The dress arrives at eight AM in a garment bag that looks like it costs more than the dress itself.
Mia stares at it hanging in the closet, emerald silk catching the morning light, and feels her stomach knot with something that isn't morning sickness.
Tonight. This is happening tonight.
Alexander finds her there, frozen in front of the open closet door.
"Second thoughts?" he asks.
"Thousandth thoughts." Mia turns to him. "Is it too late to fake a pregnancy emergency?"
"You're four months along. Any emergency would mean the hospital, which means more publicity, not less." His lips quirk. "So yes. Way too late."
"You're not helping."
"I'm being realistic." Alexander moves behind her, hands settling on her shoulders. "What are you actually afraid of?"
"Everything. Being judged. Making a fool of myself. Proving everyone right—that I don't belong in your world." Mia's voice drops. "That I'm not good enough for you."
His hands tighten. "Stop."
"It's true. Those articles—"
"Those articles are written by people who've never met you. Who don't know you survived fourteen foster homes. Who've never watched you stand up to my mother or negotiate contract terms like a lawyer or create art that makes me feel something for the first time in years." He turns her to face him. "They don't get to define your worth. I barely get to. Only you get to."
"And what if I don't think I'm worth much?"
"Then you're wrong." Simple. Definitive. "And I'll spend however long it takes proving it to you."
Mia's throat tightens. "You can't just say things like that."
"Why not? They're true."
"Because it makes me want to believe you. And wanting things is dangerous."
"So is never wanting anything." Alexander's thumb traces her jaw. "Take the risk, Mia. Want things. Want this. Want us."
The vulnerability in his eyes undoes her.
"I'm terrified," she whispers.
"Me too." He kisses her forehead. "Let's be terrified together. In very expensive formal wear."
Despite everything, Mia laughs.
---
The day passes in a blur of preparation.
Dr. Okonkwo stops by for a quick check-up—making sure Mia's up for a long evening on her feet. Blood pressure is good. Baby's heartbeat is strong. She's cleared for the gala with instructions to sit frequently and leave if she feels faint.
"First trimester is usually the hardest," Dr. Okonkwo says, packing up her equipment. "You're entering the second trimester now. The 'honeymoon phase' of pregnancy. You should start feeling better soon."
"Define better," Mia says. "Because I currently feel like a whale."
"You're barely showing. Wait until month seven—then we'll discuss whale status." Dr. Okonkwo smiles. "You're doing great, Mia. Both of you are healthy. Try to enjoy tonight."
After she leaves, Eleanor arrives.
She's armed with her own stylist—hair and makeup team that transforms the bedroom into a salon. Alexander wisely retreats to his office.
"I know you have your own dress," Eleanor says, sitting regally in the corner. "But hair and makeup are non-negotiable. You're representing the Kane family tonight. You need to look the part."
"Eleanor—"
"I'm not trying to change you. I'm trying to help you." Eleanor's tone softens fractionally. "These people are sharks. They'll find any weakness and exploit it. Perfect hair and makeup is armor. Use it."
Mia relents. Mostly because arguing with Eleanor is exhausting and she needs to conserve energy.
The team works efficiently. Hair swept up in an elegant updo—soft, romantic, with delicate tendrils framing her face. Makeup that's dramatic without being overdone—smoky eyes, nude lips, highlighting that makes her skin glow.
When they're finished, Mia barely recognizes herself.
"Much better," Eleanor says, studying her like a general inspecting troops. "You look like you belong. Remember that tonight when you start doubting yourself."
"Is it that obvious that I doubt myself?"
"Only to someone who's done the same thing." Eleanor stands. "I married into this family at twenty-two. I was terrified at my first gala. Convinced everyone could see I was just a girl from Connecticut pretending to be sophisticated." She meets Mia's eyes. "But I held my head high. Acted like I belonged. Eventually, I did. You'll do the same."
"Even though they know about the contract?"
"Especially because they know." Eleanor's smile is sharp. "Let them think what they want. You're Mrs. Alexander Kane. That gives you power. Use it."
She leaves, and Mia is alone with her reflection.
Mrs. Alexander Kane.
The title still feels borrowed. Like wearing someone else's clothes.
But tonight, she has to make it fit.
---
Alexander sees the dress for the first time at six PM.
