The flames were already licking the edge of the marble countertop when Alina realized she'd made a terrible mistake.
Black smoke billowed from the toaster, mixing with the acrid smell of burning flour. The elegant kitchen—with its pristine white cabinets and professional-grade appliances—was transforming into a disaster zone. She'd only wanted to make French toast, something simple and comforting to fill the empty silence of the penthouse. Instead, she'd created an inferno.
"Oh no, oh no, oh no," she muttered, grabbing for the kitchen towel before realizing that batting at fire with fabric was probably not wise. The smoke detector began its shrill protest as the flames grew larger, fed by the flour she'd spilled near the toaster. They jumped from the counter to the decorative dish towels hanging nearby.
She fumbled for her phone to call 911, but her flour-covered fingers couldn't unlock the screen. The flames were spreading faster now, catching the edge of the wooden cutting board.
She was reaching desperately for the fire extinguisher when the front door slammed open with enough force to rattle the windows.
"Alina!" Aiden's voice cut through the chaos, sharp with panic.
She'd never heard him sound like that—raw, terrified, completely stripped of his usual control. He burst into the kitchen still in his business suit, tie askew, his dark eyes wide with fear as he took in the scene—the spreading fire, the smoke-filled air, and Alina standing frozen in the middle of it all.
He crossed the kitchen in three quick strides, grabbing the fire extinguisher she'd been struggling to reach. White foam sprayed across the countertop, dousing the flames in seconds. The sudden silence after the chaos was deafening, broken only by the still-wailing smoke detector.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, dropping the extinguisher and turning to face her. His hands gripped her shoulders, his eyes scanning her frantically for injuries. "Alina, talk to me. Are you burned? Did you inhale smoke?"
"I'm fine," she said, her voice small and shaky. The intensity in his eyes, the way his hands trembled slightly against her shoulders—this wasn't the composed businessman she'd been living with for the past weeks. This was someone who'd been genuinely terrified.
She backed up until she hit the kitchen island, suddenly aware of how she must look—covered in flour, hair falling out of her ponytail, having just nearly burned down his million-dollar penthouse.
In her haste to move away, her elbow knocked into a crystal vase on the counter. It teetered dangerously before crashing to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces. The sound was explosive in the tense silence.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry—" She dropped to her knees, reaching for the larger pieces. "This looks expensive. Everything here is expensive. I'll pay for it, I'll—"
"Leave it," he said, his voice rough. He pulled her up by her elbows, away from the broken glass. "It's just a vase."
"Just a vase?" She stared at him. "Aiden, I nearly burned down your home. I destroyed your kitchen. I—"
"I don't care about the kitchen," he said fiercely, and something in his expression made her heart stop. "When I got that alert, when I thought—" He cut himself off, jaw clenching.
A sharp knock at the door interrupted them. "Aiden? Is everything alright?" Mrs. Chen's voice carried through the penthouse. "I smelled smoke! Should I call the fire department?"
Aiden glanced at Alina, and something passed between them—a moment of understanding. They needed to handle this carefully. Mrs. Chen was the building's biggest gossip, and news of a fire would spread to every penthouse owner within hours.
He reached out, brushing flour from her cheek with his thumb. The gesture was so gentle, so unexpected, that Alina's breath caught. "We're fine, Mrs. Chen," he called out, not moving away from Alina. "Just a minor cooking incident."
"Cooking? You never cook!" The elderly woman's voice was getting closer. They could hear her trying the door handle.
"My wife was teaching me," Aiden said, and Alina's heart skipped at how naturally the word 'wife' fell from his lips. His hand moved to her waist, pulling her slightly closer. "We're still learning together."
The door opened—Mrs. Chen must have used her emergency key. The elderly woman appeared in the kitchen doorway, taking in the foam-covered counters, the smoke still dissipating, and the two of them standing close together amidst the chaos.
"Oh my," Mrs. Chen gasped, her hand flying to her chest. "This is worse than I thought. Aiden Pierce, what were you thinking? You could have killed this poor girl with your cooking!"
"Actually, I—" Alina started, but Aiden squeezed her waist gently.
"You're right, Mrs. Chen. I got overconfident. Alina warned me to be careful, but I thought I knew better." He gave the older woman a rueful smile. "I promise to stick to takeout from now on."
Mrs. Chen's expression softened. "Well, at least no one was hurt. Though I must say, it's nice to see you taking risks, Aiden. Even kitchen-related ones." Her eyes twinkled as she looked between them. "Your grandfather always said the best marriages were built on small disasters survived together."
Aiden's hand tightened imperceptibly on Alina's waist at the mention of his grandfather.
"We should open some windows," Mrs. Chen continued, already bustling toward the living room. "Get this smoke cleared out. And Aiden, you really should have that exhaust fan checked. A proper kitchen needs proper ventilation, especially if your lovely wife is going to keep teaching you to cook."
They followed her into the living room, where she was already throwing open the floor-to-ceiling windows. The afternoon breeze rushed in, carrying away the last of the smoke.
"There," Mrs. Chen said, satisfied. "Now, I'll leave you two to clean up. But Alina, dear, next time he insists on helping in the kitchen, you send him to me. I'll keep him busy with gossip while you cook in peace."
After she left, they stood in the living room, the reality of what had just happened settling over them. Aiden's phone was buzzing insistently on the coffee table where he'd thrown it.
"You told her it was your fault," Alina said quietly.
"Mrs. Chen talks to everyone. Better they think I'm a disaster in the kitchen than—" He paused, running a hand through his hair. "It doesn't matter."
"How did you know?" Alina asked suddenly. "About the fire. You got here so fast."
