The car ride from the penthouse to the Sterling Global headquarters was the longest, coldest, and most awful drive I had ever been forced to take. We were in the back of a huge, black armored sedan. The car was so soundproof it completely shut out the city noise and all the crazy talk that I knew was dominating every news feed and TV channel right now. I sat stiffly on the expensive leather seat. The massive diamond on my finger kept catching the light, and it felt like a dangerous, blinding beacon telling the whole world I was a fake.
Kaelen sat straight across from me. He didn't look at me even once. His attention was locked onto a complex digital display that showed stock numbers flipping wildly and reports scrolling past. He was already working and it was unreal. He was utterly unfazed by the sudden, scandalous shift in his personal life. It was just another problem to solve, another item on his checklist.
"I have already given you your brief," Kaelen stated, his voice completely flat, devoid of any human emotion. He sounded like a machine giving a command. "For the next six months, you are my wife. Nothing more, nothing less. Your main job is to keep a stable, quiet, non-controversial image. You will go to the required functions, you will not give or grant interviews to anyone, you will absolutely not speak about the strange circumstances of our marriage. You will simply exist as Mrs. Sterling, making sure you cause no further distraction to my business goals."
I clenched my fists on the lap of the borrowed silk dress. My knuckles were white under the material. I felt anger stirring beneath the fear. "I understand the terms, Mr. Sterling, and I fully intend to keep them," I told him, trying to keep my voice even. "But I absolutely require access to my accounts to stabilize my design business. I need the money transfer to happen."
"The money is pending," he replied without looking up, his eyes glued to his screen. "My legal team is verifying the bank account details. However, your design business is now secondary. It must not create public controversy or, more importantly, require my personal attention. Consider this a professional sabbatical. Your career is officially on pause for six months."
The dismissal was like a physical punch to my gut. My label, the entire reason for my life, the culmination of years of tireless work and sacrifice was being labeled a "mere distraction." It made me burn with fury. "My career is not on pause," I shot back, the words coming out faster than I meant them to. "I signed the contract for the money to fund my career, to save it, not to abandon it."
Kaelen finally lowered the screen. The small sound of the device hitting his lap was loud in the quiet car. His dark eyes met mine with a chilling authority that made my breath hitch. "And I signed it to secure my acquisition. If your 'career' interferes with that goal, the contract will be ended, and your payout will be halved immediately. Sterling Global does not associate with struggling ventures, Mrs. Sterling. You are either fully committed to your role here, to my success, or you are an unnecessary liability that will be cut loose."
He checked his watch, a very expensive, heavy thing. It was a clear signal that he didn't intend to waste any more time on me than strictly necessary. "You need to understand how serious this situation is. The inheritance connected to this marriage is tied directly to the successful acquisition of the Valerius Group. Valerius is a very old, traditional luxury fashion house with deep, old-money roots. My opponents on the board are looking for any reason, any weakness, to claim I am unstable or unfit to lead the family trust. Your sudden, scandalous emergence has given them exactly the ammunition they were hoping for."
I had heard of the Valerius Group. Everyone in the fashion world had. It was the epitome of the corporate luxury fashion world: huge, opulent, completely out-of-touch, and notorious for its total lack of ethical sourcing and its stagnant, boring designs. It was everything I, as a principled independent artist, fought against in my own work.
Kaelen continued talking, his voice tight with controlled fury that was clearly professional, not personal. "And speaking of distractions, the Valerius deal has been a complete mess. The acquisition was set to close two weeks ago, but the valuation suddenly dropped by nearly ten percent after a coordinated, vicious attack on their brand image. The anonymous source managed to expose several instances of their factory malpractices and their toxic labor environment with frightening accuracy."
He leaned forward slightly, and his expression darkened with intense, professional hatred. It was the look of a predator. "We have been hunting the source of that leak for weeks. It is some self-righteous, anonymous blogger who calls herself The Thread Dissenter. This person is a menace, a vandal who uses viral outrage to disrupt legitimate commerce. They are directly responsible for the delay in my deal, and they are costing me millions every day."
The world tilted and spun. I didn't just feel sick, i felt like the entire armored car had just tipped over.
The air seemed to rush out of the confines of the car, replaced by a suffocating blanket of dread that wrapped around my lungs. I felt all the color drain from my face, and the blood roaring in my ears drowned out the distant hum of the car's engine.
The Thread Dissenter.
I knew that name better than I knew my own. I knew the password to the blog, the hidden encrypted folders, and the specific database that held the damning documents on Valerius's labor violations. I had spent seventy-two sleepless hours compiling that last, devastating exposé, fueled by cold coffee and a righteous anger against the very corporations Kaelen represented and was trying to absorb.
