Marta and another maid rushed forward the second Garrison stepped away from the table.

They cleared the china plates with terrifying speed. Their movements were so careful and practiced that the porcelain didn't make a single clinking sound. They were terrified of shattering the fragile peace.

Garrison walked down the long, dimly lit hallway toward his study.

His long legs ate up the distance. His back was stiff. He radiated a cold, unapproachable energy that usually kept everyone in the penthouse at least ten feet away.

Cassie pulled her napkin off her lap and tossed it onto the table.

"Garrison. Wait."

Cassie's voice rang out clearly.

The maids froze in terror. Marta squeezed her eyes shut, looking like she was praying. The Madam has lost her mind, Marta thought.

Halfway down the hall, Garrison's footsteps stopped abruptly.

His tall frame went completely rigid. He stood frozen under the warm glow of a wall sconce.

Very slowly, he turned around.

He looked at Cassie across the distance of the hallway. His deep blue eyes were narrowed, assessing her. He was waiting to see if she had a legitimate emergency, or if she was just trying to annoy him.

Cassie didn't hesitate. She walked briskly toward him.

She stopped about three feet away-close enough to talk without raising her voice, but far enough to keep him from feeling trapped.

Garrison stared down at her. He reached into the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket.

He pulled out a sleek, ultra-thin digital writing tablet and a stylus. He held it at waist level, waiting for her to speak.

Cassie let out a quiet breath of relief.

He pulled out the tablet. That meant he was willing to engage. He wasn't shutting her out completely.

"I just wanted to let you know about my schedule tomorrow," Cassie said, her tone casual and professional. "I'm heading to the Broadcasting Network headquarters. We have a massive pitch meeting for a new reality show."

Garrison's eyebrows pulled together in a deep frown.

He looked genuinely baffled. In the entire history of their arranged marriage, she had never once informed him of her daily whereabouts.

"I might have to work late," Cassie continued, ignoring his confusion. "I just wanted to tell you so Marta doesn't waste expensive ingredients making dinner for two if I'm not here."

Garrison's fingers tightened around the stylus.

He stared at her face, trying to process this incredibly mundane, domestic piece of information.

He looked down at his tablet. The stylus hit the screen.

He wrote quickly, his hand moving in sharp, aggressive strokes. He flipped the tablet around and held it up for her to read.

His handwriting was a jagged, angry scrawl.

Acknowledged. Is there anything else?

Cassie looked at the cold words on the glowing screen. The tone was harsh, but the fact that he responded at all made her heart leap with confidence.

Cassie shook her head. She gave him a soft, genuine smile.

"No, that's it," Cassie said gently. "I just wanted to share my day with you. We are husband and wife, after all."

At the word "wife", a flicker of something unreadable crossed Garrison's eyes.

His hand holding the stylus tightened for a fraction of a second, the only outward sign that her words had breached his defenses.

He abruptly turned his head and looked away from her face, staring hard at the wall over her shoulder.

He didn't write another word.

He shoved the tablet back into his jacket pocket. He turned around and practically marched toward his study. His footsteps were noticeably faster than before. He was fleeing.

Cassie stood in the hallway, watching him run away.

She didn't feel rejected. She felt a bubble of laughter rise in her throat. The terrifying, ruthless Wall Street billionaire was actually flustered. It was incredibly cute.

Garrison reached the end of the hall. He grabbed the heavy brass handle of the solid oak study door.

He stepped inside his sanctuary. He pushed the door closed behind him.

But right before the latch clicked into place, his hand stopped.

For some inexplicable reason, he didn't pull the door completely shut. He left it open. Just a tiny crack. A two-inch gap between the door and the frame.

Cassie stood perfectly still in the hallway. Her eyes locked onto that narrow sliver of darkness.

A massive, victorious smile broke across her face.

Marta scurried up behind Cassie. The housekeeper kept her voice to a terrified whisper.

"Mrs. Harvey, please," Marta pleaded. "Mr. Harvey hates being disturbed when he is in his study. You should go to your room."

Cassie turned and patted Marta gently on the shoulder.

"Don't worry, Marta," Cassie whispered back, her eyes sparkling. "I know exactly what I'm doing."

Cassie turned and walked toward her own bedroom, her steps light and bouncy.

Inside the study, Garrison sat down heavily in his massive leather desk chair.

