies. Old money and modern interiors, richly combined. Everything was elegant, clean, silent - as though even the air had been polished.

The penthouse stretched on without end. Clean lines, expensive taste, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, marble floors gleaming under soft recessed lighting, furniture that whispered elegance rather than shouted it.

She walked in slowly, her reflection multiplying across the shining surfaces. "This place looks like it doesn't allow fingerprints."

Alejandro didn't answer. He handed his jacket to a uniformed woman who appeared almost without sound.

"Nina, this is Miss Rivas - the lady I told you about," he said, throwing her a knowing glance.

"Welcome, Miss Rivas." The woman, somewhere in her mid-forties, gave Catalina a brief nod. "I've prepared your room in the east wing," she said, and led the way, walking ahead of Mr. Montoya.

Catalina murmured a thank you, clutching her small bag like a shield, following slowly behind Montoya and Nina, quietly taking in the place.

As they moved through the halls she couldn't keep her eyes from going wide. A library bigger than her entire apartment. A piano lounge. A gym that looked like it belonged in a luxury hotel. She didn't have nearly enough time to absorb all of it.

"Do you live here alone?" she asked, catching up to Alejandro even knowing he might not answer. She asked anyway.

He glanced over his shoulder. "I work too much to entertain company."

"Clearly."

He stopped in front of a glass door that opened onto a terrace overlooking Salamanca. "Miss Rivas, privacy here is non-negotiable," he said evenly. "No guests without my approval, no interaction with the press, no wandering where you don't belong. Stay in your room unless I say otherwise."

Catalina crossed her arms. "Understood. No curiosity, no fun, just sitting here in captivity."

He looked at her, and for a second she thought he might smile. Then his expression locked back into place. "I'm not paying you for fun or freedom. Follow the rules and in a few months you'll be gone."

She fired back before she could stop herself. "You're not paying me to be quiet either, but that seems to be your favorite thing."

Nina cleared her throat behind them, reminding Catalina they weren't alone.

"Miss Rivas," Alejandro said finally, "this arrangement only works if you follow my lead. My family will see only what I want them to see. You'll smile when I say, speak when necessary, and never forget that this is a business."

She wanted to say something sharp, something that would crack that perfect composure of his, but the look in his eyes stopped her. So she nodded and said nothing.

"Good," he said, turning away. "Tomorrow you'll meet with my stylist. She'll handle everything for the gala."

---

The next morning started with a knock at the door.

"Miss Rivas?"

Catalina groaned, burying her face in the pillow. "Please tell me it's still dark outside."

"It's eight thirty," Nina said firmly. "You have an appointment."

Less than an hour later Catalina was standing in front of three stylists who looked like they'd stepped straight out of a fashion editorial. Clothes, fabric swatches, trays of jewelry - everything gleamed.

"Mr. Montoya said elegant, not princess," one of them murmured, circling her. "We need something understated."

Catalina blinked. "Understated? You mean affordable?"

"You'll see." One of the women smiled, a dimple showing at the corner.

Two hours, a hundred outfits, and a hair consultation later, Catalina barely recognized herself. Her hair fell in glossy waves over one shoulder, her makeup subtle but transforming. The dress was midnight blue, fitted in all the right places, with a slit just high enough to make her nervous.

When she came back into the penthouse living room Alejandro was waiting, adjusting his cufflinks. He looked up and his mouth opened.

"Too much?" she asked, self-conscious, tugging at her dress.

His voice came out low. "No. It's fine."

"Fine?" She raised an eyebrow. "That's all?"

He cleared his throat, breaking the moment. "You'll do."

She smiled thinly. "You really know how to make a girl feel special."

He gave her a look that could have been exasperation or restraint. She couldn't tell which.

---

The gala was held in the Torre Montoya ballroom. All chandeliers, champagne, and money. Cameras flashed as they arrived, Alejandro's hand steady at the small of her back, the warmth of it sending confusing sparks through her nerves.

"Smile," he murmured. "They're watching."

