It's Monday morning. Dimitri arrived a little earlier than expected, somewhere between the breaking of dawn and slept off his jet lag. He's been slumped in his office since and only stepped out to make himself a black coffee. That man drinks it like it's some youth serum.

We haven't spoken at all. The more the morning simmered forward, the more the empty space between us grows.

I gingerly pulled into the kitchen telling myself I couldn't keep avoiding him. I was hungry and I needed to prepare breakfast, I didn't even have to acknowledge his existence while I'm there.

The cold marble flooring meets my feet and Dimitri doesn't flick his head up. Damn him, he looks perfect as ever. His dark brown hair is wet from his shower and the closer I move towards him, the more he reeks of aftershave. This is harder than expected and my lips crane into a frown.

"Dimitrius," I pathetically call. I want him to know I'm here.

He's got his head dipped as he reads through a fat folder of paperwork. The slate of his broad shoulder prominent as his elbows are outstretched in front of him. Upon hearing his full name, he pauses but his eyes never meet mine.

"Isabella," he acknowledges, measuring my name and retorting back in the same manner.

Deep breath. He hesitantly shoots me a look – extra intense and burning. Talk to me, Isabella. I interpret.

I ignore it. Fuck off, Dimitrius.

I prop the slice of white bread into the toaster. Dimitri coughs and sniffles. There's charged tension between us. Static rips through the air, hot white and pricking. It simmers so intensely and hot as if the heat from the untouched stove is balming me in a groggy embrace. Disgusting. Say something to me, I silently beg.

Nothing. More silence that dreads on with each thump of my feet on the marble. Deep breath. He reaches for his coffee mug and tilts back a mouth full.

My eyes drift to his lips as he mutters something under his breath about something to with the return of investment. Apparently, the numbers are wrong.

Apparently, we've decided to not talk to each other. The gossip articles float to the surface. Dimitri was with supermodel Jelena Jardins in Toronto. Huh, suddenly Toronto seems important.

Did he kiss her with those lips? Did his hefty hands thread into the brown of hair and did he pull it like he does with me? Did he whisper her name in her ear as the tan of his skin met hers? I inwardly shiver at my thought and scold myself for ever thinking about it in the first place. He sits so near to me yet he's so far away. I feel physically sick. Just because he can't bring himself to communicate like a mature adult, doesn't mean I'll stoop his level too.

Screw this. "How was Toronto?" I face him with my hand attached to my hip. The silk dress I wore to sleep, rides a little.

His eyes burn to the tan of my thigh as he replies rather measly, "Fine." His hand meets his temple as his elbow decks on the island marble, laser focus on his work.

I hum, "Yeah? And how was Jelena Jardin?"

That captures his attention. He freezes, lowers his steaming coffee cup down until it clangs with a thud on the marble then narrows his eyes at me. His hand tucks underneath his chin and pierces cynically into me. "I thought you said you didn't read gossip tabloids?"

"I don't. It happened to pop up on my phone." Not a single word.

"Great," he mutters sarcastically and rolls his blue eyes. I hope they get stuck there. More pitiful silence. He dramatically flips a page over, irritation masking his face.

The smell of burnt toast drifts past and my hand reaches out, pushing down on the button. It pops up but I don't make a conscious effort to throw it in the bin. The toast has burnt, the silence slices on. Burnt toast and silence - two terrible combinations.

Dimitri's glaring at his paperwork now. I take another jab. I need answers, "Did you spend the night with her?" His attention pulls back because his head sears towards me on beat.

Anger piles on him in knots, "Don't make ludicrous assumptions. I thought you were smarter than that, Isabella." It's barely ten AM and we're at war.

Breathe, Bella. Breathe. A dejected sigh escapes my lips, "You know what?" I place my hands up in surrender. "It's none of my business anyway. I can't comment on how you choose to spend your free time overseas. Your obligations to this ruse only apply in London,"

With that said, I turn on my heels and dart out of the kitchen. The anger is welling inside of the pit of my stomach ever so slowly. There's a burning feeling hollowing in the core of my heart. What's worse? Looking jealous or crazy?

At this rate, I'd rather be crazy.

