Isla's POV
Four hours wasn't enough time to prepare for anything, let alone meeting the people who controlled Dante's billion-dollar empire.
I stood in front of my closet, staring at rows of expensive clothes I still wasn't used to owning. Hannah had labeled everything with little cards: "Business Dinner," "Casual Evening," "Formal Event."
I grabbed the dress marked "Board Dinner"—a sleek black dress that looked professional but elegant. Power armor, as Dante called it.
My hands shook as I zipped it up.
A knock on my bedroom door. "It's me," Dante's voice.
"Come in."
He entered, already dressed in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than my old car. He stopped when he saw me, his expression unreadable.
"You look perfect," he said.
"I look terrified."
"Then you're hiding it well." He held out a jewelry box. "This will help."
Inside was a diamond necklace that caught the light like trapped stars. My breath caught.
"Dante, I can't—"
"You can. You're Mrs. Salvatore now. People expect you to look the part." He moved behind me. "May I?"
I nodded, lifting my hair. His fingers brushed my neck as he fastened the clasp. Warm. Careful. Almost gentle.
"There," he said quietly. "Now you look like you belong."
I turned to face him. "What if I mess this up? Say the wrong thing?"
"You won't."
"How do you know?"
"Because you're smarter than you think. And because these people are sharks in suits. You've been swimming with sharks your whole life—your stepfamily. The board is just a different ocean."
"What do they know about me?"
"Everything. They investigated you the moment I announced our engagement." Dante straightened his cuffs. "They know about Marcus, Victoria, your stepfamily, all of it. They'll be judging you, testing you, looking for weaknesses."
My stomach twisted. "Great. No pressure."
"Isla, look at me." He waited until I met his eyes. "These people respect strength. Show them you're not some weak trophy wife I married on a whim. Show them you're my partner."
"But I'm not really your partner."
"They don't know that. As far as they're concerned, you're the woman who tamed Dante Salvatore. That makes you powerful."
"I didn't tame anything."
He smiled slightly. "Play the part anyway."
The dinner was at an exclusive private club where you needed three references just to walk through the door. Dante's hand stayed possessively on my lower back as we entered.
Five people sat around a long table—three men, two women. All of them looked at me like I was a problem they needed to solve.
"Everyone, this is my wife, Isla," Dante said smoothly.
The oldest man—silver hair, sharp eyes—stood first. "Robert Chen, chairman of the board. Mrs. Salvatore, what a surprise this marriage was."
Not "pleasure to meet you." Surprise. Code for "we don't trust you."
"Surprise can be good," I said, shaking his hand firmly like Dante taught me. "Keeps things interesting."
A woman with perfect red lipstick smirked. "I'm Diana Ross, CFO. Tell me, Isla, what do you know about Salvatore Industries?"
It was a test. They wanted to see if I'd done my homework.
I had. Dante made me read company reports for three hours yesterday.
"You're a private equity firm specializing in hostile takeovers and corporate restructuring," I said. "Last quarter's revenue was 2.8 billion. You're currently pursuing acquisition of Blackwood Industries, but the deal's been stalled due to complicated ownership structures."
Dante's hand tightened on my back. A warning.
The board members exchanged glances. Reassessing.
We sat down. Waiters brought wine and appetizers I couldn't pronounce.
"So, Dante," Robert said, swirling his wine. "This marriage. Quite sudden."
"When you know, you know," Dante replied easily.
"And it has nothing to do with your father's inheritance clause requiring you to be married?"
"Robert." Dante's voice went ice-cold. "If you're suggesting I married Isla for business reasons, you're insulting both of us. I married her because I love her."
"Your father's deadline was next month. And suddenly you're married to a woman you've known for—what? Four months?"
"Six months, actually," I lied smoothly, remembering our story. "We met at the Children's Hospital gala last spring. Dante outbid everyone for the charity auction. I thought he was showing off."
"I was showing off," Dante said, playing along. "It worked."
A few board members smiled. The tension eased slightly.
Diana leaned forward. "Isla, forgive the directness, but your previous engagement ended quite publicly. How do we know this marriage isn't just a rebound?"
The table went quiet. Everyone watched me.
I could feel them waiting for me to crack. To cry. To prove I was the weak, emotional girl from the tabloids.
Dante's hand found mine under the table. Steady. Supporting.
"You want to know if I'm using Dante?" I asked calmly. "Or if he's using me?"
"Both, frankly."
I set down my fork. Met Diana's eyes directly.
"My ex-fiancé was a weak man who needed to hurt me to feel powerful. Dante is nothing like that. He's strong enough that he doesn't need to make anyone feel small." I kept my voice level. "And yes, our marriage was quick. But I'd rather marry the right person quickly than waste years with the wrong one."
"Well said," Robert murmured.
"As for using each other—isn't that what all marriages are? Partnerships where both people get something they need? Dante gets a wife who understands his world. I get a partner who respects me. Seems fair."
Dante's thumb stroked my hand under the table. Approval.
The dinner continued with less hostile questions. They asked about my background, my education, my plans. I answered carefully, remembering everything Dante and Julian had coached me on.
By dessert, even Robert was smiling.
"You're not what I expected," he said to me.
"What did you expect?"
"Someone softer. Easier to manipulate. Dante's father was always attracted to weak women he could control."
"I'm not weak," I said quietly. "Not anymore."
"No," Robert agreed. "I can see that. Maybe you're exactly what Dante needs."
After dinner, the board members said their goodbyes. Diana pulled me aside while the men talked.
"A word of advice," she said quietly. "Watch yourself. This world—Dante's world—it eats people who aren't careful. Especially women who marry powerful men."
"I can handle myself."
"Can you? Because from where I'm standing, you went from one powerful man to an even more dangerous one in two weeks." Her eyes were sharp. "Just make sure you know what game you're playing. And make sure you're playing to win."
She walked away before I could respond.
In the car ride home, Dante was quiet.
"You did well tonight," he finally said.
"Diana warned me about you."
"Did she?" He didn't sound surprised. "What did she say?"
"That you're dangerous. That I should be careful."
"She's right. I am dangerous." He turned to look at me. "But not to you. Never to you."
"How do I know that?"
"Because we have a contract. I honor my contracts."
Right. The contract. The piece of paper that said this was all temporary. All fake.
But I was worrying. Because for a few minutes tonight, sitting at that table with Dante's hand in mine, I'd forgotten this was fake.
I'd felt like I actually belonged there. Like I actually was Mrs. Salvatore.
And that was more dangerous than any board of directors.
Back at the penthouse, I headed straight for my bedroom. I needed space to think, to remember why I was doing this.
Revenge. Money. Freedom. Not feelings.
"Isla, wait."
I turned. Dante stood in the hallway, tie loosened, looking almost vulnerable.
"Thank you," he said.
"For what?"
"For tonight. For playing your part perfectly. For making them believe." He hesitated. "For being exactly what I needed."
Something in my chest ached. "It's just a contract, right? I'm just doing my job."
"Right. Just a contract." But he said it like he was trying to convince himself.
We stood there in the quiet hallway, two people pretending to be married, pretending not to feel things we shouldn't feel.
"Goodnight, Dante," I said finally.
"Goodnight, wife."
I closed my bedroom door and leaned against it, heart pounding.
One year. I just had to survive one year of this without catching real feelings.
But as I looked at my wedding ring glinting in the darkness, I wondered if it was already too late.
My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
Enjoy your fake marriage while it lasts. Some secrets can't stay hidden forever. -A Friend
My blood turned cold.
Someone knew. Someone knew our marriage was a contract.
And they were going to use it against us.