I woke up the morning after my wedding wearing someone else's pajamas in a bed that cost more than a car.
Mrs. Salvatore. I was actually Mrs. Salvatore now.
The gold wedding band on my finger proved it wasn't a dream. Simple, elegant, expensive. Dante had slipped it on my finger yesterday like it meant nothing.
But it meant everything. It meant war.
My phone—the new one Dante gave me—buzzed with a text.
Dante: Press conference at 11 AM. Hannah laid out your outfit. Eat breakfast. You'll need energy.
I checked the time. 9:17 AM. Less than two hours to prepare for facing the entire world as Dante Salvatore's wife.
In the closet, Hannah had laid out a stunning navy blue dress with matching heels. Power colors, Dante called them. Colors that made people take you seriously.
I showered, dressed, did my makeup carefully. When I looked in the mirror, I saw someone strong. Someone who belonged in penthouses and press conferences.
Fake it until you make it.
I found Dante in the dining room, reading the newspaper and drinking coffee like this was a normal Thursday morning.
"Good morning, wife," he said without looking up.
"Good morning, husband." The word felt strange in my mouth.
"Sit. Eat. You're too thin." He pushed a plate toward me—eggs, toast, fruit.
"I'm not hungry."
"Eat anyway. You'll be standing under hot lights answering invasive questions for an hour. Low blood sugar makes you weak." Now he looked up. "And you're not weak anymore."
I sat and picked at the eggs. "What kind of questions?"
"The kind designed to make you cry or look stupid." Dante folded his newspaper. "They'll ask about Marcus. About the engagement party. About whether our marriage is revenge or real."
"What do I say?"
"The truth, slightly adjusted." He leaned back. "Yes, you were hurt. Yes, the breakup was public and painful. But you've moved on with someone who values you. Our love is real."
"Our love isn't real."
"They don't know that." His gray eyes pinned me. "Remember, Isla. You're not lying. You're performing. There's a difference."
Julian arrived at 10:30 with a thick briefing folder full of potential questions and prepared responses. My hands started shaking as I scanned the list.
"Is this marriage revenge against Marcus Wellington?"
"Are you pregnant?"
"Did Dante pay you to marry him?"
"They'll ask if Dante paid me?"
"Answer: 'My husband's generosity is between us. Our relationship isn't transactional.'" Julian tapped another question. "They'll definitely ask about the timeline. How long you've known each other."
"We met four months ago at a charity gala," Dante said, buttoning his jacket. "Hit it off immediately. Kept it private because of your engagement to Marcus."
"That's a lie."
"That's a story," Dante corrected. "One that's believable and impossible to disprove."
Julian pulled out photos. Sure enough—Dante and I at the same charity event, standing near each other in the background of various pictures.
"You planned this," I breathed. "You knew we'd need this."
"I plan everything," Dante said simply. "That's why I win."
The press conference was held in a hotel ballroom packed with reporters. Lights blazed. Cameras pointed at us like weapons.
Dante's hand stayed firm on my lower back as we walked to the podium. Solid. Steady. Grounding.
"Thank you all for coming," Dante began. "My wife and I wanted to address the recent media attention surrounding our marriage."
Wife. He said it so naturally. Like it was real.
"Isla and I met months ago. Our connection was immediate and undeniable. When her previous relationship ended, we saw no reason to hide our feelings any longer."
A reporter's hand shot up. "Isla, is this marriage revenge against Marcus Wellington?"
I gripped the podium. Dante's hand found mine, squeezing gently.
"Marcus and I weren't right for each other," I said carefully. "I'm grateful that ended when it did. Meeting Dante showed me what a real partnership looks like. This isn't revenge. This is me choosing happiness."
"But the timing seems convenient. Married less than two weeks after your public breakup?"
"When you know, you know," Dante said smoothly. "I don't believe in wasting time when you find the right person."
"Dante, your company requires you to be married to maintain control. Isn't this just a business arrangement?"
Dante's expression turned cold. "My marriage to Isla has nothing to do with business. Yes, my father's will includes certain conditions. But I chose to marry Isla because I love her, not because of a clause in a contract."
The lie rolled off his tongue like honey.
"Isla, your stepfamily released a statement saying you're using Dante for money. How do you respond?"
My chest tightened. Of course Leonard would try to make me look like a gold-digger.
"My stepfamily doesn't know me as well as they think," I said quietly. "And they certainly don't know my husband. Dante didn't buy me. He chose me. There's a difference."
More questions flew. About our wedding. Our living arrangements. Our future plans.
Then someone asked the question I'd been dreading.
"Isla, do you actually love Dante Salvatore? Or is this just convenient?"
The room went silent. Every camera focused on my face.
I turned to look at him. Really look at him. This stranger I'd married. This dangerous man who'd given me weapons to fight back.
"Three weeks ago, I thought I knew what love was," I said slowly. "I thought love meant making yourself small. Being grateful. Never asking for too much." I paused. "Dante taught me love is something different. It's partnership. Respect. Someone who sees your worth even when you've forgotten it yourself."
I wasn't reading from Julian's script anymore.
"So yes, I love him. Maybe not the way romance novels describe it. But I love that he makes me feel powerful instead of broken. I love that he believes I'm worth fighting for. And I love that he's helping me become someone I'm proud to be."
Dante's hand tightened on mine. When I glanced at him, something flickered in his expression. Surprise, maybe. Or something deeper.
"That's all the questions we have time for," Julian announced.
In the private room backstage, Dante turned to me.
"That last answer," he said. "About love. That wasn't what we rehearsed."
"I know. I'm sorry, I just—"
"Don't apologize." His eyes searched mine. "It was perfect. It felt real."
"Some of it was real," I admitted quietly.
"Which parts?"
"The parts about feeling powerful. About you helping me become someone I'm proud to be. That's true."
Dante was quiet for a long moment.
"Good," he finally said. "Because you should be proud. You just handled a room full of sharks like a professional."
Julian burst in, grinning. "The internet is exploding. Public sentiment is ninety percent in your favor."
"Tomorrow, we release Victoria's emails," Dante said. "Strike while public opinion is on our side."
"It's all happening so fast."
"That's the point. Hit them from all sides before they can regroup." Dante checked his watch. "We have a dinner meeting with my board tonight. They want to meet my wife officially."
"Tonight?"
"No rest for the wicked, Mrs. Salvatore." But he smiled when he said it. "Come on. Let's go home."
Home. Like we actually lived there together as a real married couple.
Maybe if I kept pretending long enough, it would start to feel real.
Or maybe that was exactly what I should be afraid of.