I woke up in a bed that wasn't mine, under sheets that felt too clean, in a silence that didn't belong to me.
The sun filtered through the tall glass windows like it had permission. I blinked into the brightness and for a second, forgot where I was.
Then I remembered.
Contract. Marriage. Brother.
Alexander Knight.
I sat up slowly. The gown from the "wedding" was gone. Replaced with a silk robe I didn't recognize. A note lay on the nightstand beside me.
> "Don't get too comfortable. This is temporary. —AK"
He hadn't seen me. Hadn't even shown up for the ceremony. But somehow, he still managed to remind me of my place.
I got up, feet sinking into the thick carpet. The room was beautiful — a walk-in closet, a wall-mounted screen, and a view of the city so high it made my stomach flip. Everything screamed luxury. But not warmth. No pictures. No books. No soul.
Downstairs, I met the housekeeper again. Same grey bun. Same blank face.
"Mr. Knight's schedule is full today," she said as she handed me a printed itinerary. "However, he requests that you attend tonight's gala as his wife."
I stared at the paper. Fashion fitting at 3 p.m., chauffeur at 6 p.m., event by 7.
I had barely been married for 24 hours and I was already being paraded like a trophy.
"Can I at least talk to him?" I asked.
"He will contact you when necessary."
Necessary.
I was starting to hate that word.
By afternoon, a stylist arrived with racks of gowns, heels, and jewelry. She was cheerful. Chatty. Treated me like a doll she was hired to decorate.
"What's the theme of the gala?" I asked.
She blinked. "Darling, it's not about the theme. It's about the entrance. And tonight, you're his wife. That's your role."
Role.
Another word I was starting to hate.
When I finally looked in the mirror, I didn't recognize myself. Hair up in a sleek bun, lips painted bold, dressed in something that shimmered when I moved.
I looked expensive. Powerful.
But inside, I still felt like the girl who sold her freedom to save someone else's life.
The car came right on time. The driver nodded silently and opened the door.
I stepped into the backseat, phone in hand, heart beating loud.
Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed.
Alexander Knight:
Smile when you walk in. We're not real, but they don't need to know that.
I stared at the screen.
Then typed back.
Alexa:
Right. Just acting.
No reply.
Of course not.
The building came into view — all lights, cameras, and whispers.
And as I stepped out, flashing lights surrounded me.
Then, finally, I saw him.
Alexander Knight.
In a black tuxedo, standing by the stairs like a king surveying his court.
Our eyes met.
He didn't smile.
He just offered his arm.
I took it.
The act had begun.