The Billionaire's Stand-In Wife Is A Genius

But old habits were chains made of steel. She swiped accept.

"What?" she answered, her voice sharp.

"Where are you?" Chadwick's voice was tight, clipped. Not angry, but stressed.

"I'm working," Johnna said. "Something you probably didn't think I was capable of."

"I need to see you," he said, ignoring her jab. "Now."

"I'm not coming back to the apartment, Chadwick. Talk to my lawyer. Oh wait, I don't have one because I signed your damn papers."

"It's Grandmother," he said.

The name stopped Johnna cold. Grandmother Dyer. The matriarch. The woman who had taught Johnna which fork to use without making her feel small. The only person in that cold, marble mausoleum of a family who had ever squeezed Johnna's hand with genuine warmth.

"What happened?" Johnna asked, her voice dropping.

"Her heart," Chadwick said. "She's... asking for you. She's agitated. The doctors say we need to keep her calm."

Johnna closed her eyes. It was a trap. She knew it was a trap. But it was a trap baited with the one thing she couldn't walk away from.

"Where are you?" she asked.

"I'm tracking your phone," he said. "I'm outside."

Johnna looked out the window. A black Maybach was idling at the curb, looking menacingly out of place against the graffitied brick of Chelsea.

"I hate you," she whispered.

"I know," he said.

Johnna hung up. She told Simon she had a family emergency and would be back in the morning. She walked out of the studio, stripping off her white gloves.

She opened the back door of the Maybach and slid in. The interior smelled of leather and Chadwick. He was sitting on the other side of the seat, looking immaculate and exhausted.

He looked at her clothes-the paint-stained trousers, the simple blouse. His brow furrowed.

"What kind of gallery lets you dress like that?" he asked.

"The kind that values the work, not the display," she retorted.

He didn't press. He reached down and picked up a velvet box from the seat between them. He held it out to her.

"What is this?"

"A gift. For Grandmother. Give it to her. Tell her it's from both of us."

Johnna opened the box. Inside sat a jade carving of a lotus flower. The green was deep, translucent, oily-Imperial Jade. She knew the market. This piece was worth more than her mother's house.

"You're trying to buy her happiness?" Johnna asked, snapping the box shut.

"I'm trying to give her peace," Chadwick said. "She thinks we're happy. She doesn't know about the filing. If she finds out while she's in this state..."

"So I'm here to lie," Johnna said.

"You're here to be kind," Chadwick corrected.

The car merged onto the highway, heading east toward the Hamptons. The drive was long. The silence in the back seat was thick enough to choke on. The space was confined, intimate.

Every time the car took a sharp turn, their knees brushed.

Johnna pulled her leg away as if burned. Chadwick didn't move. She saw his jaw muscle feather. He was tense.

"So," he said, breaking the silence after an hour. "You found a job fast. Reception?"

Johnna looked out the window at the passing trees. "Something like that."

She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. If he thought she was answering phones, let him. It made her real life feel safer, hidden away from his judgment.

"That's... good," he said awkwardly. "It's good to keep busy."

He sounded so patronizing. He sounded like he was talking to a child who had set up a lemonade stand.

The car slowed, turning through the massive iron gates of the Dyer estate. The gravel crunched under the tires. The main house loomed ahead, a sprawling stone mansion that looked more like a fortress than a home.

Johnna felt a familiar tightness in her chest. The Golden Cage. She had escaped it for three days. Now she was walking right back in.

The car stopped. The driver opened the door.

Johnna stepped out, clutching the velvet box. She took a deep breath, fixing a fake, serene smile on her face. It was time to perform.

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