I was The Thread Dissenter.
The realization hit me not as a slow understanding, but as a violent, instantaneous collision of my two completely parallel lives. My entire reason for signing the contract, the fifty million dollars to elevate my failing label was completely contingent on my husband successfully acquiring the very company I was actively trying to destroy from the inside. The irony was suffocating.
Kaelen, oblivious to the seismic shock he had just delivered, picked up his train of thought again, completely calm. "My security team believes the Dissenter is likely an internal rival or maybe a disgruntled, low-level analyst with a serious vendetta. Rest assured, when we find them, they will be liquidated financially and professionally. Their identity will be exposed, and they will never work in this city again, or anywhere else."
I swallowed hard, tasting bile and fear. I wanted to scream, to confess, to rip the contract into shreds and run out of the car, but I was completely trapped. I was trapped by the massive diamond on my finger, by the contract in Kaelen's briefcase, and most painfully, by the desperate, clawing need to save my life's work with the very money he was offering. I had to play the part of the devoted, simple wife while secretly remaining the architect of his greatest corporate nightmare. It was an impossible role.
I forced my features into an expression of polite, neutral concern, the kind of look a simple, beautiful, non-controversial wife would make. "That sounds like a very serious problem, Mr. Sterling. You need to focus on finding that person, then," I said carefully.
"I am focusing on it," Kaelen confirmed coldly. "And you will do nothing to distract me from it. Our one and only goal is to close the Valerius deal and secure the trust. Your role in this is silence and public stability. Is that understood?"
"Understood," I managed to rasp out, the word feeling weak and shaky.
The car pulled to a smooth, silent stop deep inside the cavernous underground parking garage of the Sterling Global tower. The building rose hundreds of feet into the sky, a monolith of black steel and glass, completely dominating the skyline. It was Kaelen's empire, and I was now caged right at its core.
The car doors opened, and we were instantly greeted by Kaelen's executive assistant, a man named Mr. Thompson. He wore a tailored suit that seemed to contain more starch than actual personality.
"Mr. Sterling," Thompson murmured, his eyes sweeping over me with a look of barely concealed skepticism like I was a cheap curiosity he would rather not look at. "The emergency board meeting is on the sixty-fifth floor. Also, your mother called, she requires an audience with Mrs. Sterling immediately after the meeting."
Kaelen visibly stiffened at the mention of his mother, a reaction I noted with a flicker of internal interest. "Tell my mother I will meet her at seven. Amara needs to be prepped for the Valerius gala tomorrow night." He looked at me then, and for the first time, a directive that sounded almost like an order for my benefit was issued. "Thompson will take you up to my private apartment on the top floor. It is yours for the next six months. You will not leave without my security detail, and Amara—"
He paused, a clear, dangerous warning in his gaze. "Act like you belong here."
I nodded once, stepping out of the car and onto the polished concrete. I lifted my chin, the desperation of my situation hardening my resolve into a core of pure survival instinct. I might be walking into a lion's den, married to the man who would ruin me if he learned the truth, but I had fifty million reasons to survive this, and a core of personal pride that absolutely refused to break. I was Amara Vance, independent designer, and anonymous corporate revolutionary and for the next six months, I was also Mrs. Sterling.
As I followed Thompson toward the private elevator, I discreetly pulled out my phone. Under the guise of checking the time, I quickly logged into my encrypted Thread Dissenter account. I had a major post scheduled to drop tomorrow, a final, damning report on Valerius's murky financial structure that would likely crash their valuation entirely. If that post went live, Kaelen's acquisition would fail, his entire trust would be forfeit, and my anonymity would be instantly compromised.
I stared at the "Publish" button. I could still stop it, I had to stop it. I was trapped in the greatest conflict of interest imaginable: my conscience and my fight against unethical corporations versus the signed contract and the money that would save my life's work.
The elevator doors silently sealed us inside, whisking us upward toward the highest floor. I took a single, shuddering breath, my finger hovering over the screen. I needed time, I had to figure out how to continue my war without my husband realizing his most dangerous enemy was now sleeping in his bed. I hated the corporations, but I needed the money. I couldn't risk the fifty million I was trading my dignity for." I hit the "Cancel Publish" button just as the elevator stopped, the little bell announcing our arrival at the top floor. The immediate threat was averted, but the pressure was unbearable.
I quickly pocketed the phone. The contract had officially begun and I had officially entered the cage of Kaelen Sterling.