The stool shifts back with a squeak. Dimitri's standing up. "Don't walk away from me now." He follows after me. I push past the door and stalk the narrow hallway down into my bedroom. I want to be alone. "What's that supposed to mean?" his footsteps sound behind me. I shove the door in his face but his hand reaches out to stop it.

"Get out! I need to change." He pretends to not hear and steps in further.

His eyes follow down my body leisurely as he remarks, "Nothing I haven't seen before." My threaded brows pull into a scowl upon his factual comment, he doesn't match it. It enrages me even more because he's right. It's none he hasn't seen before. I've blurred the lines between real and pretend too quickly. He's steady and calm with his perfect confident poise.

I cross my arms over my chest in defence. "I thought we trusted each other." it flips past my lips in a messy attempt of any battleground. I had told myself I would be mature about this. I would reason with him but this is just me bitching. Dimitri doesn't even belong to me. At the end of the day, I have no right because this is just a facade but my feelings are growing real and I resent each second of it.

Dimitri gives me a flippant shrug, "Huh, that's funny." rubs his large hand over his jaw, feigning a thinking face. "I remember saying something similar to you on the morning of your departure to Kent."

"I wasn't the one who was photographed in Toronto hugging my ex."

"I wasn't the one who lied about having dinner with another man either."

I blow out a hot steamy breath of courage and narrate, "The difference is she's your ex. Jeremiah and I have never dated nor had any scandalous rendezvous. He tried to kiss me once outside my flat but guess what? I pushed him away because I was thinking of you."

The revelation catches him by surprise because his eyebrow lifts slightly. That's the semi-truth - I was also thinking of my obligations to the NDA.

"I'm not lying to you and I've never lied to you about anything. I've been honest with you from the start but you– going out to dinner with a man who had romantic feelings towards you and then lie to me about it." he scoffs and sours away.

"I didn't sleep with him. I haven't slept with anyone but you."

He scratches his eyebrow with his index finger. His voice is strained, heated, on the edge of irritation. "Well, I didn't sleep with her either! She's pregnant."

I blink at him, my mouth parting open. THE Jelena Jardin is pregnant?

"How convenient you were there to console her." He ignores the jab with the ticking of his jaw and begins explaining. An explanation I didn't ask for but he still delivers.

"She had an affair with a well-known NFL player whose name I won't mention... But Jelena found out I was in the city and she needed a friend. She was desperate and crying and needed someone with her whilst the results came through. That was the only reason why I was there. It was the end of the week and I had already sorted through the terrible management of the Toronto branch so I went over. She was a wreck and so devastated when it turned out positive." My heart squeezes and for a brief second, I feel awful for Jelena. Having no one to love you... that's terrible but raising a child on your own... that's even worse.

I can't meet Dimitri's eyes. I was so wrong to accuse him and he's been nothing but a good friend. "I hope she's okay..."

He crosses his arms over his chest, snapping shut from the memory. "She's fine. You on the other hand–"

"Okay, fine! I did lie to you. I wasn't with Jeremiah that day. I was with your Grandpapa at Ivy's. And if you don't believe me you can call them yourself and ask who the reservation was under."

Dimitri's face stretches into a confused daze. "You? With my Grandpapa? He doesn't like you, why would he call you into a restaurant he despises." Ah, so Dimitri does know his Grandpapa hates me. The thought makes me a little sad.

I don't answer and I stare at him. Am I really doing this? Am I really going to tell him everything? Shit, he isn't going to react well to this. Dimitri measures my silence then shakes his head, "You're still lying to me, Isabella. Aren't you?"

"I only lied to you because I was afraid."

"Afraid of me finding out what?"

"Your grandfather is a sell-out of a man and a bully. He threatened me."

He closes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose, "Jesus Christ, stop making ludicrous accusations and just own up to it. I'm tired of your lies."

I point my head to the black clutch that sits on my dresser than I stalk towards it. I pull the buckle apart and carefully roll out the divorce papers.