She lifted her chin, forced composure, played the part. He steered her through introductions - business partners, investors, politicians. She nodded and smiled and let him lead. But every so often she caught him watching her, like he was gauging how convincingly she was playing his game.

Then she noticed the man across the room. Arrogant smile, not bothering to hide that he was staring.

"Who is that?" she whispered, her palm going damp. His gaze made her uneasy.

"Matteo Del Castillo," Alejandro said slowly, voice low. "That bastard."

Before he could say more or she could ask, Matteo was already crossing toward them, smiling the kind of smile that hides a blade.

"Alejandro Montoya," he said, drawing out the name. "I hadn't realized congratulations were in order. Fiancée, hm?" His gaze slid to Catalina, lazy and sharp. "You've upgraded."

Alejandro's hand tightened slightly at her waist. "Matteo." His voice was flat. "Always a pleasure."

Matteo's smile deepened. "You wouldn't mind if I asked her to dance?"

"She's not available," Alejandro said, polite but final. "Don't make me say it twice."

"Oh, I see," Matteo said lightly, eyes gleaming. "Then maybe you wouldn't mind proving it."

Alejandro didn't take the bait right away. He held Matteo's gaze for a long moment, the kind of silence that made the air feel thick, before Matteo finally smiled to himself and drifted away, dissolving into the crowd as easily as he'd appeared.

Alejandro turned to her then, expression still unreadable but something quieter underneath it.

"They're watching," he murmured, low enough for only the two of them.

His hand moved up her back, firm and sure. He drew her close - close enough that she could feel the heat coming off him, close enough that the noise of the room seemed to pull back and leave just the two of them standing in the middle of it all.

"Alejandro," she whispered, her heart hitting hard against her ribs.

His gaze dropped to her lips. "Smile," he said softly. "And don't flinch."

Then slowly, he leaned in, his mouth a breath away from hers, the whole world holding still around them.

The kiss didn't happen. Not really. It just sat there between them, close enough that she felt it without it actually landing, and then he pulled back the way he always did, calm, composed, completely unreadable, and just like that the moment was gone.

She stood there trying to collect herself while people clapped around them and cameras went off and she smiled because that was the job. Her heart was still going too fast. Nobody needed to know that.

"That was for the show," he said, low, just for her.

"I know," she said, and her voice came out softer than she meant it to, and she saw him notice, saw something shift in his face before he shut it down and turned to walk her out.

The drive back was quiet. Not comfortable quiet, the other kind. Catalina kept her eyes on the window and her arms crossed and told herself she was fine.

"You didn't have to make it that convincing," she said, after a while.

"It was for appearances." Just that. "That's what this is."

She laughed a little. Not because anything was funny. "Sometimes I honestly can't tell if you're a person or just a very well-dressed wall."

He looked at her. One second. "Walls don't get hurt," he said, and looked back out the window.

She didn't have anything to say to that. So she didn't say anything.

---

Back at the penthouse she went straight to her room, took off the dress, lay on top of the covers and stared at the ceiling. Two months. She kept saying it to herself. Two months and she could walk away from all of this with her life back. She believed it until she got bored of lying there and went to look for something to read.

She fell asleep on the sofa by accident, book on her chest, city lights doing a bad job of being a night light.

She woke up warm.

There was a blanket over her. She hadn't put it there. She stayed still for a moment, just sitting with that, then looked toward the study. Light under the door was off. Penthouse quiet.

She pulled the blanket tighter and stared at the ceiling and tried very hard not to think about what it meant that he'd done that without saying anything about it.

---

Morning. He was already at the table when she came down, coffee in one hand, phone in the other, looking like a man who had absolutely not been putting blankets on sleeping women at two in the morning. She poured herself a coffee. Sat across from him. Neither of them said anything about it.

But something was different after that. Nothing she could name. Just different.

---

A few days later she went to the kitchen half asleep, still in this oversized shirt that had been Javier's that she kept not throwing away, thinking about nothing except coffee, and almost walked straight into Alejandro. Standing at the counter, no shirt, pouring coffee like that was a completely normal thing to be doing.

She stopped.