His desk was covered in thick files for a multi-billion dollar corporate merger. But he wasn't looking at the papers.

He was staring straight ahead, his eyes fixed on the two-inch gap in the doorway.

The warm yellow light from the hallway spilled through the crack, painting a bright, thin line across his dark Persian rug.

Garrison lifted a hand and pinched the bridge of his nose. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling a dull ache building in his temples.

He was furious with himself. Why didn't he shut the door? Why did he leave it open for her?

In her bedroom, Cassie kicked off her slippers. She threw herself onto the massive, soft mattress.

She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, replaying every second of the night in her head.

She clenched her fists in excitement. Garrison's icy exterior was full of cracks. He wasn't a machine. He was a man with a severe trauma response, and she was going to carefully, methodically break down his walls.

The trust fund was as good as hers.

Cassie tossed and turned on the massive silk sheets.

She looked at the digital clock on her nightstand. It was 10:00 PM. Her mind was buzzing with too much energy to sleep.

Her throat felt dry. She decided to go to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Cassie slipped out of bed. She was wearing a simple, thin silk slip dress that fell to her mid-thigh. She didn't bother putting on a robe. The penthouse was always kept at a perfectly climate-controlled seventy-two degrees.

She walked barefoot out of her bedroom and padded softly down the hallway.

As she approached the kitchen, she had to pass Garrison's study.

She slowed her steps. She looked at the heavy oak door.

The two-inch gap was still there.

A sliver of pale light from his desk lamp spilled out into the dark hallway.

Cassie stood outside the door, holding her empty glass. She debated with herself for three seconds. Should she push her luck?

Her survival instinct said yes. Strike while the iron is hot.

Cassie reached out and pushed the heavy door.

The brass hinges let out a tiny, almost inaudible squeak.

Behind the desk, Garrison's head snapped up instantly. His eyes were sharp and alert, like a predator sensing movement in the brush.

Cassie leaned casually against the wooden doorframe. She held her water glass loosely against her chest. Her posture was completely relaxed, a stark contrast to the stiff, formal woman she had been at dinner.

Garrison's eyes swept over her.

He took in her bare shoulders, the thin silk of her nightgown, and her bare legs.

Cassie saw his throat move as he swallowed hard. He immediately jerked his gaze away from her body and stared fiercely at the financial documents on his desk.

Cassie pretended not to notice his panic.

"I couldn't sleep," Cassie said softly, her voice echoing slightly in the large, book-lined room. "I thought I'd come bother you for a minute."

Garrison's brow furrowed aggressively.

He reached out and grabbed his digital tablet from the corner of the desk. He gripped the stylus, ready to write a harsh dismissal to send her back to bed.

Cassie didn't give him the chance.

She completely ignored his defensive posture and just started talking.

"When I was a kid living in Brooklyn, I used to have terrible insomnia," Cassie said, her voice light and conversational. "My mom used to make me count the sirens going past our window. It never worked. It just made me anxious."

Garrison's hand froze in mid-air. The stylus hovered an inch above the screen.

He tried to force his eyes back to the merger documents. He tried to read the complex legal jargon. But the words blurred together.

Cassie's voice filled the room. It wasn't loud, but it was vibrant. It carried a strange, soothing rhythm that cut through the oppressive silence he usually demanded.

"One time, I tried counting the rats in the alley instead," Cassie continued, a bright smile breaking across her face. She let out a sudden, clear laugh. "I got to twelve before I realized how disgusting that was."

Her laughter bounced off the mahogany bookshelves. It was a sound that had never existed in this room before.

Garrison took a sharp, deep breath.

He dropped the stylus. He lifted his head and glared at her. He poured all of his cold, intimidating CEO energy into that stare. It was a look that usually made grown men on Wall Street sweat and stutter.

Cassie's laughter faded.

She met his gaze. She didn't look away, but she saw the intense conflict burning behind his blue eyes. He was frustrated, but he wasn't angry. He was overwhelmed.

Cassie stood up straight, pushing off the doorframe. Her playful demeanor vanished, replaced by a quiet sincerity.

"I know I talk a lot," Cassie said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. She watched his face carefully. "Am I annoying you? Do you want me to leave?"

The air in the study grew heavy.