"Building security is connected to my phone," he said, but he wouldn't meet her eyes. "When the smoke detector went off..."
His phone rang again. This time she could see the screen: Harrison Wells, CFO. Twelve missed calls.
"You were in a meeting," she realized. "The Wells Industries merger. Aiden, that's a fifty-million-dollar deal."
"I thought you might be hurt," he said simply, as if abandoning the biggest deal of the quarter was nothing compared to her safety.
Her stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, breaking the tension. She pressed a hand to it, embarrassed. "I never did get that French toast."
"Come on," Aiden said, extending his hand. "Let's get some real food before you burn down the rest of the building."
Twenty minutes later, they were sitting on the living room floor with containers of Thai food spread between them. Aiden had shed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves, revealing forearms marked with what looked like old burn scars.
"You've been burned before," Alina observed, nodding toward the marks.
He glanced down, seeming surprised she'd noticed. "Kitchen accident when I was twelve. I tried to make a birthday cake for my grandfather. Flooded the entire kitchen and gave myself second-degree burns trying to save it." A small smile played at his lips. "Mrs. Maddy found me crying on the floor, covered in batter and nursing my arms."
"Is that why you don't cook?"
"Among other reasons." He picked up a spring roll, his expression thoughtful. "My grandfather used to say I had too much ambition and not enough patience for cooking. Turns out he was right about a lot of things."
As they ate, Alina reached for the sweet and sour sauce, but her depth perception was off. The container tipped, sauce splattering across the coffee table and onto a stack of papers he'd brought home.
"Oh no—" She grabbed napkins, dabbing frantically at what looked like contracts. Her heart sank as she saw the letterhead—these weren't just any papers. "These are the merger documents. Aiden, I'm so sorry—"
"They are," he said, but instead of anger, he was laughing. Actually laughing. "Or were. Harrison is going to have a heart attack."
"This isn't funny! First the fire, now this—I'm destroying everything—"
He caught her wrists gently, stilling her frantic cleaning. "Alina. Stop. They're just papers."
"Just papers? Like that was just a vase? Aiden, these things matter—"
"No," he said firmly. "They don't. Not compared to—" He stopped himself again, releasing her wrists.
His phone rang, the caller ID showing 'Mother.' They both froze.
"I should—" he started.
"Of course," she said quickly, the spell broken. This was still an arrangement. A contract with his family pulling the strings.
He answered on the third ring, his voice shifting back to its usual controlled tone. "Mother. Yes, I'm home. No, everything's fine."
Alina began cleaning up their takeout containers, trying not to listen, but his mother's voice was sharp enough to carry.
"—completely irresponsible, Aiden. Harrison said you ran out of the meeting like the building was on fire. Do you have any idea what people are saying?"
"I had an emergency at home."
"Your wife is not an emergency. She's an obligation, and one you'd better start taking seriously. The Hendersons are expecting you both at their gala next week. Catherine Henderson specifically asked if the rumors about your marriage being troubled are true."
Alina's hands stilled on the containers. Rumors?
"There are no troubles," Aiden said, but his voice was tight.
"Good. Keep it that way. Your grandfather's health is declining, Aiden. He won't last much longer, and if he suspects this marriage isn't genuine—"
"I said everything is fine."
"It better be. We've invested too much in this arrangement for you to develop a conscience now. Remember what's at stake."
When he hung up, the easy warmth from earlier had vanished completely. They were back to being strangers playing house, and his mother's words hung in the air between them like smoke.
"I should check on the kitchen," Alina said, needing to escape the suffocating reminder of what this really was.
"Alina, wait—"
But she was already heading back to the disaster zone, stepping carefully around the broken vase. The legal pad on the counter caught her eye—Aiden must have dropped it in his rush to put out the fire. She moved to set it aside, but the top page made her freeze.
MEMORANDUMRe: Amendment to Marital Agreement - Termination ClauseDate of Dissolution: 90 days from grandfather's passing or proof of inheritance, whichever comes first
Below that, in Aiden's handwriting: Grandfather's latest medical report attached. Timeline accelerated.
The pages behind showed medical charts, test results, and a prognosis that made her stomach drop. Three months. Maybe six.
"Alina?" Aiden's voice came from behind her.
She turned, holding the papers with trembling hands. "When were you going to tell me?"
His face went pale as he recognized what she'd found. "I just got the reports today. I was trying to figure out how—"
"Ninety days?" Her voice cracked. "After your grandfather dies, I have ninety days before you kick me out?"
"That's not—"
"Isn't it?" She thrust the papers at him. "Your mother just called me an obligation. These papers call me a temporary arrangement. So tell me, Aiden, what exactly am I to you?"
He reached for her, but she stepped back, glass crunching under her feet. "Alina, you're bleeding—"
She looked down, seeing the blood seeping through her sock where she'd stepped on the broken vase. The physical pain was nothing compared to the ache in her chest.
"I need some air," she said, limping toward the door.
"You can't leave like this. Your foot—"
"I survived twenty years in foster care, Aiden. I can handle a cut foot." She paused at the door, not looking back. "But thank you for saving me from the fire. At least for ninety more days, I'm worth protecting."
She left before he could respond, before she could see his expression, before her traitorous heart could convince her that maybe he cared about more than just his inheritance.
Behind her, she heard something else shatter—not glass this time, but maybe something more fragile. Maybe the careful walls they'd both built to protect themselves from feeling too much.
But it didn't matter. In ninety days, she'd be gone anyway.
The universe, it seemed, had a cruel sense of timing. Just when she'd started to believe this could be real, she was reminded it had always been temporary.
Just like everything else in her life.