He looked up. "There's fresh coffee."

"Do you own pajamas," she said. "Or like. Normal clothes. Like a person."

"You're in my house," he said, and the corner of his mouth did that thing.

"Right." She squeezed past him to get a mug. "Forgot the dress code."

He laughed. Not a polite one. A real one, short and quiet, like it surprised him too. She kept her eyes on her coffee and let him pretend it hadn't happened but she was smiling the whole time and she was pretty sure he knew it.

---

Things got easier after that. Not in one go, just slowly, the way ice melts when you're not paying attention. Nina started leaving tea out without being asked. The driver started playing soul music without her having to say anything. Small stuff. It added up.

One afternoon she mentioned a stray cat she'd seen near the building, mentioned it to no one really, the way you say things out loud that aren't going anywhere.

Three days later the cat was in the garage. Fed. Clean. Little bed in the corner.

She went to find Alejandro.

"The cat," she said.

He didn't look up from his laptop. "Nina handled it."

She looked at him a second. "Right," she said. "Of course she did." And she left, and she was almost certain she heard him exhale when she walked away.

---

The first time she saw how tired he actually was, was a Thursday. Past midnight, light still on under the study door. She knocked before she could talk herself out of it.

He was at his desk, tie loose, whisky going warm beside him, staring at a stack of papers like he hated them personally. The room smelled like a long day.

"Long day?" she said.

"I don't remember the last time it wasn't."

She sat down across from him. "You should sleep."

He looked up. "Sleep doesn't fix betrayal."

She felt that somewhere in her chest, quiet. "Who betrayed you?"

He looked at her for a long moment. "Everyone does, eventually," he said, soft, and went back to his papers.

She thought about Javier. She'd been meaning to say something for a while now, kept finding reasons not to, kept telling herself there'd be a better time.

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you-"

His phone buzzed. He glanced at it and just like that the tiredness was gone, back behind that face he wore when he was being professional. "Change of plans. Event tonight. Get ready."

And he was already standing.

She let him go. There'd be another moment.

---

The event was a rooftop thing. Smaller than the gala but somehow heavier, the kind of room where everyone's watching each other from behind nice smiles. Catalina had gotten good at this by now, the smiling, the small talk, standing next to him in a way that looked like it meant something. She'd gotten good at the whole thing.

What she hadn't gotten good at was the way he looked at her sometimes when he thought she wasn't looking. Like he was trying to figure something out and wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

She told herself it was just the role.

Then Lucía walked in. Red dress. Perfectly timed. Eyes going straight to Alejandro across the room like she'd done it a hundred times before.

"You stopped picking up," she said. Warm voice. Direct.

Catalina felt him go still beside her. "Lucía."

Lucía looked Catalina over. Slow. "So this is the new charity case."

"Watch your tone," Alejandro said, quiet.

Lucía smiled like she hadn't heard him. "Careful, sweetheart. Men like him don't fall in love. They make arrangements."

Catalina smiled back, all warmth. "Weird, I didn't know exes came with warning labels."

Something moved across Lucía's face. Alejandro's hand pressed into her back and steered her away before anything else could happen.

---

They ended up at the far edge of the terrace. City below them. Neither of them talking for a bit.

"I had her," Catalina said.

"I know."

"Then why."

He was quiet. "Because I didn't want to stand there watching her talk to you like that."

She looked at him. He was looking at the city, jaw tight, not looking back, and she turned back to the railing. They were close, closer than they needed to be, and she was very aware of that, and she had a feeling he was too. She thought about the blanket. The cat. The laugh in the kitchen. All these small things that kept happening and kept not meaning anything and kept adding up anyway.

"Alejandro," she said.

He turned, and his phone rang.

He picked up. The moment was gone. The night kept going.

---

Later she was on the terrace when she heard him come up behind her.

"Lucía won't bother you again."

"You made sure of that?"

"Nobody gets to treat what's mine like that."

She turned around. "I'm not yours. Two months and this is over."

He looked at her, that expression she could never read, then almost smiled. "Get some rest. Tomorrow you meet my family."