Page 8 of Her Possessive Dominant Fake Husband

I exhaled sharply, smoothing it against my fingers before tucking it deep into my pocket. The picture—its quiet, damning truth—sat like a stone in my gut. But Alexander had pulled me back before the weight of doubt could settle.

Lunch. Something normal. Except in Alexander’s world, nothing felt normal to me.

I walked away, straightening my spine as I stepped into the hallway, my fingers still curled against my palm. Gettingready for lunch gave me the opportunity to relax and finally, to smile. When I let go of the things I couldn’t control, I realized this whole situation could be fun, if I let it.

I sat on the couch to wait for Alexander’s call and picked up my phone from the glass coffee table in front of me, debating whether to call Mom—or maybe Michael—for a moment of reassurance. But before I could press the call button, a message popped up on my screen.

Alexander:Drive will pick you up in another 5 minutes.

I inhaled deeply and grabbed my small handbag, then headed outside.

A sleek black Mercedes-Maybach waited at the curb, its paint reflecting the soft sunlight. The driver, in a crisp black suit and cap, stepped out and opened the door for me and he didn’t say a word. I was not used to such treatment but there was no harm in enjoying the princess treatment for a day. I nodded politely and slipped inside the car.

And the moment I sank into the plush leather seats, I felt a wave of nervous energy wash over me. The cabin was quiet, luxurious—wood trim, subtle ambient lighting, and the faint scent of leather and aftershave. Everything about it screamed Alexander Reed: powerful, meticulous, coldly impressive.

As the car glided through traffic, I stared out the window, my fingers tightening slightly around my purse thinking about the lunch.

I am not sure what it meant to Suddenly plan a lunch… in his territory.

Lunch. Just lunch. At his office. Nothing to panic about, right?

What was I supposed to say? How was I supposed to act? Was this just for appearances, or did he have some kind of plan?

I shifted in my seat, smoothing the front of my dress.

Play it cool. Be polite. Stick to the arrangement.

Still, my heart thudded with unease. Something about Alexander always left me feeling like I was walking into a room with no exits.

In about forty minutes, driver stopped in front of the high-rise building that housed Alexander’s company. The driver stepped out, walked around, and opened the door for me. I stepped out and headed towards the entrance.

The receptionist smiled at me. “Hello, Mrs Reed. He’s expecting you. Top floor.”

My heart gave a small skip at the name: Mrs. Reed. Would they notice the hesitation in my step? I wasn’t his real wife but everyone here now believed it. And for now, I had to control my nervousness and play along. “Thanks.”

The elevator ride felt endless, each floor ding raising the pressure in my chest. I checked my reflection in the polished doors—calm, collected, pretty enough. Hopefully convincing.

When the doors slid open, I stepped into a sleek corridor filled with glass walls, abstract art, and silence. I hesitated for a fraction of a second, then pushed open the tall door.

The conversation was already alive—alive but sharp-edged. Voices clashed in the space between silverware and careful decorum, and catering staff hurried around, exchanging wide-eyed glances at the huge conference table ringed by people dressed like old money.

Alexander stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows, city skyline stretching out behind him like a power portrait. He wasin a dark suit, no tie, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up.Controlled, elegant, dangerous.

He turned at the sound of the door, and his gaze landed on me—sharp, unreadable, with maybe a flicker of something else. Approval? Curiosity?

I moved toward the sleek conference table by the windows, suddenly aware of the click of my heels, the way his eyes followed my every step.

“Right on time,” he said simply, stepping forward.

I wore a politely warm smile as he introduced me to everyone.

“Have a seat. Lunch is on the way,” Alexander said once the formalities were over.

“Thanks.” I took my seat, and Alexander sat beside me. Everyone’s eyes were on me, and I could feel all sorts of emotions in the room: admiration and respect, jealousy and judgment.

"Claire is remarkably skilled at adapting, isn’t she? Some people just… thrive in uncertain situations."

Not a compliment. A test. A challenge—from a balding, portly man whose wandering eyes made my skin crawl.

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