He didn't show up at the wedding.
The press was there. His legal team. A woman who said she was his secretary. But not Alexander Knight.
I stood alone at the altar of a cold marble hall, wrapped in a designer gown I didn't pick, staring into the silence where a groom should have been.
"This is normal," his secretary said, her expression unreadable behind her clipboard. "Mr. Knight prefers to avoid unnecessary attention. Just sign where I've marked."
There were two papers: a marriage certificate and a non-disclosure agreement. I hesitated. The gold pen in my hand felt heavier than it should.
"You're really doing this?" I whispered to myself.
"Don't worry," the secretary said without looking up. "You're not the first."
That sentence stayed with me.
I signed.
There was no kiss. No ring exchange. Just legal ink and a camera click for the records.
After that, I was escorted—not driven, escorted—to a black car with tinted windows. The driver didn't speak. The city passed in a blur. By the time we reached the Knight Penthouse, night had swallowed the skyline.
The building was tall enough to touch stars. Glass, steel, and silence.
Inside, everything smelled like wealth. Polished floors, minimalist furniture, air fresheners that probably cost more than my rent.
"Mr. Knight is currently in Shanghai for business," the housekeeper told me as she showed me around. "He said to make yourself... tolerably comfortable."
I smiled bitterly. "How kind."
She didn't smile back.
The guest room—my new room—was bigger than my entire apartment. But it didn't feel like home. It felt like a hotel room you don't unpack in because you're leaving soon.
I lay on the bed that night, still in the wedding dress, and stared at the ceiling.
What kind of man marries a stranger and doesn't show up?
What kind of woman agrees?
The next morning, a knock came. A small box was left outside my door.
Inside was a phone. Brand new. Already set up.
A message appeared on the screen.
Alexander Knight:
You'll use this number for anything related to our arrangement. Keep your personal life separate. We don't share lives, Alexa. We share appearances.
I stared at the message, something twisting in my chest.
Then I typed back.
Alexa:
What if someone finds out it's fake?
The reply came instantly.
Alexander Knight:
Then you'd better learn to act.
I dropped the phone on the bed, breathing in slowly.
I was married.
To a man I hadn't spoken to since the proposal.
A man who didn't believe in love.
And I'd just stepped into a life that wasn't mine.
Not really.
But it was too late to run.
The deal had begun.