POV: Alina Maxwell
The paparazzi were waiting outside the hotel. Alina's stomach dropped as camera flashes exploded around their car like lightning strikes, illuminating the faces pressed against the windows with hungry expressions.
"Smile," Aiden murmured as their driver opened the door. "Remember, we're madly in love."
Alina forced her lips upward and took his offered arm, the midnight blue silk gown flowing around her like water. The dress was beautiful but felt like a costume—expensive armor for a role she was still learning to play.
"Mr. King! Is it true you married in secret?" a reporter shouted.
"When did you know she was the one?" called another.
Aiden's hand found the small of her back, guiding her through the crowd with practiced ease. "My wife is the most amazing woman I've ever met," he said smoothly, his voice carrying just the right note of devotion. "I couldn't wait another day to make her mine."
The lie rolled off his tongue so effortlessly that for a moment, Alina almost believed it herself.
Inside the Meridian Hotel, the charity gala was in full swing. Crystal chandeliers cast golden light over Seattle's elite, all perfectly dressed and holding champagne glasses like props.
"There's Derek," Aiden said, nodding toward a silver-haired man approaching them. "My CFO and oldest friend."
"And you must be Alina," Derek continued, extending his hand to her with a courtesy that felt genuine rather than obligatory, and she found herself grateful for the warmth in his eyes, the way he looked at her like she was a person worth knowing rather than a puzzle to be solved or a threat to be assessed.
"It's wonderful to meet you," she said, and was surprised to discover that she meant it, that there was something about Derek's manner that made her feel almost normal, almost like she belonged in this conversation rather than merely observing it from the outside like a child pressing her nose against a window, watching a life she could never hope to understand.
They were joined moments later by Trey Hoffman and Anthony Collins, two more of Aiden's inner circle, men who had grown up in this world of charity galas and business empires and seemed to move through it with the kind of effortless grace that came from never having to question whether they belonged. Trey was tall and lean with prematurely silver hair that somehow made him look distinguished rather than old, while Anthony had the kind of gentle demeanor that reminded her of her favorite professors, the ones who could make even the most complex subjects feel accessible and interesting.
Aiden's business partners welcomed her with practiced smiles, but she caught the measuring looks they exchanged when they thought she wasn't watching. There was something calculated about their politeness, as if they were evaluating whether she was worth their investment in charm.
Twenty minutes into the evening, the first uncomfortable moment came.
"Excuse me, Mrs. King?" A woman in emerald green approached with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I'm Patricia Whitmore from the Seattle Social Register. Your wedding was quite sudden, wasn't it?"
"When you know, you know," Alina replied, echoing something she'd heard in movies.
Patricia's smile sharpened. "How modern. Not every woman would be comfortable with such... unconventional arrangements."
"I'm not sure what I mean," Alina said carefully, though she had a sinking feeling she knew exactly what the woman was implying.
"Oh, nothing really. Just that some wives might find it difficult when their husbands maintain such close relationships with old flames."
Aiden appeared at Alina's side as if summoned. "Patricia, always such interesting conversation topics," he said smoothly. "How's your husband's art gallery doing?"
The subject change was seamless, but Alina felt the first crack in her composure. The woman's words hung in the air like a challenge she didn't know how to answer.
An hour later, the whispers found her again.
Alina was returning from the ladies' room when she overheard two women by the bar.
"Did you see her face when Patricia mentioned old flames? The poor thing clearly has no idea what she's gotten herself into."
"Everyone knows about Veronica Johnson. It's an open secret that she's the love of his life."
"Maybe the new wife doesn't mind being a placeholder. Some women will do anything for the right price."
Alina's steps slowed, each word hitting like a small blade. She kept walking, but the conversations seemed to follow her wherever she went.
The devastating blow came when she was looking for Aiden after he'd stepped away to take a call. She found him deep in conversation with Derek near the silent auction tables, their voices low but not quite low enough.
"Are you sure about this marriage, Aiden? It seems rushed, even for you."
Alina slowed her steps, something in Derek's tone making her strain to hear.
"Three years, Derek. That's all I need to wait. Veronica will be done with her residency by then, and this whole charade can end."
The words hit her like ice water. Charade. Three years. Until Veronica was available.
"The girl seems sweet," Derek said carefully.
"She is. She's also practical. She knows exactly what this is." Aiden's voice was matter-of-fact, like he was discussing a business merger. "When Veronica comes back permanently, Alina gets her money and I get my life back."
Alina felt something break inside her chest. She'd known their marriage was fake, but hearing him discuss her disposal so casually, so clinically, made her feel like she was suffocating.
She forced herself to walk toward them, somehow managing to keep her expression neutral despite the storm raging inside her.
"There you are," Aiden said as she approached, his face transforming into that of a devoted husband. "We were just discussing the new healthcare initiative."
