Location: The Manhattan Philanthropy Gala | Time: 9:00 P.M.
HARTLEY'S POV
Declan didn't even look at me when he said, "Try not to trip over your own self-esteem." Typical.
I rolled my eyes so hard that I almost gave myself a headache, turning away from the mirror I clenched my jaw
"Wow, you've been acting all sweet today, huh? But honestly, this right here—this is like Olympic-level sociopath stuff."
"Remind me why I married you again?"
"Because your grandfather had a cruel sense of humor and you ran out of emotionally stunted exes?"
Ouch. Points for style, I guess.
Declan finally turned, fixing those cufflinks of his like it was some performance.
He gave me one quick up-and-down.
"You look presentable," he said finally, like that was some kind of praise.
I rolled my eyes. "Wow. Try saying that again, real slow. I think I felt something."
Not missing a beat, he threw, "I'll have Maria take your temperature."
Of course he would. Classic Declan. If sarcasm was an Olympic sport, we'd both be walking out of here with gold medals.
—--------
Cameras flashed like lightning as we emerged from the convoy.
The crowd surged forward the moment we stepped out. Microphones. Journalists. Paparazzi yelling questions.
"Declan! Is this your mystery fiancée?"
"Who is she?"
"Do you love her?"
Declan slid his hand around my waist like it was second nature.
"She's my wife," he said simply.
The crowd gasped. The flashbulbs doubled.
I blinked, blinded. He didn't tell me he was going to say that.
********
Inside, the stars seemed to be trapped in crystal in the same way the ballroom lights shone with radiance. Meanwhile conversations with the scent of costly perfume wafted through the air, as well dressed waiters made their rounds with glasses of champagne streaming.
My breath caught up as I stepped inside,
I felt like an imposter.
The gown that Declan had chosen for me—a scarlet Valentino with a plunging neckline—clung like temptation and exposed more skin than I was accustomed to. The diamonds at my throat were borrowed from someone's vault, not mine.
I felt like on a display, every stare reminding me that I didn't belong.
And Declan? He stood right beside me looking absolutely at home, cool and untouchable in his tux, like he actually owned the whole place.
Every head turned.
Whispers followed them like shadows.
"Who is she?"
"She looks so… young."
"Not his usual type. She's too plain."
"Must be another arrangement."
I had to grip Declan's arm tighter.
"Smile," he murmured. "You're not a victim. You're my wife."
I forced a smile as we stopped to greet a group of investors.
"Ah, Declan," said an older man in a blue velvet jacket. "And this must be your bride. Hartley, is it?"
"Yes. It's nice to meet you", I responded extending my hand.
"She's charming," another woman said with a raised brow. "And brave, considering how quickly this all happened."
Declan's expression remained unreadable. "Love rarely arrives on schedule."
The audience was chuckling, and I joined them, my cheeks sore from the act.
Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something, and it was something I was not ready for.
But there she was.
Camilla LaRue.
Declan's ex-fiancée. Heiress to LaRue Technologies. The woman whose presence could break steel.
—-------
Camilla was everything Hartley was not—tall, poised, and cruelly elegant in midnight blue. Her icy green eyes fixed directly on Hartley.
"Well," Camilla purred as she approached, "I was beginning to think you were a rumor."
"I'm real," Hartley said, carefully extending her hand. "Hartley Sinclair. Legal wife. Occasional burden."
Camilla's mouth twitched. "How quaint."
Declan stayed still. Watching. Silent.
Camilla leaned in close to Hartley's ear.
"He likes to be scratched behind the left ear when he's moody. And he's allergic to lies."
Hartley smiled sweetly. "Good to know. And you should know, I bite when threatened."
Camilla's smile dropped.
Declan's lip twitched.
Score one for the fake wife.
"Pity," Camilla smiled again. "I was hoping Declan was smarter than this."
"Camilla," Declan warned.
She ignored him. "Tell me, Hartley, do you enjoy playing pretend? Or do you genuinely believe he married you for love?"
Hartley's fingers clenched.
"This is none of your business," she replied in a low voice.
Camilla smirked. "Everything involving Declan is my business. He was supposed to marry me, after all, until he found more… pliable option."
Declan stepped in, his voice sharp. "Enough."
But Hartley had already turned away. The mask cracked. Her chest ached.
This was becoming unbearable…
Back at Declan's side, Hartley tried to stay composed. But her stomach churned.
She whispered, "Why didn't you tell me she'd be here?"
"Does it matter?" he replied without looking at her.
"She's your ex."
"Camilla is irrelevant. A relic of the past."
"She doesn't seem to think so."
He finally looked at her. "Are you jealous, Mrs. Westcott?"
"I'm not your wife," she snapped under her breath. "Not really."
A shadow passed over his face. "You're right. Let's remind them of that, shall we?"
Before she could ask what he meant, he reached for her waist and pulled her into a kiss—right there in the middle of the ballroom.
Not soft. Not sweet.
Deliberate.
Possessive.
It was different from the kiss in the dining room. This one wasn't a test.
It was a statement.
Cameras flashed. Guests gasped. Camilla's smile cracked, her knuckles whitening around her glass.
And just like that, Hartley became news
—-----
DECLAN POV
Back at the penthouse, Hartley stormed down the hallway.
I followed, calm as ever.
"You handled that well," I said.
She spun around. "You think that was handling it well?! I was humiliated in front of a hundred people!"
"I warned you earlier, didn't I? Society is cruel, but Camilla is worse."
"You didn't warn me that she would be there."
"You signed up for this. You walk beside me, you face my world."
Her voice broke. "I'm not made for your world."
Stepping closer...
"Then break into it. Use it. You're stronger than you think," I said softly almost whispering
She shook her head. "You don't know me."
"Probably not, but I know weakness. And you're not it." I responded quietly.
The words should have comforted her, but they didn't.
She turned to leave, but I caught her wrist.
"I didn't expect you to survive tonight, but you did. That matters." I said, my voice gentler.
She looked at me, searching for something human.
"You don't have to be cruel all the time."
Leaning in....
"Kindness is expensive. And people like Camilla don't respect it."
Our eyes locked.
Then—my phone rang. I released her wrist and stepped away to answer.
*********
She heard only two words before his voice dropped:
"...She knows?"
A pause followed.
His eyes flicked to Hartley—and narrowed. Then he hung up.
"What was that about?" she asked.
He hesitated, which was unusual for him.
"Nothing."
"You're lying."
His jaw flexed. "Go to bed, Hartley."
But her heart was already pounding. Something had shifted. For the first time, he wasn't just cold; he was scared.