The morning came too soon. A soft knock on the door pulled me out of sleep before dawn had fully painted the sky.
"Elena?" Clara's voice floated in, calm and warm. "Time to get ready."
I rubbed my eyes, the sheets still tangled around me. "It's barely morning."
She chuckled lightly as she slipped inside, balancing a tray of coffee, toast, and fruit. "Mr. Veyron doesn't wait for the sun. Neither do the people who follow him."
I sat up slowly, accepting the steaming cup she handed me. The rich aroma helped chase away the fog in my mind.
Clara moved with quiet efficiency, already opening the wardrobe and pulling out a pale blue dress. It was softer than last night's, more approachable, but still elegant. I knew instantly she hadn't picked it just for me.
"For today," she explained, laying it across the bed. "He'll be introducing you. This says refined, but not threatening."
I raised an eyebrow. "Threatening? I didn't know dresses could be dangerous."
Her lips curved in amusement. "In this world, everything you wear says something. Too bold, and people think you're flaunting yourself. Too plain, and they think you're not worthy of him. This…" She tapped the fabric lightly. "This walks the line."
As she helped me into the dress, she kept talking — not lecturing, more like a friend preparing me for a test. "Meetings can run long. Don't fidget. Don't interrupt unless you're spoken to. Smile when appropriate, but don't force it. And when in doubt…" She leaned close, fastening a clasp at my back. "…just follow his lead."
My reflection in the mirror didn't look like me anymore. The braid Clara wove into my hair, the pearl earrings, the tailored dress — it all shaped someone else. Someone polished, composed. Someone who belonged to Alexander's world.
"Clara," I asked quietly, "am I really supposed to be myself at all?"
She paused, meeting my eyes in the glass. "Be yourself with me," she said gently. "Out there? Be the version of you that keeps you safe."
---
Alexander was waiting by the car when I came downstairs. He looked carved out of marble in his crisp suit, his tie flawless, his presence so commanding that even the morning air seemed to bend around him.
He glanced at his watch, then at me, his eyes sweeping once over my appearance. A faint nod. Approval. Silent, but unmistakable.
The car door opened. He gestured for me to step in first. Inside, the leather seats smelled of cedar and something faintly smoky — power, bottled.
The drive was quiet. He scrolled through his phone while I sat rigidly, hands folded in my lap, heart pounding faster the closer we drew to the city skyline.
When the car pulled up in front of Veyron Enterprises, the flash of cameras was immediate. A wall of lenses, clicking shutters, voices calling his name.
My stomach lurched.
Alexander stepped out first, tall, unshaken, like he'd been born into the spotlight. Then he extended his hand to me.
The moment my fingers touched his, the noise grew louder. Questions flew through the air like darts:
"Mr. Veyron, is this your wife?"
"When did the wedding happen?"
"Who is she?"
He didn't flinch. Didn't answer. His grip tightened around mine, steadying me as much as controlling me, and together we walked through the storm of flashes.
Inside, the lobby fell silent at our arrival. Employees straightened, hushed whispers trailing behind us. I caught fragments as we passed:
"She's beautiful—"
"Didn't know he was married—"
"Where did she come from?"
The marble floors echoed beneath my heels, each step loud in the cavernous space. My pulse thrummed in my ears.
Alexander didn't slow, didn't glance around. His world bent to him. I was simply tethered in his wake.
---
The meeting room was sleek and glass-walled, filled with people already seated around a long table. Men and women in tailored suits rose to their feet when Alexander entered.
He released my hand only when he gestured to the chair beside his. "My wife," he said simply, his voice filling the space with quiet authority. "Elena."
Every pair of eyes turned to me.
I managed a polite smile, my hands folded neatly in my lap. My heart hammered, but I kept my face calm. I was the accessory, the extension, the polished surface they were meant to admire.
The meeting began. Numbers, projections, strategies filled the air. I understood little, but I watched Alexander, studying his composure, his measured way of speaking. Every time he glanced my way, my spine straightened, my expression schooled.
Occasionally, staff members stole curious glances at me, whispering to each other behind folders. I pretended not to notice. But I felt it. The scrutiny. The weight of being on display.
---
Lunch was in a private restaurant. Discreet, elegant, the kind of place where powerful men shook hands over million-dollar deals.
We sat at a round table with three of his senior partners. They laughed, toasted, spoke easily with him. But every now and then, their eyes slid to me, questions dancing in their smiles.
"So, Elena," one of them said finally, swirling his wine. "Where did you two meet?"
My mind stuttered. The truth was not an option. I reached for the story Alexander had fed me, words rehearsed but fragile on my tongue.
"At a charity event," I said smoothly, smiling faintly. "We spoke… and everything changed after that."
There was a ripple of polite laughter. One woman arched a brow. "So sudden? He must have swept you off your feet."
"Yes," I said, my fingers tightening around my glass. "You could say that."
Alexander said nothing. He didn't correct me, didn't elaborate. He simply watched, his gaze sharp, as if measuring how well I held my ground.
The meal passed with more questions — small, harmless on the surface, but weighted beneath. About my background. My family. My interests. I answered each carefully, aware that every slip would echo later.
By the time dessert arrived, my smile felt like glass.
---
The car ride home was quiet. The city blurred past the windows, and my shoulders slumped, exhaustion setting in.
Finally, I dared to ask. "Did I… do alright?"
Alexander glanced at me, his expression unreadable. Then, after a long pause, he said, "Better than I expected."
Relief loosened the knot in my chest.
"But," he added, turning back to the window, "you'll need to grow sharper. They'll push harder next time."
I bit my lip, nodding.
He didn't speak again. But when his hand brushed briefly against mine, resting lightly for the span of a heartbeat before pulling away, I realized something unsettling.
This wasn't just a performance. It was training.
And I was being shaped into someone who belonged in his world — whether I wanted to be or not.