Dimitri doesn't once take his eyes off me, I march towards him and stand face-to-face. This is too close, very close but I need him to understand. I bare the papers in front of his face, "Look at this. He threw this at me and demanded I divorce you. Not only will I be breaching the NDA between us but we have a due date on this fake relationship. It will happen on your terms, not your Grandpapa's." And because I'm not ready to lose you yet. I don't tell him that but I wish I did.

Dimitri goes silent, his eyes drift over the clause. Then he's snatching it off me, his mouth set into a silent firm line. He flips over the page. He reads it once. Then twice. He exhales a sharp breath. He reads it again. Five fucking times with restless placidness filling the large canvas of my bedroom.

"What the fuck. Why didn't you bloody tell me about this?!"

We glare at each other for a hot moment before I utter out. "How the hell was I supposed too? He's your grandfather and you adore the man more than your father."

He bites his lip in a stressed thought, "Did you sign anything?" I shake my head and he sighs a breath of relief. He throws the papers onto my bed, messaging his temple. "I don't adore him. I'm his puppet on strings."

"I don't understand."

"I don't think I've ever mentioned why I wanted to marry you in the first place. Grandpapa's traditional, he values family and marriage and church above all things." That's bold from a man who threatened me. "I thought that if I find a wife and play this marriage facade perfectly, he'll see how responsible I've become and finally give me the company. Yes, I'm the goddamn CEO but I don't own a single thing. He's the one calling the shots, not me."

I blink at him, trying to piece all my thoughts together at the new revelation. "You don't own Asterio Industries? How is that possible?" He's the CEO and has a majority share.

Dimitri pulls at his collar – the heat nips at him mercilessly. He shifts his weight uncomfortably from one foot to another. "Grandpapa is a part of the board of directors, they can override decisions that CEOs make. Technically, it is his company not mine." The silence on my behalf causes him to elaborate more.

Or because I'm staring at him in so much concern and he's relieving a few painful memories, "After Jelena and my antics from University, he never saw me in the same light again. To him, I was still that irresponsible reckless kid that graduated months back. I had too many scandals, a handful of affairs, terrible friends and even worse associates."

He tilts his head back slightly. It's no use, he's a walking facade of a broken and faceless battle with no conquest. "So I traded it all. I broke up with Jelena. I traded the clubs for the office, I traded the random hookups for the gym. The alcohol for my thirst of stepping up and proving myself worth it. I did everything but it's never been enough for him."

I panic. I start panicking for him, the ideas and suggestions just spilling past my lips. "There's something you can do. Like buy more shares, hire a lawyer, have you spoken to your Dad?"

Dimitri lets out a self-deprecating laugh, "I've tried everything in the book. This marriage was my last option and nothing has worked."

Then he's stepping closer to me - all the space between us closing in a matter of seconds. His hands reach out for my face and he holds me close, blue dilated pupils burning into hazel. "I'm so sorry for all the horrible things I said to you. Please forgive me. I didn't intend to be angry at you for this long, you've been wonderful for putting up with me and this facade for months now. You need to be more transparent with me because this takes both of us to make it work, yes?"

The tears I've been holding back are breaking down my face. "Okay."

Dimitri then asks with a stiff lip. "What mean things did Christopher Asterio say to you?"

I well up even more with tears clouding my vision. "Just horrible things about my mother. He found out it was a weak spot for me."

"I'm so sorry. That's unacceptable and inexcusable. I remember seeing you staring at her photographs at Abuela's house. You were so zoned out and upset. I know this is a hard topic for you."

He says it with so much passion and affection. Like he truly cares about me, as if my tiny issues truly matter to him. It's such a shame - if we weren't pretending, I'd believe every last word he has to say to me.

After all the tears and painful memories come crashing down, he steps away, threads his hands through his hair and grabs the divorce papers again. "I'll be back," he states before he's shoving out the door and marching for the elevator.

I trip behind him in a daze, "Where are you going?"

He steps his foot into the elevator, presses the button and summons the lift down. "To speak to Grandpapa. He can't threaten you and get away with it." and with that, the elevator closes. There's a terrible feeling settling in my stomach. I shouldn't have told him.

His grandfather is going to tell him about Hugo and he'll hate me. So I do what I know best, I have a full-blown anxiety attack.