Garrison stared at her. He saw the genuine hesitation in her eyes. She was giving him an out. She was giving him the power to banish her back to the silence.

His chest tightened painfully. His instinct screamed at him to push her away, to protect his quiet isolation.

He looked down at the tablet. He picked up the stylus.

He held the pen over the screen for a long, agonizing moment. His knuckles were white. The internal war between his trauma and his sudden, terrifying craving for her presence raged inside him.

Cassie watched his hesitation. Her heart sank.

She had pushed too far. She had triggered his defenses.

"I'm sorry," Cassie whispered, looking down at her bare feet. "I'll go."

She turned around, ready to walk back to her cold, empty bedroom.

SCREECH.

A harsh, grating sound ripped through the room.

Cassie gasped and spun around.

Garrison had shoved the digital tablet violently across the polished wood of his desk. It stopped right at the edge, facing her.

Cassie walked slowly toward the desk. She looked down at the glowing screen.

There were only two words written on it. The handwriting was messy, rushed, and completely out of character for his usual precise strokes.

It's fine.

Cassie stared at the words. A massive wave of relief crashed over her.

She looked up at Garrison. He was refusing to look at her, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. He was embarrassed by his own concession.

Cassie broke into a blindingly bright smile. It was the smile of a woman who had just won a war.

She raised her empty water glass in the air, offering him a mock toast.

"Goodnight, Garrison," Cassie said cheerfully.

She turned and walked out of the study, her bare feet making soft padding sounds against the floor.

Before she left, she reached out and grabbed the heavy oak door. She pulled it shut.

Click.

The door closed completely, sealing him back into his silent world.

Garrison sat frozen in his chair. He stared at the closed door.

He listened to the faint sound of her footsteps fading down the hallway. As the silence rushed back into the room, his rigid posture finally collapsed. His shoulders slumped forward.

He looked down at the tablet. He stared at his own messy handwriting. It's fine.

It was a lie. It wasn't fine. Her presence was chaotic and loud and terrifying.

He reached out and hit the delete button. The screen went black.

Garrison leaned his head back against the leather chair and closed his eyes. But the darkness didn't help. All he could see was the image of her standing in his doorway, laughing.

Down the hall, Cassie practically dove into her bed.

She rolled around in the silk sheets, kicking her legs in the air. She had secured the bag. The ice king had compromised.

The trust fund was safe.

Cassie woke up at 7:00 AM sharp.

She stretched her arms over her head, feeling a deep ache in her muscles from the bike ride, but her mind was crystal clear. It was the best sleep she had gotten since waking up in this novel.

She threw off the covers and marched into her massive walk-in closet.

Today was about securing her own power. The trust fund was the safety net, but her career was her armor.

She bypassed the pastel country-club dresses the original Cassie favored. Instead, she pulled out a sharp, tailored black blazer and matching wide-leg trousers.

She applied a clean, minimal makeup look. She slipped her feet into a pair of black Jimmy Choo stilettos.

Cassie walked out of her bedroom, her heels clicking aggressively against the hardwood floor. She headed straight for the dining room, hoping to catch Garrison for a quick morning interaction.

The dining room was empty.

Marta was standing by the buffet table, quietly polishing a silver coffee pot.

"Good morning, Marta," Cassie said, glancing around the room. "Is Garrison still asleep?"

Marta stopped polishing and looked at Cassie with a respectful, apologetic smile.

"Good morning, Mrs. Harvey. Mr. Harvey left at six o'clock this morning. He took the private elevator down to his waiting car. He has an early board meeting at the Wall Street headquarters."

Cassie felt a tiny, sharp prick of disappointment in her chest.

She immediately crushed the feeling. She was being ridiculous. Garrison was a billionaire CEO; his schedule didn't revolve around her little exposure therapy sessions.

"Right. Of course," Cassie said smoothly.

She sat down at the table. Marta quickly served her a slice of avocado toast and a cup of black coffee. Cassie ate fast, keeping her eyes on her phone, reviewing her notes for the day.

Ten minutes later, Cassie grabbed her Hermes Birkin bag and walked out of the apartment.

Downstairs, Thomas the doorman had already hailed a black Uber SUV for her.

Cassie climbed into the back seat. She watched the chaotic, noisy morning traffic of Manhattan blur past the window. She felt a surge of adrenaline. She wasn't just a trophy wife waiting in a silent tower anymore.

