Later that day, I was halfway into a bag of chips and binge-watching true crime when the front door clicked open.
Riven's footsteps echoed across the penthouse floor.
"Still alive?" he asked dryly, eyeing the crumbs on my hoodie.
"Disappointed?" I shot back, licking salt from my fingers. "What happened to staying out of each other's lives?"
He tossed his keys into a dish. "We have a charity gala tonight."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Eight sharp. Black tie. Be ready."
"Wait—what?"
He was already halfway down the hall before I scrambled to my feet. "You said we were keeping our distance!"
"I also said this marriage saves my company," he called over his shoulder. "Showing up alone would raise questions."
"Then take someone else!"
"You're my wife," he said, pausing at the doorway of his room. "Play your role."
I stood there, stunned and fuming.
Play your role.
What was I? An understudy in the world's coldest drama?
By seven-thirty, I was zipped into a sleek midnight blue gown I found hanging in the closet—still with the tags on. Clearly someone had planned for this. My hair was curled in soft waves, my makeup subtle but sharp. I barely recognized myself in the mirror.
The moment I stepped into the living room, Riven looked up from his phone—and blinked.
His eyes flickered over me. No smirk. No compliment. Just a quick, unreadable scan before he said, "Let's go."
"Don't flatter me all at once," I muttered.
He offered his arm. I hesitated, then took it with the grace of someone trying not to strangle their escort with a clutch bag.
The gala was held at a glass-walled hotel ballroom, glittering with chandeliers and filled with people who probably drank million-dollar champagne like water.
Riven's mask slid into place the second we walked in. The cold CEO melted into someone… charming. Controlled. Smiling.
But the moment someone wasn't looking, he'd drop it like a coat.
We posed for photos. Smiled for investors. Answered questions about our "magical" honeymoon.
And I played along.
Until one particular woman sauntered up, dripping in diamonds and red lipstick, eyeing me like I was a misplaced accessory.
"Riven," she purred, placing a hand on his arm. "You didn't tell me your bride was so… bold."
He stiffened beside me. "Elara, this is Camille Fairmont. A board member."
"Ex-board member," she corrected. "I stepped down. For personal reasons."
She tilted her head, lips curving. "So tell me, dear. What does it feel like to marry into billions overnight?"
I blinked, stunned. "Excuse me?"
"I mean, it must be surreal. One day you're just… whoever you were. And the next? You're in the headlines."
My jaw clenched. "It feels a lot like being underestimated by women who think red lipstick hides bad manners."
Camille's smile wavered. "Charming."
"She's not here to charm you," Riven said coolly, stepping slightly in front of me. "She's here because she belongs here. As my wife."
Something about the way he said that—firm, clear, final—made Camille retreat with a fake smile and a flick of her hair.
I glanced at him. "You didn't have to do that."
"I did," he said simply.
We spent the rest of the night circling the room like trained actors. Holding hands. Whispering jokes. Laughing on cue.
And when it was finally over, and we were in the car, silence fell between us like an avalanche.
I stared out the window, the weight of everything crashing down.
"I hate this," I whispered.
Riven didn't answer. But I felt his eyes on me.
"When do I get my life back?" I asked. "After the merger?"
He exhaled slowly. "It's complicated."
"No. It's not. You want a wife on paper. A performance. That's fine. But I deserve an end date."
He didn't reply. Just clenched his jaw and stared straight ahead.
The car pulled up to the building, and we stepped out in silence.
Back in the penthouse, I kicked off my heels and turned to him, voice low.
"Do you enjoy this? Playing pretend with someone you don't even like?"
His gaze met mine—quiet, intense.
"No," he said. "But I'd rather pretend with someone who fights back than someone who fakes everything."
That shut me up.
"I'll have my assistant send you a schedule," he added. "We have two more events this month."
Then he walked into his room, door closing with a soft but final click.
And I stood there in a million-dollar dress, heart pounding, wondering when this performance would stop feeling so real.