Mia descends the stairs carefully—heels are still a work in progress—and finds him waiting in the living room. He's in a tuxedo that probably cost more than a car, looking like he stepped out of a magazine.
He turns when he hears her. Goes completely still.
"Mia." Her name comes out rough. "You're..."
"Too much? Not enough?" Anxiety spikes. "Grace said emerald was a good choice but maybe—"
"You're breathtaking." He moves toward her like he's in a trance. "Absolutely breathtaking."
The emerald silk flows around her as she moves. The off-shoulder neckline showcases her collarbones. The empire waist elegantly frames her small bump instead of hiding it. She looks pregnant, powerful, and completely herself.
"Grace did good," Mia manages.
"Grace is a genius." Alexander's hands hover near her waist but don't touch—like he's afraid she'll break. "Can I...?"
Mia nods.
His hands settle on her hips, careful of the silk. "We don't have to go. We can stay here. Order pizza. Watch terrible movies."
"Your mother would kill us."
"She'd get over it." But he's smiling. "You really are beautiful. I know I keep saying it but—"
"Then keep saying it." Mia adjusts his bow tie, which is perfectly straight but she needs something to do with her hands. "I'll need the reminder when we walk into that ballroom."
"Consider yourself reminded every five minutes."
A throat clears. Marcus, waiting by the elevator. "Car's ready when you are."
This is it. No more delays.
Alexander offers his arm. Mia takes it, feeling the strength beneath the expensive fabric.
"Ready?" he asks.
"Not even a little bit."
"Perfect. That makes two of us."
They descend together.
---
The Plaza Hotel glitters like a jewel box.
Cars line the entrance—Bentleys, Rolls Royces, the occasional Tesla for the environmentally conscious billionaires. Photographers crowd the red carpet, cameras flashing constantly. A literal red carpet, like this is the Oscars of wealth.
"This is insane," Mia breathes as their car approaches.
"This is our life now." Alexander squeezes her hand. "Remember—you belong here. Don't let anyone tell you different."
The car stops. A valet opens the door.
The moment Alexander steps out, the cameras explode into a frenzy of flashes. Questions shouted from every direction.
"Mr. Kane! Over here!"
"Is your wife with you tonight?"
"Any comment on the articles?"
Alexander helps Mia out of the car. The second she appears, the noise intensifies.
"Mrs. Kane! Look over here!"
"How far along are you?"
"Is the marriage really temporary?"
"What do you say to critics who call you a gold digger?"
The questions are weapons. Mia's smile freezes on her face.
Alexander's hand finds the small of her back, steadying. "Keep walking. Don't engage. Just smile."
They make their way up the red carpet. Cameras flash continuously, blinding. Mia keeps her chin up, smile fixed, one hand unconsciously resting on her small bump.
A reporter breaks through security. "Mrs. Kane! Is it true you signed a two-year contract?"
Mia's step falters. Alexander's arm tightens around her.
"We don't comment on private legal matters," Alexander says coldly. "Now if you'll excuse us—"
"But the public deserves to know if this marriage is real!"
Alexander stops. Turns. His expression could freeze hell.
"My marriage is real. My wife is real. Our child is real. That's all the public needs to know." His voice could cut glass. "Now get out of our way before I have you removed from the premises."
The reporter shrinks back.
They continue inside, leaving chaos behind.
The Plaza's grand ballroom is even more overwhelming than the red carpet.
Crystal chandeliers drip light onto five hundred of Manhattan's wealthiest residents. Women in gowns that cost more than Mia's childhood. Men in tuxedos, drinking scotch that's older than she is. Waiters circulating with champagne and canapés that are probably tiny works of art.
Everyone turns when they enter.
The whispers start immediately.
"That's her."
"The wife."
"She's actually pregnant."
"Quite bold, wearing green. Making a statement."
"Or proving she has no class."
Mia wants to run. Wants to disappear. Wants to be anywhere but here, being dissected by strangers.
Alexander's hand finds hers. "Breathe."
She does. Barely.
"Mr. Kane! Alexander!" A silver-haired man approaches, all charm and calculation. "So glad you could make it. And this must be your lovely bride."
"Mia, this is Richard Hartford. He's on our board." Alexander's tone is professional. "Richard, my wife, Mia."
