Chapter 6

“I-It’s nothing,” Vivian stammered, her heart hammering against her ribs. She tucked the velvet box behind her back, a flush creeping up her neck. “It’s the same color as yours, Sarah. Look, I’m having a sudden stomachache—I really need to find a bathroom!”

Without waiting for a reply, she fled toward the nearest restroom. Once she was safely locked inside a stall, she sat on the lid of the toilet and carefully reopened the box.

Unlike the silk scarves the others had received, a heavy set of keys lay nestled in the satin lining.

As she stared at them in a daze, her phone buzzed with a new message. It was from Finnick—a home address located in the most prestigious villa district in Sunshine City.

The keys. The address. He was serious about her moving in. I suppose it makes sense, she thought, her mind racing. We are legally married, after all. It’s only natural for a husband and wife to live together... even if we are practically strangers.

When she returned to the office, the atmosphere was electric. The team had captured several stunning shots of Finnick during the interview, but they hadn't dared to publish them without his explicit consent.

The chief editor had called Finnick’s office, more out of hope than expectation. The president of the Finnor Group was a man of shadows; agreeing to an interview was already a miracle. To the utter amazement of the entire staff, Finnick had actually agreed.

“No way! He’s letting us publish his photo? We’re going to be famous!”

“Quick, show us! Is he really as handsome as Sarah says?”

Now that they had the green light, the photos were pulled up on the monitors. A chorus of squeals and gasps erupted from the female staff.

“Hot damn! He’s gorgeous! Sarah, your description didn't even do him justice.”

“Seriously, he puts every celebrity I know to shame!”

“Wait... look at the chair. Is that... a wheelchair?”

A hush fell over the room as they noticed the sleek, motorized chair Finnick was seated in.

Sarah spoke up quickly, her chin tilted defiantly. “Yeah, Mr. Norton is wheelchair-bound. But so what? He’s brilliant, handsome, and filthy rich. To me, he’s still the ultimate Prince Charming.”

The women murmured in agreement, much to the annoyance of their male colleagues. One of the men scoffed, a jealous edge to his voice. “Who cares if he’s rich? You realize eighty percent of men in wheelchairs can’t ‘perform’ anymore, right?”

“Exactly,” another chimed in with a smirk. “Poor girl who married him is basically signing up for a lifetime of celibacy.”

Cough, cough, cough!

Vivian, who had been trying to blend into the background while drinking her water, nearly sprayed the liquid across her desk. She choked, coughing violently as her face turned beet red.

A colleague patted her back. “Vivian, you okay? Looks like Mr. Norton’s charms are a bit much for our calmest editor to handle, huh?”

“Yeah!” Sarah teased. “You should have seen her at the interview. She was so nervous she could barely look at him.”

“I was not!” Vivian protested, wiping her mouth. “I just... it was a high-pressure interview.”

Sarah sighed dreamily, ignoring her. “If it weren’t for his legs, he’d be the perfect romance novel lead. He’s simply too perfect.”

The following week was a blur of activity as the magazine prepared the Finnick Norton feature. By the time the weekend arrived, Vivian was exhausted, but she didn't have the luxury of resting. After visiting her mother at the hospital, she went home to pack her life into a few suitcases.

She didn't want to delay the move. If they were doing this, she wanted to prove she was sincere about their arrangement.

Finnick’s villa was a masterpiece of mid-century modern architecture—imposing, elegant, and sprawling. The household was quiet, managed by an elderly couple named Liam and Molly. Liam helped Vivian carry her luggage to the master bedroom on the second floor.

The room was minimalist but luxurious. When Vivian opened the closet, she saw that half was filled with sharp, expensive men’s suits, while the other half was completely empty. The reality hit her: they would be sharing a room.

By the time she finished unpacking, it was late, and Finnick was still not home. After a quiet dinner of spaghetti prepared by Molly, Vivian returned upstairs to wash away the stress of the day.

She stepped out of the shower, reaching for a towel, only to realize with a jolt of horror that she had left her bag in the bedroom. She had nothing to cover herself with.

Cursing her own carelessness, she waited a few moments, listening for any sound in the bedroom. Silence. She cracked the door open and peeked out. The coast was clear.

Vivian stepped out, her skin still glistening with droplets of water, and sprinted toward the closet. But just as she reached for a towel, she heard the distinct click of the bedroom door opening.

She whirled around, her heart stopping. Finnick was there, having just rolled into the room.

The air left the room in an instant. Finnick froze, his expression shifting from surprise to a dark, intense shock. He clearly hadn't expected his new wife to be quite so... welcoming.

Vivian stood paralyzed for a heartbeat before her brain screamed at her to move. She let out a muffled shriek and turned to bolt back to the bathroom.

But the floor was slick with the water she had tracked across the room. Her feet slid out from under her, and she felt herself falling forward.

“Watch out!”

Finnick reacted with startling speed, maneuvering his wheelchair forward to catch her. He succeeded, but the force of the fall sent Vivian tumbling directly onto his lap.

As his hands braced her wet, soft skin, he went perfectly still. Vivian, mortified, kept her head down, the heat in her cheeks reaching a fever pitch.

She wasn't a classic beauty, but her features were delicate and timeless—the kind of face that became more captivating the longer one looked. Without makeup, her skin was luminous, and the water trickled down her collarbone in slow, shimmering beads.

Finnick swallowed hard, his throat suddenly bone-dry. His eyes darkened with an intensity that made Vivian’s breath hitch.

She finally found the courage to look up, meeting his heated gaze. She wasn't a child; she knew exactly what that look meant.

“S-sorry...” she whispered, her voice trembling. She scrambled to find her footing, but in her haste, her hands landed squarely on his thighs, causing her to pause for one breathless, heart-stopping second.