The photo appeared on Monday morning.
I woke up to seventeen missed calls, forty-three text messages, and my face plastered across every gossip site on the internet.
The picture was actually kind of good, which made it worse. Azryth and I leaving Valek Tower together, heading for the car. His hand on my lower back, proprietary, protective, me looking up at him, mid-laugh at something he'd said.
We looked like an actual couple, a happy couple.
The headline on the biggest gossip site read: "VALEK'S SECRET ROMANCE: NEW PHOTOS SHOW BILLIONAIRE CEO HEAD OVER HEELS FOR MYSTERY HUSBAND"
"Mystery husband," I muttered, scrolling through increasingly invasive articles. "I have a name."
The articles had dug up everything, my employment history, my college transcripts, interviews with people I'd gone to high school with who barely remembered me.
One particularly industrious reporter had found my middle school yearbook photo and published it with the caption "From Awkward Teen to Billionaire's Beloved."
I looked like a drowned rat in that photo. Thanks, universe.
My phone rang, Sarah from accounting.
I answered because ignoring her would only make it worse.
"RIVEN! Have you seen the photos? You're everywhere! Entertainment Tonight called the office asking for a comment!"
"They what?"
"Karen told them we don't discuss employees' personal lives but she was SO EXCITED, she's already planning how to leverage this for the Valek Industries pitch."
Wow, perfect. My accidental celebrity was being weaponized for corporate gain.
"I have to go," I said.
"Wait, is it true you guys go to the office together every morning? That's so romantic! Do you—"
I hung up.
Azryth emerged from his office, already dressed in one of his perfectly tailored suits, he took one look at my face and said, "You've seen the photos."
"Everyone has seen the photos, my high school gym teacher has probably seen the photos."
"The PR team called, apparently we're trending on three social media platforms." He said it like he was reporting quarterly earnings, completely neutral. "They're calling it a modern love story."
"It's a modern disaster."
"It's effective narrative control." He poured himself coffee. "The public believes we're genuinely in love, that's the goal."
"The goal was for them to believe we're married. Not in love."
"In current culture, those are assumed to be synonymous." He took a sip. "Though I suppose your generation does treat marriage more casually than mine did."
"Your generation predates the industrial revolution, I don't think we should use that as a benchmark."
The corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile.
My phone rang again. This time, an unknown number.
I made the mistake of answering.
"Riven Kael? This is Jennifer Morrison from Celebrity Insider, I was hoping to ask you a few questions about your relationship with Azryth Valek—"
I hung up.
It rang immediately again, a different number.
"Mr. Kael, this is TMZ, we'd love to get your perspective on—"
Hung up.
Ring.
"Hello, I'm calling from—"
I turned my phone off and threw it across the room.
"They have my number," I said. "How do they have my number?"
"Reporters are resourceful." Azryth didn't seem bothered. "You'll need to change it, I'll have someone from IT handle it."
"This is annoying, I can't go to work like this, they'll be waiting outside my building, outside the office. Everywhere."
"You're not going to your office today." He set down his coffee. "We have a more pressing matter to address."
The way he said it made my stomach drop. "What matter?"
"The Carlisle Foundation Gala. This Saturday." He pulled out his tablet, showing me an invitation that looked like it cost more than my rent. "Annual charity event, attended by every major player in the city's business and social scene. Five hundred guests, full media coverage."
"Okay? Why do I need to know about this?"
"Because we're attending together as a couple." His eyes met mine. "And we need to be convincing."
"No."
"It's not optional, my absence would be noted, your absence would raise questions about the stability of our marriage." He swiped to show me what looked like a seating chart. "We're at the head table, all eyes will be on us."
"I can't..I don't know how to do those kinds of events. I'll mess it up, I'll say something wrong or use the wrong fork or—"
"Which is why we have four days to prepare." He stood. "Starting now."