I'm coming back to the penthouse. Abuela suggested I surprise him. With that in mind, I decided to depart from Kent and route back to London.

I'm not quite sure what I'm expecting. For him to gasp, throw all his papers into the air and grasp until our skins are fused together as one. I need him to twirl me around and whisper how much he's desperately missed me. The idea seems appealing but fades just as fast when I remember his hurt expression.

The sky is a murky purple from the setting of the sun and it's a little chilly in the elevator. The slower it ascends, the more impatient I grow. Instead of vanilla, the penthouse smells of Dimitri's cologne. It's woodsy and intoxicating, and exactly what home smells like.

There's muffled voices coming from the kitchen and I follow the sound. Instead of descending in and announcing my presence, I freeze outside the door when I hear Dimitri's helpless sigh.

"I don't know, I just thought this marriage facade would work. Grandpapa still hasn't come around with him signing the company over to me. At this rate, I just feel like I'm wasting Bella's time. She's young, she's beautiful - I literally stole her career away from her because of the media harassment and she barely said a word to me."

I don't realise it's happening. My heart squeezes, crumbles then breaks. I never knew he felt like this about the whole facade. "Somedays I wish she'd hate me." That's exactly the problem, I can't hate him no matter how much I bring myself to it. "Fuck sake, we're two months into this fake marriage and not a single word from Grandpapa. I'm merely a figurehead of a CEO with no actual power. But the deal with Hugo- it could work too. I'm desperate, I'll do anything."

I take a slight peek through the narrow gap of the door and Anwar's hip is saunter to the ledge of the Island as he's deep in thought. "Are you sure you want to go ahead with Hugo Antolin and his merger deal?"

Antolin and merger? What is this?

Dimitri extends his arms forward on the island and stretches, before lazily mumbling a sentence."It's perfect. He wants to go into telecommunications and I'm looking for a way into hospitality."

Anwar passes him a bleary gaze, a lump of anxiety rising in his throat. "I happened to be browsing the web and I was searching for similar mergers he's done in the past and..." his voice drawls on, forcibly keeping it casual.

"What is it?"

"I should've stopped when I had the chance but I was so far deep into the rabbit hole I just couldn't stop. The Spanish media has him depicted as a murder. The police investigating at the time weren't able to find any concrete evidence on him and I'm guessing he has connections with the Barcelona's chief police officer and–,"

I inhale a breath and bare out for what he's about to say next. The slightest mention of Barcelona and murder has me sweating buckets as anxiety collects in knots in my stomach. I don't speak nor correct him, just stand there overhearing a private conversation with my limp form.

"Murder? Who did he murder?"

"His wife. He was already a big name by the time he and his wife met. She was some middle grade-school teacher and never belonged to his class of people. Anyway, the media adored her, a little too much than him perhaps. He became jealous, toxic, verbally abusive. Then one night after a huge argument, she asks for a divorce, gets in her car and suddenly her brakes don't work. –And BOOM!"

Dimitri rolls his eyes and slumps his head into his hand. He's not convinced, "Oh please, this is a conspiracy." No, Anwar's absolutely right, Dimitri.

"But it's fascinating! Did you know about this?"

"No of course not. I've had dinner with him before and he's quite charismatic. I'm aware he has a daughter, she's around my age but– Regardless, that's his personal life. I have no reason to be digging up the past. Damn, hearing about his wife does make me sad."

They both fall into a silence before Dimitri asks – "What was his wife's name?"

Shit, shit, shit. "Eva–"

I push through the door."Hey boys!" Anwar strikes up like a pole. "Whatcha talking about?"

Dimitri simply cranes his head to the side but doesn't fully shift around to acknowledge my presence. "Oh hey, Bella. Didn't know you were coming back today and just boring stock investments. Nothing interesting,"

His downplaying of the murder has me frowning. For him this is an interesting goose chase filled with red herrings but for me? I have first-hand experience.

"Right," I crane my head towards Dimitri. He simply gazes at me. Damn, he's still mad at me? "I decided to come home a little quickly to spend quality time with my husband," I state, eyes still locked with Dimitri. He blinks, his lips thin and he turns his attention back to Anwar and slips leisurely on his champagne flute.

Anwar fixes his throat and glances back and forth between us. He's the deer who's been caught in headlights and the awkward third wheeler in our argument. He's trying his best to keep a straight face but he grows uncomfortable each second the silence drowns on. Dimitri still hasn't greeted me yet. It makes me a little sad.

"Anyway... I gotta go and collect some reports from the office. Have a safe flight, man." Anwar touches Dimitri on the shoulder before waving me off and dipping out into the elevator.

"Flight? Where are you going?" I inquire, walking closer to him once Anwar's gone.

He takes his time replying to my inquiry. First, he holds his temple with his fingers before reading a few more sentences of this paperwork. It's utterly pathetic and petty.

Before he finally tells, "I'm leaving for Toronto tonight. I've got a few... urgent matters to handle." He flips the pages of a file in front of him. It has a colourful pie chart on it and very boring statistical elements on it.

I should splatter the ink on his white shirt and just tell him. I agreed with Abuela I would tell them. "I was hoping I could have a word with you. We have a lot to discuss."

Dimitri simply waves me off, "It can wait. I have work to do and I need to pack and– Uh, Aisha's still taking her time with the report I asked her for," he glances down at his watch. The screeching of the stool legs on the marble makes me wince. He rises to his full height and snags the papers off the counter before heading out the door.

