Page 25 of Her Possessive Dominant Fake Husband

"This was yours," I breathed, trailing off as the weight of it all sank in. He was Alexander Reed, icy CEO with more money than anyone deserved, and he was giving me parts of himself. "I can’t—"

"You can." His voice was soft, but there was steel in it, firm and convincing. He began to play, showing me some simple scales, and his presence loomed larger than life.

I couldn’t help but watch his hands move, graceful and practiced, not just on the piano but on the task of dismantling every idea I had about him.

“I noticed you wanted to play at our wedding.”

He remembered that? The memory of wanting to touch the keys, but knowing I didn’t belong rose up in me. But now, in his world, in his home, in this breathtaking universe he’d created for me, I felt I was beginning to belong after all.

“No more excuses,” he said.

The music filled the room, notes circling and mixing with the low hum of the city outside. My heart strained against each moment, wanting more but fearing it. Alexander looked different here, illuminated by the afternoon light. I had the strangest feeling that, for the first time, he wasn’t pretending to be someone – or something - he wasn’t.

The table was set with delicate china and crystal, and everything looked exquisite, expensive. I wanted to touch it, but more than that, I wanted to believe it.

"Come on, let’s eat," he said, an easy confidence in his voice that made my stomach flip.

I didn’t move right away, lingering on the piano. I wasn’t used to receiving gifts like this, ones that couldn’t be given away or repurposed. My sister would never want this, my mind teased, but the sting that used to come with the thought was absent. Maybe I was beginning to let myself have things that were just mine.

Dinner was beautiful. There were little lamb chops and roasted vegetables, the kind of food I would normally only admire in glossy magazines while eating reheated leftovers. I took a deep breath, inhaling the rich aromas. "You know I’m a simple girl, right?" I said, an attempt to lighten the weighty air.

Alexander smirked. "It’s your birthday, Claire. Let’s pretend you’re not."

We sat across from each other, and I couldn’t stop thinking that it was infuriating how charming he was when he let himself be. Like he had pulled a mask away and revealed something sincere and dazzling underneath.

"Do you always get what you want?" I asked, curiosity slipping out before I could pull it back.

His eyes met mine, steady and unwavering. "Not always," he said, a shadow crossing his features. Then he smiled, the expression softening the edge of his admission. "But I’m patient."

It was enough to silence me, my mind spinning on what he might have meant. Patient for what? For whom? But I didn’twant to overthink it. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t want to ruin the moment with too many questions. Questions I wasn’t supposed to ask anyway.

We ate, we laughed, and I found myself less guarded, more willing to be pulled into his glittering and bright world. He told me stories about the piano when he was a kid, how he’d carved something into the back of it. One of many fixes he’d made when restoring the thing for me.

My thoughts tangled, trying to make sense of this Alexander and the one I’d married, the one I’d worked for and been curious about from afar. I’d expected tonight to be awkward, a required gesture from a man who didn’t care. But this was real, so real I could feel it tightening around my heart.

After dinner, we returned to the piano. My heart was so full it felt like it would burst. He gave me a sidelong glance, eyebrows raised in a playful challenge. I didn’t resist, not really. How could I? Not when our sham marriage had become… this. Whatever this was.

"It’s beautiful," I said, my voice almost a whisper. "I never thought—"

"You’ve got to start expecting more," he said, and there was something intense in his eyes, something that made my skin flush with awareness.

Of everything he’d given me, the way he knew me was the most startling. I wanted to cling to the simplicity of needing money, of needing this advantage, of needing anything that wasn’t him. But he made it impossible to pretend.

Alexander sat close, watching me like I was the most fascinating puzzle he’d ever attempted to solve. My fingers hovered over the keys again, hesitating in that same familiar way.

"You’ve wanted this for a long time," he said.

I nodded, the motion so slight it was more a release of breath than an admission.

He reached across, his arm brushing against mine, and placed his hand over mine on the keys. The contact burned in a way that sent a dizzy, helpless thrill through me. I wasn’t used to being seen. I wasn’t used to being anything.

His voice was lower, more intimate. "Let me show you something."

Alexander demonstrated a simple melody, guiding my fingers, showing a tenderness that unraveled the tightly coiled reservations I’d brought with me into this arrangement. His attention felt like a spotlight, illuminating corners of my heart that hadn’t seen light in years.

I looked at him, stunned that he’d bothered to see me. "I didn’t know you could actually play." I’d assumed he’d maybe learned a song to appease his parents not that he’d truly learned.

"There’s a lot you don’t know about me," he said, a trace of humor there. "Yet."

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