Moving Into His Apartment.**Genevieve's POV**

The doctor said that my father's vitals had stabilized and he had been transferred to a regular ward, but he still needed to stay in the hospital for two weeks for observation.

My father couldn't move around easily, and thinking about my empty wallet, I prepared myself to max out my credit card to hire a caregiver.

The new job interview was still a few days away, and even if I got it, I wouldn't receive my salary until next month. The wages from my second job were barely enough to cover my own living expenses in New York.

I sat on the hospital bench and patted my forehead. I needed to find a way to earn more money. Why haven't humans evolved past the need for sleep yet? That way I could take on another job.

While I was worrying about this, Reginald, who had left for a while, came back with a stack of documents in his hands.

"The caregivers will be in place tomorrow," he handed me a pile of receipts and caregiver information, "day shift and night shift rotating. Contact information is all there. The service is arranged through an agency—I've covered the initial deposit and the first month."

Looking at that stack of papers, I belatedly realized he had taken care of the most troublesome matter without even giving me a chance to refuse.

"Reginald..." I opened my mouth, but in the end only managed to say: "Thank you."

Reginald's dark green eyes sparkled in the sunlight as he looked down at me: "We can discuss when would be a good time to apply for a marriage license."

I froze for a moment. So soon?

But there didn't seem to be much to hesitate about. Whether he was being pressured by his family or had other purposes, either way, I was the one coming out ahead.

"Okay, do we need to sign a prenuptial agreement or something before that?" Like on TV.

Reginald raised his eyebrows in surprise, then said with complete seriousness: "I don't need one, but if you need one I know a lawyer..."

No, no, no, I frantically waved my hands, my face instantly burning up.

I was so poor I was about to go bankrupt and sleep in a tent on the street—what prenuptial agreement did I have to sign?

With the caregiver staying with my father, I told him I was leaving and returned to New York with Reginald.

Filling out the marriage license application at the City Clerk's office, submitting our IDs, paying the fee—the whole process took less than an hour. We'd have to wait twenty-four hours before the license became valid. The corner of Reginald's mouth twitched, as if he wanted to laugh but held it back.

"It's like a dream, isn't it?" I couldn't help but make conversation. This really was too much like a dream. If anyone had told me before today that someday in the future the two of us would get married, I definitely would have rolled my eyes hard.

He agreed with a smile in his eyes: "Exactly. You should move in with me tomorrow. We can plan the wedding together. Do you need help moving?"

After I seriously declined, the move was arranged for the next day.

All my belongings fit into one suitcase and one IKEA shopping bag. While driving, I looked back at the place I had lived for four years. The blackout paper on the windows had bubbled up, like an old scar.

His address was on West 57th Street in Midtown Manhattan. The car pulled up at the entrance of Central Park Tower, with four security guards in crisp uniforms standing watch at the main entrance.

When he said the place was rented, I had some doubts, but now I had to believe it.

In such an expensive location with such an expensive apartment, how could ordinary people possibly afford to buy it! Only those big shots who frequently appear on TV could afford it.

After I got out of the car and verified the visitor information, the electric gate slowly opened. The moment I entered the garage, I was completely stunned. The garage was immaculate, with epoxy-coated floors, and each parking space was labeled with the owner's name. There were none of the oil stains, clutter, and randomly parked beat-up cars I was familiar with.

A man in a dark formal suit had been waiting there and led me to Reginald's designated parking space. Looking at my car that hadn't been washed in two months, I felt a bit embarrassed to park it there. I had no doubt the parking space was worth more than my car.

He patiently waited for me to park crookedly, then picked up the suitcase and bag from the trunk and led me around a corner to a discreet private elevator and swiped a card.

The elevator car slowly ascended, going straight to the sixtieth floor. When the elevator doors opened, he entered the entrance foyer and gently rang the doorbell. A middle-aged man around forty opened the door, took the suitcase and bag from his hands, and greeted me at the same time.

"I'm Wilson, the house manager. You must be Ms. Genevieve, Mr. Reginald's partner? Please come in."

The wooden door slowly closed behind me. Before I could ask where Reginald was, he preemptively explained: "Mr. Reginald was originally waiting for you, but he had to leave due to an urgent matter at the company. He'll be back for dinner."

I looked down and saw that Reginald had indeed sent me a message an hour ago saying he had to go back to the company first. When I looked up, I saw the entire wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, and beyond them, large patches of clouds dyed red by the orange-red sunset.

Standing in the entrance, the corner of my mouth twitched. My old place rarely even got sunlight, let alone such a vast sunset.

"Mr. Wilson, which room am I staying in?"

Wilson led me into the room. "You'll be staying in this one. If there's anything you're not satisfied with, we can change it."

This wasn't just a room—it was practically a suite! Not only did it have a private bathroom and walk-in closet, but there was even an office area in the room. Compared to my old drafty apartment, this was a completely different world.

When Reginald came back for dinner that evening, I cleared my throat: "Reginald, we need to establish some ground rules."

He made a "please proceed" gesture.

"First, don't interfere with each other's private lives. Second, common areas are shared. If there's anything you don't want me to touch, tell me in advance. Third, don't let my family know this is a contractual marriage."

He held his water glass, his gaze resting on my face, his green eyes appearing very light in the living room lighting. Then he set down the glass and said: "No problem."

I stood there suddenly not knowing what to say next. This man was too agreeable, so agreeable it made me uneasy.

That night I went to bed very late. The mattress here was so much more comfortable than my hard board bed, the down comforter as fluffy as clouds, but I tossed and turned unable to sleep.

Unfamiliar ceiling, unfamiliar curtains, unfamiliar smells. The cedar scent in the air was faint but pervasive—it was the scent of the man living in this place.

I seemed to be doing something utterly absurd. Marrying a man I'd known for less than a week, moving into his apartment.

I turned over and pulled the blanket up to my chin, gradually drifting off to sleep.

"Ahhh!" I sat up abruptly and wiped the tears from my face, my back completely covered in cold sweat.

It was terrifying—I had actually returned in my dream to the day my mother died.

I covered my face and gasped for a long time, my heart pounding wildly in my chest. After calming down a bit, I decided to go get a glass of water.

Opening the door, the hallway lights were off, moonlight streaming in through the large window at the end of the corridor like a night light. He stood there, leaning against the window as if he had been standing there for a long time.

Moonlight fell on his profile, his eyelashes casting a small shadow beneath his cheekbones.

He heard the door open and turned to look at me.

His eyes were vertical pupils! Like a feline in a hunting state activated by moonlight, completely unlike human pupils. Those vertical pupils were startlingly bright in the moonlight.

Goosebumps instantly crawled all over my back.