"Charmed." Richard's handshake is perfunctory. His eyes assess and dismiss her in seconds. "Congratulations on your marriage. Quite sudden, wasn't it?"
"We didn't see the point in waiting," Alexander says smoothly.
"Mmm. Yes, I can see why." Richard's gaze drops pointedly to Mia's stomach. "Well. Welcome to the family business, my dear. I'm sure you'll find it fascinating."
He moves on. Mia feels like she's been slapped.
"Ignore him," Alexander murmurs. "He's always been an ass."
"That's a board member?"
"Unfortunately. I'm working on replacing him."
More people approach. Introductions blur together. Names Mia will never remember. Handshakes that feel like evaluations. Smiles that don't reach eyes.
Everyone wants to see the scandal up close.
Eleanor appears like a perfectly dressed guardian angel.
"Alexander. Mia." She's in burgundy silk, dripping diamonds, looking like old money personified. "Come. There are some people you should meet."
She guides them through the crowd with expert precision. Introduces Mia to society matrons who actually seem kind. Business partners who treat her like a person. A few younger couples who are genuinely warm.
"See?" Eleanor murmurs to Mia during a brief break. "Not everyone is awful. Just most of them."
"That's not comforting."
"It's realistic." Eleanor straightens an invisible wrinkle on Mia's dress. "You're doing well. Better than I expected, honestly."
"Is that a compliment?"
"From me? Yes." Eleanor's lips quirk. "Don't let it go to your head."
She glides away, leaving Mia slightly less terrified.
"Want to get some air?" Alexander asks. "The balcony is usually empty during cocktail hour."
"God, yes."
They're heading toward the doors when a voice stops them cold.
"Alexander. How... unexpected to see you here."
Mia turns.
Victoria Ashford stands there in a gown that probably costs six figures, blonde hair perfect, smile poisonous. She's accompanied by two equally polished women who look at Mia like she's something unpleasant they stepped in.
"Victoria." Alexander's voice is ice. "I thought you were in Paris."
"I came back for the gala. Couldn't miss the social event of the season." Victoria's eyes slide to Mia. "And I simply had to meet the woman who finally trapped you. Properly, I mean. Not just in passing at her café."
The emphasis on "café" makes it sound like "gutter."
"Victoria," Alexander warns.
"What? I'm being friendly." Victoria steps closer, studying Mia like a bug under glass. "You're glowing, Mia. Is that the pregnancy or just the satisfaction of landing a billionaire?"
The ballroom seems to hold its breath.
This is it. The moment everyone's been waiting for. The confrontation.
Mia looks at Victoria—beautiful, vicious, secure in her cruelty.
And decides she's done being afraid.
"Actually," Mia says, voice steady, "it's the dress. My friend Grace designed it. She's incredibly talented. Unlike some people here, she doesn't need to tear others down to feel important."
Victoria's smile sharpens. "How sweet. The charity case has claws."
"Victoria—" Alexander starts.
"No." Mia cuts him off, eyes locked on Victoria. "Let her finish. I want to hear what she really thinks. Go ahead, Victoria. We're all listening."
The crowd is definitely listening now. Phones are probably recording.
Victoria's mask cracks, showing the ugliness beneath.
"Fine. You want honesty?" Her voice rises. "You're a nobody who got pregnant to trap a billionaire. Everyone knows it. The contract, the two-year term, the convenient timing—it's pathetic. And when those two years are up, he'll replace you with someone actually worthy of the Kane name."
Silence. Absolute silence.
Mia feels every eye on her. Waiting to see if she'll cry, if she'll crumble, if she'll prove them all right.
Instead, she smiles.
"You're probably right," she says calmly. "I am nobody. I have no family, no money, no connections. I grew up in foster care. I worked two jobs just to survive." She steps closer to Victoria. "But I'm still the one wearing his ring. I'm still the one carrying his child. I'm still the one he chose."
She pauses, letting that sink in.
"So what does that say about you, Victoria? That even with all your advantages, all your connections, all your desperate attempts to keep him—he still chose me."
Victoria's face drains of color.
"Now if you'll excuse me," Mia continues, turning to Alexander, "my husband promised me some air. Let's go."
She walks away, head high, Alexander beside her.
Behind them, the ballroom erupts in whispers.
But Mia doesn't care.
She just won her first battle.