The Line Between Pretend and Real
The sunlight slipped through the curtains, brushing softly against Lydia's face. For a moment, she didn't move. The silence of the house felt strange—too calm, too heavy. She rolled over, burying her face in the pillow, pretending she could stay in bed forever. But pretending was something she was already doing enough of. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She groaned and reached for it, squinting at the screen. A message from Mia again.
Mia: Good morning, Mrs. Stone. You're on the morning gossip list. Number four this time. Congrats.
Lydia sighed. She opened the attached link and scrolled through the article. As expected, the headline was dramatic: Alexander Stone's secretive wife steals the spotlight at charity gala. There were pictures—her standing beside Alexander, the faint smile on his face, the way he'd placed his hand on her lower back. From the camera's angle, it looked romantic. In real life, it had felt like pressure.
She tossed the phone aside and got out of bed. Her reflection in the mirror showed faint shadows under her eyes. She didn't sleep much after their talk last night. The words Maybe it's both kept echoing in her mind. Both what? Duty and care? Pretend and real? She didn't know, and that was exactly what scared her.
When she stepped out of the bedroom, the smell of coffee drifted through the hall. That meant Alexander was already up. She hesitated at the top of the stairs, debating whether to face him or not. Eventually, pride lost to curiosity, and she made her way down.
He was in the dining room, dressed in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up again, a cup of black coffee in his hand. He looked calm, but his eyes were focused on something on his phone. Probably work. Probably pretending last night didn't happen.
"Morning," she said quietly.
He glanced up. "Morning." His tone was neutral, but his gaze lingered on her longer than usual. "You didn't sleep well."
"Neither did you," she replied, pouring herself some coffee.
He didn't argue. "The article's already making rounds. My assistant wants to know if you'd like to give a comment."
She blinked. "A comment? About what?"
"About how happy we are," he said dryly.
Lydia gave a humorless laugh. "Right. Because nothing screams happiness like forced smiles."
He looked at her, the corner of his lips twitching. "You're getting good at this sarcasm thing."
"I've had a good teacher."
He arched a brow. "I don't recall teaching you that."
"Exactly," she said, sipping her coffee. "You just inspire it."
For a moment, he actually smiled—small, fleeting, but real. Then his phone buzzed again, and the expression vanished. Lydia watched as he read something, his face tightening.
"What's wrong?" she asked, unable to stop herself.
"Nothing you need to worry about."
"There it is again," she muttered. "The famous line."
He looked up. "What line?"
"The one that says 'stay out of my world, Lydia.'"
He sighed, setting the phone down. "It's not that simple."
"Then make it simple," she said softly. "We're supposed to be married. At least let me know what kind of storm is heading our way."
He stared at her for a moment, debating. Then finally said, "It's about the merger. Someone leaked a document last night. I need to find out who."
"Is it serious?"
"Serious enough to cost millions," he said bluntly.
Lydia frowned. "And you think it's someone close?"
"I don't think," he said, his voice firm. "I know."
She studied him quietly. His tone was calm, but the anger underneath was clear. "Then what are you going to do?"
"Handle it," he said simply, grabbing his jacket. "Don't leave the house today. Reporters might come around."
Lydia nodded, though his words stung a little. He didn't ask—he ordered. But she'd learned that was his way of caring, twisted and cold as it seemed.
He was already halfway to the door when she said softly, "Be careful, Alexander."
He paused, glancing back. Their eyes met for a moment, and his expression softened just slightly. "Always am."
After he left, the house felt too big, too empty. Lydia cleaned up the table just to keep her hands busy. She tried reading, then tried watching something on TV, but her mind kept wandering. She hated the feeling of being shut out, of being told she didn't belong in the world she was married into.
Around noon, her phone buzzed again. Unknown number.
"Hello?" she answered cautiously.
"Mrs. Stone?" The voice on the other end was male, smooth, polite—but something about it made her uneasy. "This is from the Capital Weekly. We'd like to get your side of the story regarding your marriage to Mr. Alexander Stone."
Lydia froze. "Excuse me?"
"There are rumors you two weren't married out of love. Some even say it was arranged for business reasons. Care to confirm?"
Her fingers tightened on the phone. "Who told you that?"
"We have our sources," the man said calmly. "If you'd like to deny it, we can quote you directly. It might help your image."
"My image doesn't need help," she said coldly. "And my marriage is none of your business."
"Mrs. Stone—"
She hung up before he could finish. Her heart was racing. How did they even get her number? She sat on the couch, trying to steady her breathing. Then she remembered Alexander's warning—reporters might come around.
Sure enough, an hour later, the sound of a car pulling up outside made her glance through the window. Two men with cameras were standing near the gate. Her phone buzzed again—this time, a message from Mia.
Mia: Lydia, don't open the door for anyone! They're all over social media saying your marriage is fake. Alexander's office is being questioned too. Stay inside!
Lydia's stomach dropped. She shut the curtains quickly, pacing the room. What now? She couldn't call Alexander; he was probably buried in meetings. Still, she tried. Straight to voicemail.
Hours passed before the sound of the front door finally opened again. Alexander stepped in, his tie slightly loose, his expression unreadable. He didn't look surprised to see her pacing.
"You saw it?" he asked quietly.
"Yes," she said. "They called me."
He frowned. "Who called you?"
"The press. They said people are saying our marriage is fake."
He exhaled slowly, rubbing his forehead. "Of course they are. That's how rumors work. One leak, and suddenly everyone's an expert."
"But is this about the same leak you mentioned?" she asked, her voice lower now. "The business one?"
"Partly." He met her eyes. "They're trying to attack from both sides—professionally and personally. If they can ruin my reputation, they can ruin the deal."
Lydia swallowed. "Then what do we do?"
He hesitated for a moment, then said, "We play the part better than ever."
She blinked. "What?"
"There's a charity dinner again this weekend. Bigger than the last one. You'll go with me. We'll smile, hold hands, and make it look like we couldn't be happier."
Her brows furrowed. "You think pretending fixes everything?"
He met her gaze evenly. "Sometimes pretending is the only thing keeping everything from falling apart."
Lydia stared at him, frustration bubbling up. "You sound like you don't even believe in love at all."
"I don't," he said flatly.
The words hit harder than she expected. She looked away, biting her lip. "Then I pity you, Alexander."
His jaw tightened, but he didn't respond. Instead, he said quietly, "Just be ready by Friday. My assistant will handle your outfit."
He started to walk away, but her voice stopped him. "You can pretend all you want," she said softly, "but even the best lies eventually crack."
He paused at the bottom of the stairs, his back still to her. "Then let's hope this one doesn't."
When he was gone, Lydia sat down slowly, the weight of his words pressing on her chest. She didn't know which part hurt more—the rumors or the truth in his voice.
That night, she couldn't sleep again. She found herself replaying every interaction, every look he gave her, every small softness he'd shown before building his walls again. Maybe she'd been foolish to think he was changing.
Downstairs, Alexander was awake too. He sat by his desk, a single lamp casting shadows across the room. His phone buzzed with a message from his assistant: We traced the leak. It's from inside the company. Someone close.
He didn't need to ask who. He already had a suspicion—and it made his stomach twist.
Vanessa Grey.
The same woman from the past, the same woman who'd walked away once. Now she was back, and this time, she wasn't just after revenge. She wanted everything he'd built.
Alexander leaned back in his chair, staring into the dark. He had promised himself that Lydia would never get dragged into this mess. But looking at how things were unfolding, he knew that promise might soon be impossible to keep.