The Worthington Hotel blazed with light, chandeliers scattering gold across its marble steps. A crimson carpet unfurled like a blood-red river, lined with velvet ropes and restless reporters. Cameras clicked like machine guns, questions fired into the night with merciless precision.
The limousine glided to a stop at the foot of the steps. Isabella's breath lodged in her throat.
"Breathe," Alexander murmured, his voice a low command. "Smile. They bite when you flinch."
The driver opened the door. Alexander stepped out first, immaculate in a tailored black suit, presence sharp enough to slice the air. Flashes erupted instantly. Then he turned, extending his hand back into the car—public, deliberate, a gesture no one could miss.
Her heart hammered. Isabella placed her trembling hand into his. His fingers closed firmly, pulling her into the storm.
The noise hit like a wave.
"Mr. Knight! Is this marriage your most hostile takeover yet?""Was this love at first sight or a strategic acquisition?""Mrs. Knight, how does it feel trading spreadsheets for spotlights?""Do you honestly think you belong beside him?""Alexander, will Mrs. Knight be joining the board of directors?"
A laugh rang out from the crowd: "Or is she here to manage your accounts instead?"
The mocking chorus twisted her stomach. Isabella stumbled on the first step, but Alexander's hand pressed into the small of her back, steady and commanding.
"Left foot," he said smoothly, lips brushing her ear. "Match me."
The heat of his voice jolted her spine. She straightened, forced a brittle smile, and kept pace.
Halfway up, a bold reporter shouted, "Mr. Knight, can we call this merger Carter Inc.?"
Laughter rippled. Alexander stopped mid-step. Cameras snapped in a frenzy. He turned his head slightly, his voice carrying like steel.
"You can call it whatever you like," he said. "Just remember who owns the majority shares."
The reporters froze, then erupted louder, but not one dared block his path again.
Inside, the ballroom was a cathedral of opulence. Crystal chandeliers glittered, a string quartet played, and the air smelled of roses and expensive cigars. Waiters glided with silver trays of champagne.
Isabella's breath caught. She didn't belong here. Every polished laugh, every sparkle of jewelry screamed a world she had never touched.
"Mrs. Knight," a rotund man in a velvet jacket boomed, blocking her path. "Welcome! You must be the brave soul who managed to tame Alexander."
A ripple of laughter followed. Isabella forced a polite smile. "I don't think he's particularly tame."
The man blinked, then roared with laughter. "Ha! Good answer. Perhaps you will survive." He shuffled away, amused.
Almost immediately, a group of society women closed in. Their perfume was overwhelming, their smiles sharper than diamonds.
"So this is Mrs. Knight," one said, eyes glittering. "Alexander always did have…unexpected taste."
Another tilted her champagne flute, voice syrupy sweet. "I admire your courage. Not every woman could wear something so…uncomplicated."
A third leaned closer. "Tell me, dear. How does it feel? From a tiny apartment to this ballroom. Must be overwhelming."
Laughter bubbled again, discreet but cruel.
Isabella's cheeks burned, but she steadied her voice. "It feels like what it is. A marriage. Nothing more, nothing less."
"Oh, darling," one purred, "in this world, nothing is ever just what it seems."
They drifted away, leaving perfume and poison behind. Isabella exhaled slowly. Her chest tightened with humiliation, but she refused to crumble.
Across the room, Alexander was speaking with investors. His gaze flicked to her, sharp and unreadable. He didn't intervene. He's testing me, she realized.
"Isabella."
The voice slid over her like silk. She turned.
Victoria Hale stood poised in crimson silk, elegance sculpted into every line of her body. Her smile was warm, her eyes glacial.
"So it's true," she said softly. "You married him."
"Yes." Isabella's chin lifted.
Victoria tilted her head. "Do you even know what you've signed up for? Alexander doesn't marry for love. He marries for leverage. For convenience."
She sipped her wine. "When the novelty fades, he'll tire of replacements."
The words sliced clean. Isabella clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms.
Victoria's smile sharpened. "He always hated red wine, you know. I remember the night he poured an entire bottle down the sink after one of my father's dinners. Funny, isn't it, being married to a man you don't even know?"
Humiliation crawled under Isabella's skin.
A shadow eclipsed Victoria's.
"Is that so?"
Alexander's voice cut through the air, silencing the nearby chatter.
"Alexander." Victoria's smile didn't falter. "I was just reminiscing."
He stepped beside Isabella, sliding an arm firmly around her waist. His hand pressed low, possessive, burning through the silk.
"She doesn't need your welcome," Alexander said flatly. "And she doesn't need your memories."
Victoria arched a brow. "She's not like us."
"She's better." His eyes narrowed. "And unlike you, Victoria, she isn't a substitute. I don't keep replacements."
The words detonated in the crowd. Gasps, whispers, camera flashes.
Victoria's composure cracked for a heartbeat. Then she inclined her head gracefully. "Of course. Forgive me. I forget how decisive you are."
She drifted away, her gown trailing like spilled blood.
Isabella's breath came shallow. Alexander's grip didn't loosen. He bent close, lips brushing her ear.
"Lesson one," he murmured. "When they corner you, don't fight. Let me do it. I bite harder."
Her heart thundered, treacherous. His thumb stroked higher, grazing the line of her ribs. Electricity jolted her spine. She hated the way her body responded. Hated it—and couldn't deny it.
The orchestra swelled. Alexander straightened, his gaze never leaving her. "Dance with me."
"What?" she whispered.
He didn't wait. He led her to the center of the ballroom, hand closing around hers, another settling firmly at her waist. The quartet shifted seamlessly to a waltz.
Gasps circled them. The Devil CEO never danced. And yet here he was, leading his new bride with terrifying grace.
"Why are you doing this?" Isabella asked under her breath.
"Because they're watching," he said smoothly, his breath warm against her temple. "And because you're mine."
She stumbled; his grip tightened, steadying her. "Relax. Or I'll make it look like you can't stand without me."
Heat flooded her cheeks. "You're insufferable."
"And you're trembling," he murmured, his lips barely brushing her ear.
The world blurred around them—music, whispers, eyes. For a moment, it was just him, his hand, his voice.
When the waltz ended, silence hung thick before applause erupted. Alexander bowed slightly, still holding her close, eyes daring anyone to question.
Later, in the shadows near the champagne bar, Isabella caught sight of Victoria again. She stood with a tall, sharp-featured man in a silver tie. Their heads bent close, their smiles thin. The man's gaze flicked briefly toward Isabella, cold and assessing.
A chill crawled down her spine. Who is he?
Alexander's hand found hers again, pulling her away. His voice was low, final. "Ignore them. They'll try everything. Just don't vanish."
The car ride home was silent. The city lights streaked past. Isabella turned her face to the window, her heart still pounding.
"This is only the beginning," Alexander said at last, his voice quiet but absolute. His hand rested near hers, close enough to touch, close enough to burn.
"Get used to it, Isabella. You're mine now. And the world is going to watch."
Her chest tightened. She had thought marrying the Devil would be private torment. She hadn't realized it came with an audience.