Thirty minutes later, the Uber pulled up in front of the massive glass-and-steel building of the Broadcasting Network in Midtown.

Cassie swiped her employee badge at the security turnstiles.

She walked into the sprawling newsroom. The air was electric. Phones were ringing, producers were shouting across desks, and the smell of cheap printer ink and stale coffee filled the air.

It was loud. It was messy. It was perfect.

Jenna Fletcher, a senior producer and Cassie's closest work friend, walked over holding two iced coffees from Starbucks.

Jenna handed one to Cassie and raised an eyebrow.

"Look at you," Jenna teased, looking Cassie up and down. "You look like you just won the lottery. What happened to the miserable girl from yesterday?"

Cassie took a long sip of the iced coffee. The caffeine hit her bloodstream like a jolt of electricity.

"I didn't win the lottery," Cassie smiled, her eyes flashing. "I just finally figured out how to handle my very difficult roommate."

Jenna rolled her eyes sympathetically. She assumed Cassie was just coping with her terrible marriage.

"Well, whatever works," Jenna said, shifting instantly to business mode. "Come on. The pitch meeting for the new social experiment reality show starts in ten minutes. We need to finalize the angle."

They walked to a glass-walled conference room.

During the meeting, Cassie felt a strange sense of clarity. She remembered the vague plotlines of this world from the novel. She knew what the audience wanted.

When the executive producer asked for ideas, Cassie leaned forward.

She pitched a brutal, high-stakes elimination format that completely flipped the traditional dating show tropes. She spoke with absolute confidence, using sharp, precise language.

Jenna stared at her, her jaw slightly open.

"That is... brilliant," Jenna said, slamming her hand on the table. "That's the hook. That will double our ratings in the first week."

The executive producer nodded slowly, a greedy smile spreading across his face.

By the end of the hour, Cassie was officially named the lead segment director for the pilot episode.

Cassie walked back to her desk and sat down heavily in her ergonomic chair. She let out a long, shaky breath.

Her heart was pounding, but this time, it was from pride. She was building her own empire.

She reached into her Birkin bag and pulled out her phone.

She unlocked the screen.

No notifications. No text messages. Nothing from Garrison.

Cassie stared at the blank screen for a few seconds. She pressed her lips together.

Fine, she thought. Play hard to get. Two can play that game.

She tossed the phone back into her bag and turned her attention to her computer monitor. She was done chasing him for the day.

Five miles away, in the Financial District.

Garrison sat at the head of a massive mahogany table in the Harvey Group's top-floor boardroom.

The room was filled with twenty senior executives and lawyers. A terrified VP of Acquisitions was standing at the front, pointing a laser pointer at a complex slide deck detailing a ten-billion-dollar hostile takeover.

Garrison stared at the screen.

But he wasn't seeing the profit margins.

In his mind, he kept seeing Cassie standing in his study doorway, wearing that thin silk dress, laughing about counting rats in Brooklyn.

Garrison blinked hard, trying to clear the image from his brain.

He shifted his gaze down to the table. His personal cell phone sat next to his legal pad.

The screen was black. There was no little green light flashing to indicate a new message.

Garrison's jaw clenched. A strange, tight feeling twisted in his chest. It felt like anxiety, but that made no sense.

He stared at the phone. Why hadn't she texted him? She had been so aggressive last night. She had forced her way into his space. Why was she suddenly ignoring him today?

The silence in his pocket felt louder than the VP's presentation.

Garrison's brow pulled down into a dark, terrifying scowl. The temperature in the boardroom seemed to drop ten degrees.

The VP at the front of the room saw Garrison's expression. The man's voice cracked. He started sweating through his custom suit, convinced he had just ruined the entire merger.

Garrison didn't notice the terrified executive.

He reached out, grabbed his phone, and flipped it face down on the table with a sharp smack.

He forced his eyes back to the projector screen, his chest tight with an irrational, burning frustration.

Back in Midtown, Cassie was happily eating a salad at her desk. She took a bite of crisp lettuce, her mind already moving on to her evening plans, entirely focused on her own life and her own schedule.

She checked her watch. She decided she was going to treat herself to Korean BBQ tonight. She had successfully navigated a high-stakes pitch and a difficult billionaire; she absolutely deserved it.