I follow after him. "Are you still angry at me? I completely understand if you are." the plea just falls out - I just want him to talk to me.

Dimitri pauses. The back of his shoulders rise and fall with a sigh, he's mentally and physically preparing himself. It takes him a second before he meets my face. "I couldn't care less about it. I'm over it if that's the answer you're searching for."

His expression is more serious than ever but I don't believe him a single bit. He's merely saying it for aesthetic purposes. Too much honey, lots of glaze and not enough powder to conceal his true emotions.

"Dimitri, we still need to talk and–"

"We'll discuss it after I'm back. I don't have the energy right now and if we start, I'll be late. You know, I don't like being late." he shuts the conversation short and looks everywhere but at me. The man can barely meet my eyes and here I am expecting him to listen about my identity.

With a dejected sigh, I let it go. "Alright. How long are you in Toronto for?"

"Four days... maybe more. A week, maybe two."

"If you're leaving because of me, it's fine. I can go back to Abuela–"

He cuts me short sharply. "It isn't about you. I have business matters that need my attention in Toronto. It's just a week, I'll be back." He huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose. With that said, he turns over his shoulder and leaves. Three hours later, he caught a black cab to the LHR and left without a word. That night, I eat dinner alone whilst replying and crafting everything I'm going to say to him. I know two things for sure: one, Dimitri has a passive-aggressive approach to his anger and two, this is going to end ruinously.

It's Friday evening. Exactly a week later and Dimitri is flying in on Monday morning. We've spoken on the phone... maybe once? Twice to the maximum with a few words of are you taking care of yourself? Is work okay? Have you eaten? Before the conversation goes silent and he always scrambles for an excuse to end the call. I hate every second of it. Things have never been this heated nor awkward with him.

With nothing much to do, I decide to invite Quinn and lay my heart out flat to her.

She asks if it's okay to bring Jeremiah along and I physically don't have the courage to say no. I mull over whether to tell her about my lies and me involving Jeremiah in it. They've become good friends since the wedding and have a friendly banter swinging between them. I also end up dialling Aisha's number and Anwar decides to plot along to make me feel less lonely.

So I began preparing. There are bottles of champagne, a charcuterie board decked with crackers, bread, different variations of cheese and dried fruit. There's also a rich selection of dark chocolates they can test out. I leave it all on the coffee table and run into the bedroom to change. My hip hits the draw and something plops out of it.

A brown envelope. It's the same envelope that has the NDA in it so I decided to hunt down Dimitri's office and tuck it in his drawer. But before I even get the opportunity to do so, the elevator door opens and I place the envelope down on the coffee table next to the row of flutes.

The minute Jeremiah walks into the penthouse, he swoons me in for a hug. "Hey Bella," he rasps. His cologne is overwhelming and he smells nothing like Dimitri. "How's married life going? God, I never see you anymore. Why does it feel like he's got you locked in here like Rapunzel?" I feel sick and nauseous. Jeremiah's innocent in this and he doesn't even know he's the main crux of our argument.

I force out a laugh at the joke he's made and tell him it's not true. I usher Quinn and Jeremiah in and tell them to get started as Anwar and Aisha pull through the elevator door. We converse, the atmosphere is rich and vibrant and filled humidly with a Drake song.

I take several trips to refill water and make sure everything is in order and when I finally get a chance to sit down and catch up with Quinn. I stood up again, remembering I needed to take a trip down to Dimitri's office.

Jeremiah is conversing with Anwar. They both laugh at a joke he's made about a footballer. They seem to be bonding well over their love for Manchester United.

But when I turn to look, the brown envelope is not there anymore. My heart drops and I daze out for a brief second. I swear to Lord, I had placed it on the glass coffee table before heading for the door. Unless I had dropped it. Panic swarms the depths of me and I'm drowning headfirst into it. My heart decides to train for a marathon. Jeremiah catches my eye, offers me a kind grin and pats the seat beside him. "Come sit with me."

I stalk towards him slowly, plot myself beside him. My eyes don't leave the blank space on the coffee table. I've just lost the NDA. "You alright Bella? You could use a drink."

He passes me his untouched cocktail. I take the sip, the salty brine making me wince. The alcohol only amplifies the blood coursing through me. There's a terrible feeling growing inside the pit of my stomach. For the duration of the small gathering, I ignore it.

The second they all leave, I tear the penthouse to pieces and search for it everywhere. My bedroom is a dump, the living room's furniture is misplaced, even in Dimitri's office, his papers are everywhere. Still, there's no sign of the NDA.

I begin crying in torment. If Dimitri doesn't hate me enough already, I'm giving him another reason too.

I should text him, I should finally call him and let him know how incompetent I am of failing to carry out simple tasks. I've breached the agreements between us and he has every right to sue me for it.

I reach for my phone and begin searching for his name. The longer I hide from this, the worse it'll be for me. Then it buzzes with gossip article and it flashes before my eyes. My heart sinks painfully into my stomach. I can feel all the cheese and wine wanting to bare itself out.

I scroll down further, it states, All the blood drains from my face.

I scroll down even more and there's a blurry photograph taken from a distance of them hugging.

Dimitri's wearing a cream shirt with a bomber jacket and has his face covered with a baseball cap. Then there's runway model Jelena - she looks immaculate as ever with her golden hair curled tightly into ringlets and her tall mannequin frame flaunting a Dior dress.

I don't break or shatter, I simply go numb.