"How interesting," she managed, her voice steady despite feeling like she was crumbling.
They finished the evening playing their parts. Alina smiled, laughed at the right moments, and acted the role of the blissful newlywed while inside she felt hollow and used.
But the breaking point came as they were leaving.
A reporter with a press badge blocked their path near the exit, flanked by two others with cameras.
"Mrs. King! Jennifer Walsh, Seattle Tribune. Can you comment on the photos of your husband with Dr. Veronica Johnson in Chicago?"
Alina's heart stopped, but she kept her expression carefully neutral. She'd known about Chicago, but hearing it thrown at her publicly was different.
"I'm afraid there's been some misunderstanding—" Aiden started.
"The photos show them having dinner at Le Bernardin. Very intimate for a business meeting." The reporter's eyes were sharp, predatory. "Mrs. King, did you know about your husband's romantic dinner with his ex-girlfriend? Are you okay with this kind of marriage?"
More reporters were gathering now, cameras flashing, sensing blood in the water.
"Some sources suggest you might be what they call a 'convenience wife'—married for appearances while your husband continues his real relationship elsewhere. Mrs. King, are you that kind of wife? The kind who looks the other way for financial compensation?"
The words hit her like slaps. In front of cameras, in front of witnesses, they were painting her as a paid fool, a woman so desperate for money that she'd accept public humiliation.
"That's enough," Aiden said firmly, trying to guide Alina past them.
But the reporter wasn't done. "Is it true you're being paid to stay silent about the affair? What's your price for looking the other way, Mrs. King?"
Something inside Alina snapped. The humiliation, the whispers all evening, the clinical way Aiden had discussed her expiration date, and now this—being painted as a woman who'd sell her dignity for the right price.
"No," she said, her voice cutting through the chaos. "I am not that kind of wife."
She turned to face the cameras directly, her chin lifting with a dignity she didn't know she possessed.
"My marriage is private, and I don't owe strangers explanations about my personal life. Now if you'll excuse us."
She walked past the stunned reporters with her head high, leaving Aiden to follow.
The car ride home was silent for the first ten minutes. Alina stared out the window, her hands clenched in her lap as the humiliation and anger built inside her like pressure in a kettle.
When Aiden finally spoke, his voice was cautious.
"You handled that well—"
"Did I?" she said quietly, not looking at him. "Because I felt like I was being torn apart by vultures while you stood there trying to manage the situation instead of defending me."
"Alina—"
"Three years." She turned to face him, and he must have seen something in her expression because his careful words died in his throat. "I heard you talking to Derek. The charade ends in three years when Veronica finishes her residency and you can get your life back."
Aiden was quiet for a long moment. "You weren't supposed to hear that."
"That's your concern? That I wasn't supposed to hear it?" Her voice was rising now, weeks of swallowed hurt finally finding their voice. "Do you have any idea what those reporters just did to me? What you let them do?"
"I tried to handle them—"
"You tried to manage them. There's a difference." She was fully facing him now, her evening gloves clenched in her fists. "They asked me if I was a paid fool. If I was 'that kind of wife' who accepts being humiliated for money. And you know what the worst part is? I couldn't even deny it convincingly because part of it's true."
Aiden's jaw tightened. "This arrangement benefits both of us—"
"This arrangement makes me look like a woman who sold herself for security while you get to keep your real girlfriend on the side!" The words burst out of her, unstoppable now. "I knew about Chicago, Aiden. I knew you had dinner with her while I was moving into our home. I didn't say anything because I thought... I thought I could handle being the fake wife."
"You can handle it. You did handle it tonight."
"By lying through my teeth while reporters painted me as a glorified escort!" Her voice cracked. "I have never been so humiliated in my entire life. And you just stood there thinking about damage control instead of defending me."
"What was I supposed to say? That our marriage is real when you know it isn't?"
"You were supposed to say that I deserve basic respect regardless of what our marriage is!" She was shouting now, all pretense of control gone. "You were supposed to act like I matter, even if it's just for show!"
The car pulled up to their building. Aiden helped her out, his touch gentle but she shrugged away from him.
In the elevator, her voice was quieter but no less furious.
"I don't care that you love her. I don't care that you're counting down the days until our contract ends. But I will not be painted as a woman who sold her dignity for your money. Whatever you do with Veronica, you do it where cameras can't see it."
Aiden nodded slowly. "You're right. Tonight was... I should have handled it better."
"Tonight was you treating me exactly like what you think I am—a business transaction with feelings you don't have to consider."
As the elevator doors opened, she turned to face him one last time.
"I agreed to be your fake wife, Aiden. I didn't agree to be your dirty little secret or your paid fool. If you can't tell the difference, then we have a much bigger problem than I thought."
She walked to her room and closed the door, leaving him standing alone in the hallway with the weight of her words and the first real consequence of treating his wife like just another contract he could manage.