The morning sun feels too bright.
I barely slept last night. My mind kept repeating one thing: this marriage is just a deal.
When I walk downstairs, Adrian is already waiting in the living room. He looks flawless in a dark suit, his tie perfectly straight. A few people stand nearby his PR manager, a photographer, and two assistants, setting up cameras.
"Good morning, Mrs. Blackwood," he says calmly, as if this is all normal.
"Good morning," I reply, trying to sound steady.
"We'll take some photos first," his PR manager says quickly. "Then the statement will go out to the press."
I nod, pretending I'm not shaking inside. Cameras flash as we stand side by side. Adrian's arm wraps around my waist, firm, practiced, confident. To anyone watching, we look like the perfect couple.
But I can feel the distance between us. His touch feels cold, like a wall.
"Smile," the manager whispers.
I do. A soft, polite smile. The kind that hides everything.
When the photos are done, Adrian steps aside to make a call. I walk toward the window. Outside, the press cars are already gathering near the gates. The news will spread in minutes.
I whisper to myself, "You wanted this, Emma. Don't back down now."
A few moments later, Adrian returns. "The statement is live," he says simply.
I pull out my phone and open the news feed. There it i, 'Billionaire Adrian Blackwood Marries Mysterious Woman in Private Ceremony.'
My name trends immediately. Photos of us holding hands, smiling. And then the comments begin.
Who is she?
She's not from any known family.
She must have trapped him somehow.
He's too smart to fall for love. This is fake.
Each word stings, but I force myself to stay calm. I've faced worse.
Adrian glances at me. "Ignore them. The internet loves gossip."
"I know," I say quietly. "It's just noise."
He studies me for a moment, as if testing my reaction. Then, a small smile touches his lips. "Good. You're tougher than you look."
"Maybe," I reply. "Or maybe I've just learned how to survive."
He says nothing, but something flickers in his eye, respect, maybe, or curiosity.
By noon, we attend a small press conference at one of his hotels. Flashing lights, clicking cameras, and too many fake smiles.
"Mr. Blackwood," a reporter asks, "this marriage happened very suddenly. Care to tell us how it began?"
Adrian gives a cool smile. "Sometimes life surprises you," he says easily. "Emma and I met through business. What started as work became something real."
The crowd murmurs, impressed.
I stand beside him, keeping my expression soft, warm. I don't say much, just nod and smile at the right times. But inside, I'm studying every move he makes, every word he chooses.
He's good at lying. So am I.
When it's over, he offers me his hand to lead me away. Cameras flash again. To the world, we look perfect. To me, it feels like a game neither of us plans to lose.
Later that evening, the mansion is quiet again.
I'm in my room, scrolling through the endless posts online. Some people call me lucky. Others call me a gold-digger. A few say I'll never fit into Adrian's world.
I close the screen and take a deep breath. "Let them talk," I whisper. "They'll see who I really am soon."
There's a knock on the door.
"Come in," I say.
Adrian steps inside. He looks calm, but his eyes are darker than usual. "Tomorrow we have a dinner with the board members. Be ready by seven."
"Of course," I say.
He starts to leave, then stops at the door. "Don't let the gossip bother you," he says, his voice low. "It's just noise, remember?"
"I remember," I answer softly.
For a second, his gaze lingers on me, quiet, unreadable. Then he leaves.
The silence that follows feels heavy, but not lonely. Something is changing between us, even if we both deny it.
An hour later, I go downstairs for some water. As I pass the hallway near Adrian's study, I hear voices.
One of them is his. The other is a woman's soft, sharp, familiar.
"Adrian," she says, "you didn't tell me you were married."
My heart freezes.
He answers in a low tone. "It wasn't planned."
The woman laughs quietly. "You always plan everything. Don't tell me this little wedding means something."
Her heels click against the marble floor as she walks away.
I step back quickly before she sees me, hiding in the shadows. When she passes, I catch a glimpse of herfacee beautiful, confident, the kind of woman who looks dangerous even when she smiles.
My pulse quickens.
Who is she?
And why does it feel like she already knows too much?